After three years and 26 countries abroad, it’s time I brought my wanderlust back to the United States. But that’s not to say my adventure stops here. I’m back with a few weeks on my hands and kind of, got the spontaneous idea that I should undertake the epic adventure of a cross country road trip from one ocean to the other. This spiraled into the goal of seeing all 50 states. Then got dialed back to the more attainable goal of seeing all 50 before My 30th birthday instead of all in one fail swoop. I was inspired by Forest Gump’s epic run, Louis & Clarke’s trail, Oprah’s cross-country road trip with Gail, and a “how to see all 50 states” map. Then I altered everyone else’s trails for my own. Folks that I talk to still seem a little confused as to why I’d want to undergo such a pilgrimage. Here’s a bit more on what I’m hoping to get out of this journey.
1. This is my re-Americafication. I want to Re-emerse myself in all that is glorious about my homeland.
2. I’ve always wanted to see it all. In elementary school I dreamed of visiting all 50 states. At 18, I put it on my bucket list of things to do before I died. Why not complete it before I turn 30?
3. I’ve seen so much in other countries and so little of my own. I was talking to a German collegue who said he’d seen the Grand Canyon but not Germany’s most popular tourist attraction, Neuschwanstein. Well, I was the reverse. The American who’d seen Neuschwanstein but not the Grand Canyon. I’ve seen he great pagoda but never times square. I’ve seen several American Military Cemeteries in France but never Arlington. On these little, trivial but fun, social media quizzes that ask how much of the world you’ve seen, sights in America are always the ones to lower my score.
4. When I describe America or Americans, I’m really describing the south or southerners. I often think, “We don’t do/have this in America.” Correction! We just don’t roll like that in the south. And apparently, there’s more to America than The South.
5. I always thougt I’d focus on seeing the world while I was young and able bodied and save America for when I got too old to fly or had too many kids for it to be advantageous to fly to europe. But there’s no time like the present to check off the o’l bucket list. My mom thought I should wait until she retired so she could go with me…but who knows when my schedule will allow adventure like this again. Seize the day! This is one instance where I believe in the whole, don’t put off til tomorrow what you can do today, bit.
Since I’ve already been to all the Southern states, in the essense of saving time behind the wheel, they took less priority. One way rental fees will cost a fortune good thing all my lodging will be with the friends I have sprinkled across this grande nation.
I’m crazy excited! On this tour, I’ll travel to see things and learn things more than doing things. I have a feeling this won’t be the last. On my next adventure across the states I’ll focus more on being active and doing things. I expecting plenty of time to reflection and my perspective to be forever altered. I’ll keep you posted!
Maine is the first stop on my cross-country road trip and home of the lovely Carrie whom I met while in Qatar and instantly became BFFs. She met me at the Portland Airport and guided me to her charming home (complete with wrap around porch) a little further north. I flew out of Chattanooga for a Google Flights ticket that ran me under $200. Since I am traveling while everyone else is working, the next morning, after her hubby cooked us breakfast, she journeyed to work and I went out to explore. I made it to the little island of Bar Harbor. Carrie later met up with me after she got off of work.
It’s hard to believe Alabama and Maine are part of the same country. Maine reminded me of the Netherlands with the outdoorsy feel, the active people with their well-behaved dogs and sail boats. The people spoke with such an accent that I couldn’t readily identify as them as Americans or international tourist. For example, locals pronounce the town of Bar Harbor as Ba Ha Buh and Lobster is Lobstah. And they somewhat reminded me of the mom from Bobby’s World (back in the good ol’ days when cartoons made sense). In The South, North Face is a fashion statement to look cute at late fall football games in. In Maine, it and Gortex in general, is a lifestyle staple. They have rocky beaches and people don’t lat and sun bath, but hunt for star fish and shells and skip rocks. Main does Lobster Shacks like we do Barbeque.
