America pt. 2

This is a few days late, imagine I wrote this five days ago.

I’m sitting in the lounge of the hostel here in Ambleside, Cumbria in the northwest of England. Outside the windows the still waters of Lake Windermere rest peacefully in the strong arms of the rugged hills, the shoreline lined with ducks fast asleep, like feathered bulbs waiting to bloom under the sun. I only caught the view with dim evening light, but even that was enough to reveal the splendor of this place. I look forward to the morning.

The program is officially half over and this week, the students and I are taking a much needed break. With ten days of complete freedom, many of the students headed to the Continent, some to Ireland, and others decided to stay in Britain and explore places not on the Whitworth itinerary. I have decided to come up the Lake District, not only for some peace and quiet, but because my folks came over and out of the entirety of Britain, this is what I wanted them to see. But we just arrived, so I don’t have much to say about it...yet. However, I do have more to say on the subject that I can’t seem to write enough about, hope you’re not tired of it yet.

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Whether we like it or not, America is the biggest blip on the radar screen and everyone watches it (at least in Britain). I’ve heard nearly as much election talk over here than I did at home. News of Obama and McCain is present in every paper, often on the front page. And Sarah Palin is just as much the talk of the hour here as it is in U.S. papers. Brits know that American politics extend far beyond our borders so they keep in the know. But it’s more than that. In general, there is a fascination with America. I don’t mean to sound ethnocentric, but it’s true. From McDonald’s to Madonna to M-16s, it’s hard to escape America, but many over here don’t particularly want to escape it. Well, maybe the M-16s. Many ask about New York, Hollywood, Florida, or Las Vegas wanting to know more about these cities, what some over here perceive to be the best of America. One mother on the train was genuinely surprised to find out that Taylor, a student, actually lives in Las Vegas. “People live there?” she asked earnestly. In many ways, however, they are bewildered by America. Why don’t we have national health care? Why did we not only elect, but re-elect Bush? Why are we so conservative? Why would anyone not want Obama as President? What’s with the guns?



But on the other hand many Americans don’t understand Europeans and their nude beaches, socialism, and multi-lingual ways. And it’s these larger (or in the case of nude beaches and guns, simply shocking) issues that are seen from the opposite shore. the finer details of each culture are left in the murky depths of the Atlantic, too subtle or nuanced to make the intrepid crossing. For instance, I went to a play the other night about a Presidential candidate and his son on the night of the election. It dealt with many themes, including the political climate of the United States, the Evangelical church, free speech, and the dichotomy between collegiate ideology and political pragmatism. The British audience was enraptured by it. It felt strange, watching a play by an American playwright about American themes. Several times I felt the need to stand up and explain the conservatism of the Heartland or the convictions of the American Evangelical church. To let everyone know the backgrounds and contexts of these groups. These are specifically American issues and American sub-cultures and as an American I suddenly felt the responsibility to be the ambassador for each culture specific issue that came up.



As I left the theatre I had a keen sense that I was the outsider, not only from the play I just saw, but my surroundings. I passed by the trendy shops and cafes of Sloane Square and Knightsbridge, feeling severely underdressed and a little lighter in the wallet. There’s nothing like the elegant window displays of Louis Vuitton and Bulgari to make you feel inadequate. But I’m a product of where I grew up, who I grew up with, and the values that come along with those. Had I grown up in Chelsea perhaps I’d be sipping wine in a well-tailored suit and patent leather shoes with the rising stars of the business world. But I didn’t. I’m from Olympia, where you sip coffee with torn jeans, Converse All-Stars, a zip-up hoodie, and a scraggly beard. And that’s what I see in the reflection of the boutique windows and I’m okay with that. One window treatment had multiple Union Jacks as a backdrop and looking at them I realized I felt nothing for them; they caused only the simplest of cognitive responses. On the other hand, the American flag holds meaning for me. Good, bad, whatever, but I am American and Old Glory is something I recognize, resonate with, and respond to, despite its messy and burdensome history. An author I’m currently reading speaks of people he calls “hedonistic refugees,” those who realize that a foreign country is a better home to them than their country of birth. Walking home from the theatre it is blatantly obvious that I am not one of them.



Of all places to ponder the question of national identity, which I’ve been doing a lot lately as you can see, London seems ideal. London is a world metropolis, drawing all walks of life from every corner of the globe. Sometimes it’s hard to find a British accent. Sometimes it’s hard to find someone speaking English. Along any road you’ll find a curry shop with a pub on one side and dim sum or tapas on the other. I’m nearly convinced that if you can’t find what you’re looking for in London, you might as well stop looking because it doesn’t exist. All of this provides a perfect locale to explore what it means to be American or British or Bangladeshi or Jamaican; a great try before you buy market. But I don’t think I need to try before I buy. I’m happy to list “United States of America” under citizenship when I enter a new land. I’ve “bought” my home...but that doesn’t mean I have to leave the market.