Oh boy, I’m back in America…
It hits me at Reykjavik airport, Iceland, where the USA terminal has been separated from others as if Americans were in some way contagiously ill.
Now I remember; Americans stand out in their casualness among consciously combed Europeans, blatantly unaware and uncaring of, well, anything.
I appreciate Europe for its available art, considerate people, sincerity in conversation, knowledge of history, politics and knowing where Myanmar lies. And beer of course. And proper licorice.
On the other hand, Americans are far easier to approach, make conversation with and they are much less hung up on behavioral code.
The sun is rising over Seattle and CNN lingers too long on last night’s Superbowl finals. Isn’t there any news to report? I slept pretty well on a Greyhound bus filled with drunks, addicts and fresh immigrants. I am one of those, but no-one would think that ’cause I’m white.
The cars are massive! The roads wide, homes like castles, supermarkets the size of department stores and I only drink two glasses of water a day now, simply because they are so damn large!
It’s easy to get used to the bigness of things and I remember feeling very disappointed at the sight of my 3 euro Dutch mocha that appeared in a cup the size of a tangerine. The most ironic thing is that the Dutch drive really tiny cars while they are the tallest people on earth! And considering the multitude of speed-bumps, I think opening a care facility for head-trauma could be good business.
While we drive to Sandpoint from the airport, I feel calm and confident that I’ve chosen the right place to live; among the mountains and lakes in Northern Idaho.