I can remember the days when I went along with the rest of America and jumped on the I-Hate-France bandwagon. Those were the days. Days when I could feel perfectly fine and very American to substitute the word “french” in for queer, lazy, or snooty. I, along with any friends that would do the same thing, would get their knowledge of the French people and government from reputable places like Fox News, movies, comedy skits, and maybe other friends who had friends that knew someone who had traveled there once. Although, I even had a cousin who had lived in France and would tell me how rude the French could be. The height of French bashing in America was when they kept creating obstacles for the U.S. in the U.N. when talking about invading Iraq. Bush just wanted to do a quick little wisp of an invasion and France would go for it; further promoting the stigma of how the French were lazy and not a people of action. Well, I bet they feel silly considering how well everything is going over there.
When Colin and I were doing our Eurotrip our two main French stops were going to be Nice and Paris. We had our first taste of French laziness in the booth car of the train that we shared with 4 smelly African knock-off salesmen. These guys were everywhere in Italy, but as soon as we got into France, the cops came in and took one guy and most of their goods (this one guy took the fall and the cops didn't have any proof on anyone else). The booth smelled a little better after he left, so I was already feeling better.
After swinging by Barcelona for a few days we headed north to soak up some of the gayness of Paris. To my dismay, I had a hard time getting anyone to be rude to me. I wanted a story to take back to my French-hating Americans. Instead, all I got was smiles and good customer service. Ok, not everybody was happy-go-luck, but they were helpful when I asked them for directions or needed to ask for things like when the next train was coming.
One time we Colin and I got a perfect opportunity to build up some good karma with the French people, just in case. You never know when you'll need some good karma. We helped this old blind lady cross the street. Yeah, I know, it doesn't get much better than that. I was excitedly telling Colin that this was money in the bank and then we started in to saying our good-byes to the old lady and we started to walk off. There were chest high poles at the end of the cross walk and we let the old blind lady walk straight into them because we were so excited about our good karma we were about to receive for good deed we had done. Probably not my proudest moment. The lady smiled and laughed nervously with us and we walked away in shame.
On the second day we went up to visit the Normandy beaches. It was an amazing and humbling experience to see how impossible it would've been to get through the water and up the hill at Omaha beach. The mortar impact craters were still there, as well as the very well hidden German bunkers that still had chunks of concrete missing from grenades and bullets. We spent some time there and went back to Bayeau to catch the train back to Paris after dinner.
We hopped on a late train that we were pretty sure was going to Paris. We soon found out that the train was heading south when it hit the town of Caen. So Colin and I made a blind decision to get off the train at Caen and hope that there was one last train going to Paris from there. It was one of those decisions where you make yourself feel confident because you don't know what else to do. We got off the centipede and I watched it crawl away as Colin looked on the board for our train to Paris. When he told me it wasn't on there I was still in denial so I asked an attendant in the station.
Ronnie: “Hey, are there any more trains to Paris tonight?”
Attendant: “blah blah blah scooby doo blah. Blah blah?”
Ronnie: “Um. To Paris. Paris. Sil' vous plait.”
Attendant: “Oohh! Hahaha. Paris blah blah blah thththbbbbt! Hahaha.” (ththbbbt = fake fart noise).
Ronnie: “Paris thbbbt, huh? Awesome. Merci.”
I mean, I get it that there were no more trains to Paris, but sometimes you have to break that type of news to someone a little easier than ththbbbbt. I walked toward Colin about the noise the guy made that confirmed the start of our new adventure. We accepted our fate as we walked out and passed the closed bus station; we were there for the night. I did get a wild hair up my ass one time and tried to convince Colin that it would be so much fun to try to hitchhike to Paris. I convinced myself it was a good idea, but he wasn't going for it. It was about a 3 hour drive. I started thinking about how we let that old blind lady hit the pole. Yeah, we probably lost a few karma points for that one.
The whole city of Caen was dead by 7:30. I'm talking about the shops were all closed except one that luckily served beer and there was almost no one on the streets. Colin and I were trying to save money since we were wasting money on the hotel room in Paris so we just figured we'd wait it out until 6:00 a.m. when the next train left for Paris. Another night spent in the train station like in Genoa was going to be rough, but at least it would keep us away from the chilly breeze blowing that night. So our spirits were all but shot when the police kicked us and a couple others out into the cold. We sat on the sideway for a good 20 minutes until we noticed that there was still one bar open.
