Recently I spent two days in Florida, two days in New Jersey and five days in Maine, mostly just travelling about, noticing Uncle Sam’s ways, reflecting on back home ways, eating some good food, checking out the fall colours in the leaves – in other words, essentially down time.
Early in the trip, after having lived in GT again, I noticed I had to get used to the pedestrians. In North American cities, the pedestrian is king. Coming there with my GT training, I’m at an intersection in Miami waiting for the car about 12 feet from me to pass, but he’s not moving. I’m staring at the driver thinking, what the hell is he waiting for, and he’s staring at me, and then it hits me. I’m the pedestrian; he’s waiting for me to cross. It takes you a while to make the shift, but after about two days I’ve adapted: I don’t stand on the roadside hanging back like some GT clunes come to town. I step off, bold as brass, and any driver who seems the least inclined not to slow down gets the evil eye, and just in case, I have the middle finger ready. At crosswalks, in particular, I just slide off the curb, not looking right or left, completely confident that traffic will pull up on either side as I stroll through.
Of course traffic up that side is a killer. Everybody is driving like they just heard their house is on fire, and sooner or later, in Miami, in particular, you are going to hit what I can only describe as a goady traffic jam; this one was on the major highway going north in pouring rain with 7 lanes of traffic, yes, 7, all going one way, except that the going was like 20 feet forward, stop, 20 feet forward, stop, on and on. After about 5 miles of that, you feel like you’ve got nara of the brain. But every time you see something, learn something. So here’s what I learned: where I was getting upset about the jam, to look at the drivers nearby I could see everybody was cool. In other words, they deal with this stuff every day so it’s status quo. The lesson there is that the next time you‘re grumbling about the 10-car backup on the Seawall Road, just remember I95 in Miami and you’re smiling.
I’ve been to a lot of American cities, and Miami easily has the worst road signage I’ve seen. They’re always digging up some road, and the temporary signs are barely visible, or, visible only just after you passed where you were supposed to turn. As a result, almost every time I drive in Miami I get lost. That’s bad enough. What’s worse is that, thanks to Fidel, all the Cubans who can’t speak English are now not speaking it in Miami, and I end up asking these people not speaking English for directions. Let me give you some advice. If you get lost in Miami, don’t ask a Cuban for help. You listen to them, you’ll end up in Atlanta. Mind you, since our road signage at home is pretty bad as well, I get lost in Georgetown, too, but at least here I’ll get directions in English, so you see that’s two up for Guyana.
I like good percolated coffee. I noticed that all over Maine, wherever you go, you get good brew. In Florida, it’s often a different story. In the high end restaurants okay, but in many of the run-of-the-mill places you’re better off ordering tea. These days they say Starbucks is the answer. I’m not convinced, and sometimes the effort to persuade is overdone. On this trip I noticed a classic piece of American advertising drivel in a Starbucks ad that actually proclaimed: “STARBUCKS – flavours my senses; sweetens my imagination; nourishes my dreams.” If you ask me, those are promises that perhaps a Halle Berry could deliver, but Starbucks?
Another thing I noticed is the North American obsession with the weather. It’s a prime topic of conversation. Complete strangers, say at a subway platform, will suddenly start discussing the weather with you as if they’ve known you for years. They want to know if it’s “hot enough for ya?” or if rain is forecast, or what the temperature will be on the weekend. Back in GT, nobody cares; it’s either wet or dry. In North America it is a national obsession. When I lived in Canada, I was used to it, but on this trip, having forgotten the practice, I was startled when a man walked up to me in a store (I was buying a coffee mug) and said, “Boy, isn’t this weather somethin’?” I actually jumped. For a second I thought the guy was off his rocker. I almost dropped the coffee mug – $19.95 US, banna.
In GT these days, corruption talk is everywhere. Don’t kid yourself, it’s all over, but it’s better concealed outside, plus the folks out there are more suave about these things; they know how to equivocate. In one case I read about in the Miami paper, there was big investigation about State funds being misappropriated. An accountant testified, “I am quite certain there was absolutely no cooking of the books. As to the question of reheating, however….” I must ask Christopher Ram if this terminology has reached Guyana yet – “reheating”. Frankly, I was impressed with the delicacy of it; reminded me of how the English tend to phrase these things.
Some of those observations could be called whimsical, but here’s a practical one. Travelling in the US, baggage regulations vary widely for domestic trips. On some airlines, like USAIR, your free bag allowance is zero, as in none. So with two of us, our three suitcases, cost US$85 extra going from Miami to New Jersey and it would have been another US$85 returning. That’s US$170 just for bags, and of course, if it’s over 50 pounds, you’ll be shelling out even more. Tell your travel agent, as I’m telling mine, to book you on Jet Blue.
Also, the efficiency of US business is impressive. They have parts and supplies in all kinds of options and shapes and colours and sizes – if they don’t have it they can get it in 3 days – and even in small towns the system holds up. In Maine, looking for a tiny $4 part for a machine, a friend encouraged me to try this little roadside shop. I walked in there full of skepticism. The banna just reached into the bin behind him and handed me the exact part, “This what you want?” I was speechless. In GT, this week, the Regent Street store had only one colour of wood stain (yes, one colour) and when I mentioned “ordering” the clerk looked at me like I had lapsed into Norwegian. Of course, you have to learn to balance these things out: at least the clerk didn’t enquire, “So wha de wedda like tomorra?” and the lady in the restaurant nearby didn’t tell me her coffee would “nourish my dreams”. From that one could conclude that in GT we’re short on BS as well as service.
Coming and going, living here is a trip.