The bartender let us in on the agreement that we would buy a couple drinks because their closing time was almost up as it was 1 a.m. The bar tenders were husband and wife and spoke some English. They asked, so I told them our story and out of no where they offered to let us stay on their couch-bed for the night after they close up. I was shocked. So we stayed with them till after they closed up and headed back to their apartment which was a short walk away. I could have fallen asleep on a bed of nails at this point, but they wanted to stay up, chat, offer us beer, and feed us some goose liver on a cracker. I had a little fun with this because I saw how Colin wasn't wanting anything to do with the goose liver, so I excitedly told them we would love to try it. It was worth staying up a little longer see him have to try it. I personally thought it tasted like a lighter version of spam, but I think Colin thought it tasted like a darker version of spam... mixed with fish eyes. These people were really the perfect hosts though. They gave us an alarm clock, blankets, pillows and their first born.
We slept well for a few hours and left to catch our train. That pretty much ends my story in France. I loved the liberal and relaxed atmosphere in France, which is something that is rare or nonexistent in America. It still amazes me how hospitable those strangers were and they forever changed my opinion about the French, and I always tell any Americans that haven't had much contact with them.
I would have to say that my train trip through the Alps from Munich to Venice had the most spectacular views of any trip in my life going anywhere. At the foothills, one small German town was split by the rail way, but each side had a matching castle off in the distance up on a hill. Lush green fields were everywhere. Once we got into the mountains we were in a valley with walls a mile high on each side of us. Everything stayed green and there was one small house at the top of this mile high wall sitting all by itself. Coming down the other side we saw a light blue river that looked fake and then with Italy came the vineyards running up and down the valley walls. Small quaint towns were also climbing the hills.
Colin and I planned to stay in Venice for 3 days because our expectations where high. Long story short, we cut it short a day. I guess I can only explain it as strong feeling being a trapped tourist. I know it was always a city of vacationers and if I had a wife there and I was an old person looking for some quiet expensive nights with a gondola ride, then this would be the place. I don't think I will ever be that person though, and Colin will never be my wife. He's a good guy, but just kind of a control freak. Plus, he has a penis. The floating city would also be a very good place to go meet a lot of Americans and maybe the occasional European. I think I saw an Italian there too. I will say that I was glad that I got to see it for a day (that's it) and I was impressed with the canals, narrow walkways, bridges, and San Marco's Cathedral. It's also the place where I learned about the honor system with buses in Europe and how to dishonor it every once in a while to save money.
Now, Florence, this is the city that I remember Italy by. I finally felt like I was in Italy. Italians guys saying "Ciao, bella" to the passing girls, pizza with the freshest of toppings, cobble stone streets, scooters everywhere, and just a vibrant feel of people enjoying life all over the city. A small river cut through the city and separated the flat city center from the steep-hilled side. The two stone bridges couldn't have been more ascetically pleasing. I thought this even though we had just walked across town with our 30 pound packs on, in under a blazing sun, and staring at the next 2 miles up hill that we had to walk to get to our camp sight. There were a lot of tourists here because of the Ufizzi and statue of David, but it felt like Italy and you could get away from them if you went to certain parts of the city. I spent my nights at the camp sight getting drunk with the group of German girls, a Frenchman, and a Finnish guy. I made out with one of the girls after a couple bottles of wine. We all hung out overlooking the city from under a copy of the statue of David and had some laughs (as people do when they're drunk).
When in Rome, I did as the tourists did. I went to all the big sights, appreciated them as much as I could, then was worn out from walking, blah blah blah. I had three bad "firsts" in the subway in Rome. While I was trying to figure out how to get a ticket out of the machine I was approached by my first ever real life gypsy. Other than her ragged out clothes, stinky breath, messed up grill, and whiney attitude, she was a decent person. Well, maybe not decent, but she was a person. I'll give her that. She tried to explain the machine, but was really just distracting me and then wanted money for doing so after I told her to go away several times. The problem ended up being that my bill was too large. Unfortunately for me, I was in a place where asking people to make change was an insult. I got turned down by a couple locals and even a cashier at a book store. I forgot how I ended up getting the change, but I'm pretty sure I blacked out from frustration and killed someone. That's my other "first." My third "first", if I may, was getting on my first subway car. As it rolled up and stopped, I couldn't help but notice that all the original paint had been covered by horribly done graffiti so that it looked like a crash-up derby bus.
A couple of roommates from my hostel in Rome told me the great story of how they were late getting to their ferry in Croatia. They left one taxi on the way to the ferry because they were pretty sure the cabbie was getting ready to take them somewhere and kill them. So with their other taxi got them to the dock the boat was already taking off for Italy, but had only just left. Everyone on the boat saw them and started encouraging them on to run and jump to make it. So they did. They bolted down the dock and threw their bags on to it. Then they jumped a good meter onto the moving ferry. Everyone cheered. The end.
My action-packed Rome story is similar. At the top of the Spanish steps Colin and I found a Pub Crawl. Pay €15 for an hour of nonstop drinking and then they take you to a few pubs to drink and playing drinking games. Yay for binge drinking! Anyway, so after I had about 3 beers, 2 mixed drinks, and 3 cups of wine, they announced their first game of the night. About 10 guys lined shoulder to shoulder and we had a girl partner across from us. They shoved the can of beer up one pant leg and down the other, opened the can of beer, and whichever guy drank it first won. Long story short, I won. The guy next to me almost won, but instead of winning he puked and everyone saw. Haha. Then they took a picture of my partner and me and put us up on their web page along with hundreds of other untalented winners. See, pretty similar action-packed stories.
Rome was also where I learned that if you hesitate and try to let cars pass while you cross the street you may cause an accident. Everyone gets confused over if a pedestrian gives a vehicle the right-away and you end up playing Red light, Green light with them a few times. Its best to just walk and not look. At first, it felt weird; like putting your right foot on the clutch, but it worked every time.
The last thing I'll say about Rome is that they have the best fountains that I've ever seen, the people were beautiful, but they were probably the least helpful and most rude to me than any other place I have visited. Most of them were not rude, but I wouldn't consider them nice either. Oh, and the huge stylish sunglasses were EVERYWHERE and it kind of gave me the impression that Paris Hilton had been through there one too many times.
Leaving Rome, Colin and I opted to bite the bullet and get stuck in Genoa train station (on our way to Nice, France) so that we could stop off and see the by Pisa and see the tower for a couple hours. The tower was nice, but better was being part of the large number of people all pretending to hold up the tower while someone took their pic. Not my proudest moment, but it had to be done.
So there it was for the most part. Colin an I stay from 10pm to 5am sitting on a cold metal seat in the train station. The whole time the gypsies were trying to make sure their midget was comfortable, the same 20 second techno elevator music song played every 2 minutes, and stinky guy next to me kept falling asleep and leaning on me. Good night, Italy, and suck it easy.
Prelude: Other than living the first few months of my life in Germany (my dad was stationed there at the time), really I've spent about 3 weeks there that I can actually remember. I can tell you right now that I feel like I've seen and experienced about 5% (at best) of what the country has to offer. I spent those three weeks in mainly Berlin and Munich during the summer of 2006.
I'm not even going to beat around the bush. The only real beer country that I had been to up to this point was Australia and I was hankering for some more yummy beer from the home of the biggest beer festival in the world. I ran into an early snag with my first beer tasting like a bitter Budweiser. I almost cried. I also noticed a lot of guys wearing tight jeans and jean jackets at the same time, so this wasn't a great start at all. I wasn't a happy American and my travel partner, Colin (not real name), wasn't happy to hear me bitch so much. So I don't count that as my first real beer or real memory of Germany. Oh, and the next day in Potsdam held another let down as I tried my first vendor bratwurst and it tasted like they just wrapped straight pig fat up into a sausage link. Off to a bad start.
A couple days later the true Germany emerged. We were waiting for our train from Berlin to Munich when we struck up a conversation with a local guy, Durk, who was about our age. Well, he was looking for the same train as us and it switched tracks, but no one gave us a warning. So we had two hours to kill before the next Munich train came. The 3 of us went the small park nearby and set up camp next to a girl reading her book in the middle of the lawn. She took us right in as friends. Durk bought the first round of beers from a vendor and we had our first taste of German yumminess. This was one of those surreal moments where you feel like the moment couldn't be set up any better. Sharing a great beer in public on a sunny day with two great people that you just met and will never see again; and you know you'll never forget the moment. After the third round in about an hour, we went up to catch our train. I personally was feeling quite nice after having a small breakfast smothered by all the tasty drink.
Durk stayed with Colin and me in the service car of the train. The car was a little wobbly and got more wobbly as we drank more, but it was great to just be on my first train and seeing the countryside of Germany. They have a lot of power generating windmills throughout the country. Fun fact: 10% of Germany's electric comes from wind power. These were the things I was thinking about while Colin and Durk talked a level of drunken politics that I couldn't handle. Durk eventually got off and we finished our ride down to Munich without a hitch.
We arrived in Munich at night and found our way to our first hostel. As soon as we turned around from the desk after checking in, there were some guys at the long picnic table wanting us to play cards. That's about how hard it is to meet people while traveling during the summer and staying in European hostels.
Cincinnati has flying pig statues in different colors and designs all over the city center. Louisville has its horses in the same fashion. DC of course has pandas, donkeys and elephants. Well, Munich has lions. And just so you know, after heading back from the Augusteiner beer hall, I rode the one dressed like a gesture. It seemed like a good idea at the time.
Munich also has the beautiful Haufbrienhaus (Cincinnati has the only other one and it doesn't look as good, but is about as good of a time as you can have at any beer hall). I had always heard that the Haufbrienhaus was the beer hall of beer halls, but when I walked in on this Wednesday afternoon (apparently not prime time) I saw a grand restaurant with tall ceilings, a large courtyard in the center, a second story, and everything was covered in beautifully carved wood. Its not what I pictured a beer hall to be. Colin and I set up camp at a table in the court yard, ready to taste the world class beer. We also ordered the best bratwurst on the menu, the whitwurst (an albino brat). It melted in my mouth, literally. Beautiful. I chased it down with their dark dunkel beer and holly crap on a stick, it almost made me cry for a completely different reason than when I had my first German beer. It was great afternoon toped off with one of the Eastern Europeans, sitting next to us, puking right next to himself and just continuing the conversation as if nothing happened. The waiter had the "Did that just happen?" look on his face. Also, there were two ladies sitting on the other side of us that couldn't have been younger than 80 years old and they were running through their pints just as well as we were. Colin and I were so impressed that we went over there and got their number and showed up at their place later for a booty call and shuffle board... but not really.
When we were in Italy we ran into a group of German girls and I had a real enlightening conversation with one. She got upset after she found out that I had just got out of the Marine Corps and almost stopped talking to me completely until I reminded her of how mature that was and showed interest in how someone could be angry towards military members. She quickly went to Bush's Iraq War and how wrong it was and said that I agreed to it by volunteering to defend my country for any cause. I struck back quick and hard through the easiest and most honest route by telling her "If it wasn't for Americans volunteers you would be living in a Nazi regime along with a lot more of the world." Okay, this is when she did quit talking to me for a good 5 to 10 minutes and wouldn't even look at me. Maybe if I hadn't had a bottle of $2 wine it would have come out a little softer. When we started talking again is when I realized, well, she told me, that Germany as a whole still feels extremely guilty for the whole thing and doesn't want to be looked at as nazis. Up to this point it knew the war was over and nazi things were for the most part taken care of by the late 1940's. I never really pictured Germany as anything, but a nice place with good beer and great engineers. I had no idea how much of a consciousness they still have of it. Calling a German a Nazi seems almost like calling a black person a N$@*&^. I must have been in rare form that night because normally I would've thrown out a nazi joke and made a complete ass of myself. I've been described as "classy" when it comes to my word usage.
I spent 14 months in Niger. Before getting sent over there I had the mindset that of all the regions of the world I did not want to go to, I REALLY didn't want to go to Africa. Its always just seemed like such a rough place to live. When I arrived in Niger I wasn't proven wrong in that aspect. However, what I took from there was something that changed me forever. I'm not trying to say that to be all dramatic like I'm writing the narration for The Wonder Years either.
The ride from the airport to my house was one that I'll never forget. The kids playing in the trash wearing rags as clothes, the children leading their blind grandparents up to our car at every stop light, the layer of dust covering the city, the blow dryer wind, the polio victims in tricycle wheelchairs, the smell that I can only describe as African, and the way all looked at my skin as opportunity and bewilderment. I was instantly culture shocked. My ignorant mind couldn't handle this upside-down place.
I have tons of stories here, but I'll cut it short and just tell a couple that impacted me the most. The first was when a few white American friends and I went to see a West African wrestling match during the Francophone games. There were people packed shoulder to shoulder on the bleachers as we walked along in front of them to try to find a seat. A police officer walked in front of us and motioned us to follow him into the seats so we followed. He then pointed to where we could sit, but there were kids sitting there. We were confused so we started to walk away and he pushed motioned for all of the kids to sit on the ground and told us to sit down. He was so proud that he got seats for the white people. We sat down for a good few minutes until the cop left and we had enough time to talk about how the crowd would and should beat our asses. Then we left and gave the kids their seats back.
That's the most extreme situation of how it is to be white and rich in a place of poor black people in Africa. It disgusted me most of the time. I didn't know how to deal with it when almost every time I got out of the car I was swarmed by locals from 5 to 50 years old calling me master and beginning for money. I still don't know how to deal with it. I noticed in the year I was there that the same poor kids were begging for money when I got there were still begging when I was leaving. The feeling that I can't help everyone and that I had to choose who I wanted to give money to and when always stumps me. Part of me says that they survived before I got here and will survive when I leave. Another part is highly aware of how unfair it is that I was born on the other side of the Atlantic so I don't have to worry day to day about whether I will have a meal. I've found out that giving money directly doesn't really help at all and the best way to help would be to put in time or put in money to an organization that helps the region gain more wealth.
Another time, a very good Peace Corps friend of mine took me to on a 1.5 hour walk away from the main road and off into the bush. We crosses a shallow lake and arrived at a village. She knew someone there, but when we showed up the whole village stopped and came to the meeting circle. They feed us their best food (rice and fish), which was actually really good, and chatted with us the best they could. In their culture, a guest is treated with utmost respect. I thought of how I was a millionaire compared to them and they were feeding me and very happy to do so. We all had some laughs and atmosphere was rich with our excitement and appreciation for each other. My Peace Corps friend told me as we were leaving that they would talk about us for years and brag to their other neighbors that they had some rich white people stop by.
I was beside myself when I thought of their sense of community and their style of social respects. To me, Europe and America have some stunning sights, but places like this have more impressive and intriguing cultures.
There were definitely things in their culture that I didn't like. They had the strongest “What will be, will be” attitude I had ever seen or heard about. These people could be in on their death bed and if you asked them how they were, they would say everything is good. I liked their positive attitude, but it's too much for me. Their thinking is that they can always be in worse shape and that they shouldn't forsake what Allah has given them. They shouldn't be greedy and ask for more. This whole way of thinking meant that it was hard for them to change their ways out of tradition so that they could better their lives. I have seen glimpses of this, but it was affirmed by many Peace Corps volunteers.
Niger is also 95% Muslim, which was also different for me. You would see two guys walking down the street holding hands because they were friends, but you would never see a man and woman walking or eating together. I was told that wives cost about an average of $250 and camels were usually about $350. Prayer call from a loud speaker started up about 5:30 a.m. everyday so I was glad that I could sleep like a dead bear in the winter. I felt slightly bad anytime I was eating a delicious egg sandwich when I knew the local guys that worked for us were fasting during Ramadan, a month of everyone gets a taste of the hardships of the poor. I didn't feel bad at all for the goats when they were slaughtered and their bodies hung up almost crucifixion style for Tabaski, a holiday about sharing a goat with your neighbors. Who knew that something so gruesome looking and horrible smelling could be so good for the community. Niger was wrapped in Islam and even though I saw a lot of great morals to the religion, I felt incredibly uncomfortable with things such as arranged marriages, extreme unequally of the sexes, and the minutely reminder of how they great it would be to leave this world be closer to Allah.
Finally, I'll say that the people were friendly and I felt safe the whole time I was there. Those poor boys that were on the corner where there from when I got there to when I left only because of the way the community took care of each other. If one person in the family had money and the rest didn't then the money got spread out so that each person would have a meal. I would say most families in America would envy the way they took care of each other in Nigerien families, but hey, we do have our nice houses and fancy cars. That was the root of why it was so difficult for me to adjust when coming back to America from Niger.
Because the program stars strictly voluntary participants and airs before elite audiences (even though the show is aimed at promoting broad understanding) the effect of its cable-projected lessons is significantly curtailed. A feel-good show in its truest sense, On the Road in America appeals most to those who need to hear its message the least... On the Road projects its predetermined and predictable outcome to those most likely to agree with its conclusions—while maintaining the suspicious classification of reality television. Sundance’s affluent suburban/urban viewers no doubt interact quite regularly with a diversity of individuals—in the office, at their alumni meetings, in urban cultural centers. To them, the idea that outside of culture, politics, and religion, we’re all the same comes as little surprise. Limited to an audience the network deems “independent-minded viewers seeking something different,” the show no doubt falls short of a goal to introduce previously unexposed individuals to a new way of thinking because it fails to reach the proper targets.And yet, slews of international exchange programs (including the Fulbright and Truman programs) are based on the idea that if you can influence elites within a society, you can impact society as a whole. Hmmm...
"It is my responsibility as a human being. Punto."
When I decided to write about it, the novelist Frederic Tuten offered a warningApple pie, motherhood and monogamy: 3 core American values?
about the sanctity in which Americans hold monogamy in marriage. “You can go
against it in life, but don’t speak against it. It makes you a monster. Who speaks against it? And this creates a dichotomy, between what we live and what we profess.”
Braverman pointed out that American habits, even on the Upper East Side, have aThis passage explains particularly well, I think, how rapid cultural change in our society has left us searching for new models:
moralistic component. That affects men too. “I’m not a sociologist,” she cautioned. “But we have a history of puritanism as a very dominant sensibility in the United States. That’s not the dominant sensibility in France or Italy. My observation is that often when people are having an affair, they get very involved and they start questioning their attachment to the marriage, whichbecomes very threatening to the marriage’s survival. The husbands here don’t treat the affairs in the way we imagine Europeans treat their affairs.”
Susan Squire, the author of a forthcoming history of marriage called I Don’t, told me that marriage wasn’t made to handle all the sexual pressure we’re putting on it. For one thing, the average life span is far greater than it was 100 years ago; what is marriage to do with all that time? And in days gone by, marriage was a more formal institution whose purposes were breeding and family.My perception of the French (or at least Parisian) attitude is just what Squire seems to advocate: the right thing to do, in most cases, is to stay together for the kids, the family, the social life, and yes, money, and eventually work it out to grow old together. I know several couples now in their 40s and 50s who have had aventures and rencontres over the years, but at the end of the day still very much want to be married to one another.
Squire says that cultural standards of morality have changed dramatically. In ancient aristocracies, rich men had courtesans for pleasure and concubines for quick sex. In the Victorian age, prostitution was far more open than it is today. America is a special case. By the early-twentieth century, she says, the combined impact of egalitarian ideals and the movies had burdened American marriage with a new responsibility: providing romantic love forever. Squire says that the first couples therapy began cropping up in the thirties, when people found their marriages weren’t measuring up to cultural expectations.
“Marriage isn’t the problem; it’s the best answer anyone’s come up with,” Squire says. “Men and women are equally oppressed by expectations. Expectations are ridiculously high now. Nobody expected you to find personal fulfillment and happiness in marriage. Marriage can be very satisfying, but it’s not going to be this heady romance for 40 years.” Marriage involves routine, and routine kills passion. “What does Bataille say?” Squire continues. “There is nothing erotic that is not transgressive. Marriage has many benefits and values, but eroticism is not one of them.”
A long and supportive marriage may be more valuable than a sexually faithful one, Squire says. “Why does society consider it more moral for you to break up a marriage, go through a divorce, disrupt your children’s lives maybe forever, just to be able to fuck someone with whom the fucking is going to get just as boring as it was with the first person before long?”
“Marriage is more of a formality; sex is not the most important thing,” he said. “From the time I was small, I was led to understand that people have affairs. C’est la vie. This is just going to happen. You’re not going to make a big deal out of it when it does happen. You shouldn’t be hurtful about it. You’re going to be discreet. Don’t shove it in people’s faces.” While Vincent sees young Americans experimenting with new norms—“fuck buddies,” friends with benefits, etc.—those innovations don’t seem to have rubbed off on their elders. New York divorces continue to involve sexual infidelity as a breaking point.Not having any experience with long-term monogamy myself, I'm loath to make a definitive judgement on these issues. That said, as the child of a 17-year-long faithful (according to each of my parents, at least) but nevertheless very unhappy marriage, I'm reluctant to equate infidelity with automatic divorce. I guess the only point of view expresssed in the article that I can whole-heartily embrace is this one:
“When I make a comment about infidelity in social situations, there’s always a
little element of mistrust in people’s eyes,” he said. “I think we’re getting into a question of social stability. The male libido is considered a very dangerous and a potentially disruptive force in society. I think that’s why there are so many religious dictums and taboos around that. The idea that one is allowed multiple partners—this is something that has to be rigidly controlled.”
My sister Alice, a respectable suburban woman happily married for eons, says that she’s come to respect the fact that sexuality runs the gamut: Some people seem happy with a sexless marriage, while others aren’t built for monogamy. The only morality she hangs on to is how honest one person is with the other about their stuff going into a marriage.
If there was a far end of the earth, Australia would be it. No wonder the English shipped the bad boys and girls there (R.I.P Ned Kelly). That's what I remember thinking during the 15.5 hour straight shot from L.A. to Sydney. Coming from the States you get to fly straight through the center of the Pacific and over the equator. If we went down I would choose a gun over a raft. Even if they came for survivors with a sea plane it would take them at least 10 hours to get there. Yeah! I would take my own life before I would wade in the water for 10 hours. Do you know how pruney I would get? Oh, and both the sharks and possibility of sharks wouldn't be any fun either. After all of that flying, we landed in the Sydney Airport, which was my first amphibious airport. So as we were landing I saw water, water, water, then some water, ok more water (isn't there supposed to be land somewhere), water, WATER (50 meters), WATER (I mentally brace for impact), aaaaaand then I see land and hear the tires squeal almost a second later. "G'die and welcome ta Astralia."
There were some feelings that I got from Australia in the year that I lived there from day one till I left. One was that everyone from the Prime Minister (even if he is lame) to the 7 year old girl has a very similar relaxed and informal take on life; not in some backwards hillbilly way either. I just felt welcome to be as casual and comfortable as I could be in most situations; except in high end restaurant, for example. They had class too.
Secondly, their food seemed almost flavorless to me. I could order a beautiful looking chicken alfredo at a nice restaurant and it would feel like I was only smelling it from someone who had ordered the dish at the table next to me (you how you can taste smells sometimes?). Granted, I was coming from a land of excessive ingredients (especially salt), donuts, and McSugarFatBurgers, but even at the end of my assignment there I still didn't adjust to seeing more crust than cheese on my pizza. And then there was the matter of their insane love for beets. Beets on burgers? Whatever, you can keep it. Do your thing.
If you ever find your way over there and get invited to a barbeque you should definitely go because Aussies know how to have a good time on and create a fun atmosphere. However, if they try to tell you that they're grilling some burgers you should be prepared that they'll be cooking probably be cooking risoles, which are almost like big meatballs, and then they'll have a bun 5 times that size for to eat it with. I asked a trustworthy Aussie what the deal was with this and he pretty much just thought it wasn't a problem at all. I mean, its like eating a Vienna sausage in a regular hotdog bun. That's a huge deal to me. Maybe it's just me though. Their cereal aisles were made up of about 15 types of bran cereal, 7 types of corn flakes, and 1 type of cereal with taste. I think it was imported from the U.S. Best cereal country in the world. There are so many places that have never seen Cinnamon Toast Crunch. It's sad.
Another thing I couldn't get over while I was there was their well-groomed cities. They really took care of their communities. It was almost like they cared for their cities. This was something very weird to me as an American. I lived in the nation's capital, Canberra. I remember counting days before I would see a single piece of trash on the side of the road. Usually when I did see some trash it was from trash that had fallen out of a trash can that had been blown over by the wind or something. The city had trees everywhere and a few huge hills that you could walk to the top of and see over the place. I don't remember seeing one piece of ugly billboard or other ugly advertisement that ruins the look of so many American cities that would be beautiful otherwise. The odd thing was that it was designed by an American. Even other cities that I visited that were heavily populated (Sydney, Melbourne, Brisbane, Gold Coast) were always well maintained and were visually impressive. Australians love their cars like Americans do, but haven't ruined their gorgeous cities by surrounding themselves with overbearing highways.
The last big thing I couldn't get over was how kindly everyone took to me when they heard my American accent. I felt like I could pretty easily blend in until I opened my mouth, and then everyone seemed much more interested. It wouldn't take them too long to get uninterested because of my lame conversational skills, but for that first moment I had them ever time. It would be the same as hearing some Aussie's accent in the States. Whatever they have to say is always more interesting; even if they are talking shit about how American football is weak because of all the pads and rugby is better (as if they are all just walking briskly around in sumo wrestling suits or something). There was always a big "myth" in the Marine Corps that Aussie chicks loved Americans and that all you had to do is talk to them and you were golden for the rest of the night. I was always pretty skeptical because I had never seen anything like it. I was basically wrong, and boy was I happy about it. I think I'm a perfect example of this true myth because I have an almost girly, timid approach to getting with girls and it still worked. Or something. I feel like I throw out a little too much info sometimes, but there is way too much funny in truth that I can't always resist; even if I am the butt of the joke. Honestly though, it was one of those things that might sound slutty to Americans, but from what I saw the girls were just very comfortable and open with having sex. They knew they enjoyed it and weren't ready to get married, so having the occasional fling wasn't as taboo as in the States. Basically, they had similar mindsets to guys and everyone was o.k. with it.
There are many different regions of the U.S. and I know that usually large cities have a larger crowd of more free thinking adults, which means there are more girls that are more open to casual sex. However, even if you compare the average college student at a club or bar in D.C. (population 581,000)to an Aussie girl at a club or bar in her capital of Canberra (population 327,000) the Aussie girl wins every time for openness toward showing interest in guys. To me, there are less games to be played with an Aussie girl.
In a single guy's world who isn't looking to settle down who is looking to me a girl for either dating or just a one night stand everything is very simple. You meet a girl and almost automatically know wether she meets your physical standards or not. All you would have to worry about then is wether or not she was interested in you and why. With Aussie girls this played out pretty easily for me through casual conversation. With American girls I have found that you have to show interest, but if you show too much then you have overstepped your boundaries. There is a game to be played with rules that must be abided by. They are more reserved with how they liked to be approached about sex unless they are the girl that went out with full intentions or they are older and just know what they want. With Aussie girls, I couldn't really find a game or rules other than don't be an asshole. The atmosphere in America is edgy and wound, while the atmosphere in Oz is laid back. The atmosphere comes into play with dating in these countries too.
I know that it seems that every country is known for its drinking, but Australia is my all around favorite so far. It has heaps of delicious beer, top notch white wine, and more great beer. They have a different take on alcoholism too. I was talking to an Aussie friend over there about how you could easily be considered an alcoholic if you went out to drink at a local pub 4 days a week. Not a raging alcoholic, but an alcoholic nonetheless. After a brief intermission to let him laugh it off, followed by a sigh of pity for me and my country, he began to tell me a story of an Aussie version of an alcoholic. It sounded like a joke as he explained to me how a regular at the very bar we were in used to polish off 8 pints a night at the very least. When the guy had the money he would easily make it 12 pints in a night. I expressed major concern for this guys health and Matty (guy telling the story) agreed that it was quite dangerous and mentioned that he did end up having problems. The guy hadn't been to the bar in a while he said. So, apparently, just after you are diagnosed with cirrhosis you are considered an alcoholic. To be fair, most Aussies I met were very responsible with their drinking, in my opinion, and were quick to get a taxi if they were drunk. Unless of course they were irresponsible.
Maybe this isn't the most interesting subject, but money was friggin' sweet. Well, their bills were anyway. They were vibrantly colored, a different color and size for each bill, and they had little, clear, and uniquely designed plastic windows in the corner of each bill. The coins on the other hand... Yeah, the coins were all fucked up. The $2 coin was the smallest, the 1 cent coin was made out of plastic, and 50 cent coin weight about 2 lbs and was the size of small plate. Literally, it was at least 2 inches in diameter. I always carried one on me for protection.
I heard from a Canadian here with me the other day that Burkina Faso has 440 NGOs working here. 440! That sounded great to me at first because that means this country has to be getting a lot of help and should be improving in more ways than it can handle. Then I began to wonder how many successful ones where here in Burkina Faso.
My one Canadian friend is working for an NGO and his job is was so save a jam factory because it was going out of business. The only problem was that the company has no money and has no ingredients for which to make jam. There are almost not workers there because there is not work and no money and their storage is filled with onions. Why didn't they just give him a mud hut and ask him to make some fresh baked apple pies?
I've also heard of how an NGO came into Niger to start a trash collecting system, but completely left 3 months after the project was up and running. The system ended up failing and things went back the way they were. I'm sure the reports that were sent to the NGOs financier didn't include that fact.
I have to say that I'm all for NGOs. I can't even say that I know a whole lot about them to criticize them. I've never worked for one, but I have closely known people who have worked for and with them. Some of them sound like success, but I've heard more stories of failure. It always sounds like to me its taking a lot of effort for little results; like pouring water into a bucket with holes in it.
The thing that I do know is that with 440 NGO's in one region there should be some huge things going on. I mean, if you put 440 people together to solve a problem there should be some major progress. We are talking about organizations though. So there is enough for a large army of people trying to help this country out.
Lack of coordination has to be the culprit that is costing thousands of dollars and countless hours for little improvement. I know that I have to get more educated on the subject, but when I hear things like how one of the directors of one of the NGOs here will be stationed in Dakar, Senegal and overlooking the region as well, I think of how little action can be taken without a leader that knows what's going on in any situation.
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