I went up to Maine with my southern summer attire packed in my duffel bag. Fortunately, I also brought a jacket (swiped from my sister). So there I was, in Bar Harbor enjoying the refreshingly humidity-free day (never knew this existed in the summer in America) in my sundress and flip flops when, out of nowhere, it poured down freezing cold rain. It was a good time to break for lunch so I ducked into a Chinese restaurant until the rain stopped. Then I was back to poking into little shops. Seriously, Maine looks like the pages right out of Lands end or L.L. Bean that come to life.
Typical Bar Harbor
This was the beach.
I didn’t even recognize this as a beach until I saw masses of people in their gortex congregating.
Carrie and I ducked under a tree as it started to pour down in Bar Harbor.
This is a Maine Beach. Nothing like the Beaches of Florida, Bama, Virginia, Carolinas…
While traveling south from Bar Harbor to Portland I came across another cute little town and had to stop. It was actually the swinging bridge that peaked my interest. That lead to me exploring and coming across the historical Bowdoin College. It was founded in 1794. It’s president was a war hero turned Governor. The Above picture was at his home on the edge of campus which gives tours and sheds light on some of the history of the town of Brunswick, the state of Maine, and the nation of America.
I liked the architecture/engineering of this swinging, pedestrian bridge. And the views from it were breath taking. This is what America looks like!
Visiting Brunswick, Maine is a great day trip from Bar Harbor. Apparently, the southern Coast of Maine is a summer destination spot. The Bush Family vacations here. It’s nicknamed “vacation land.” The next day I explored as I made my way down to Vermont and New Hampshire. Maine has quaint, picturesque little towns and coastlines. The people are friendly. I couldn’t deal with the snow in the winter but Maine will most certainly be my new vacation spot. It’s the type of place you stay for about two weeks. You get a vacation rental, let your children run off with the other tourists children while you relax, boat, swim, spa, and have lobster boils every evening. Then grab the family for hiking excursions or moose sightings.
As I traveled a little further south I made it to Portland . Since you cannot come to Maine and not see a light house, I put in the GPS “Portland Headlight” and it took me here. It’s a historic spot in Port Elizabeth.
I spent two nights in Maine and spent no more than $100 on Chinese food, holiday ornaments, a Maine tee shirt, historical house museum admission, and moose pajamas for my nephew. I saved by accepting the amazing hospitality of my dear friend. Next time, I’ll know to pack for out door activities and a rain jacket. This is not the place for sundresses and cute flip flops. I’ll know that morning is the best time for whale watching and puffin sightings. I did spend some time deciding what to do. Next time, If I come with family, I will know Bar Harbor is great for coastal living and outdoorsy adventures, Brunswick is a charming little town, and Portland is more of the Urban sprawl with pubs and night life. All are all great starting points. I took Route 1 down the coast line and ran into cute little town after cute town. Next time I’ll know to take a full wallet and empty suite case because there are plenty of shopping outlets along the route.
If you visit Bar Harbor, go to Down East Lobster Co — it’s where the locals go. They charge a cooking fee to boil your lobster. Be sure to ask for one pot if you are cooking multiples. You can buy live, cooked, and frozen Lobster there. Not a lot of ambiance but the shell fish is good and cheap. They do a lot of micro brews in this state. You’ll be hard pressed to find Bud Light. So now, when Germans with refined taste in beer think of American beer in disgust, I know I’ll need to send them up north. I liked Sebags and Allagash,
*That’s my quick and dirty observation while trying to stay on schedule while traveling. Stay tuned for updates when time allows(I haven’t even gotten to my lobster experiences).
When you are an American living overseas you start to view the things that go on in your homeland a little differently. You have other standards to compare the American way.
In America, we often like to think we are the standard of excellence. I’m sure many countries believe the same. But with only 30 percent of Americans owning passports, how much expose to other ways of life do we get? Do Americans understand that there are countries that exist were women can walk down the street, intoxicated, at night, alone without fear of attack? Do they realize there are schools that are not locked down and checking students for weapons? Do Americans consider, that, in some countries, if they leave their front door wide open while on a long weekend get away, their belongings will be safe and secure when they return home four days later? I have seen all of those scenarios play out here in Germany and each time I thought, Man, if that was in America, things may not have turned out the same way. Safety is part of the way of life here in Germany. I left my designer purse on a train with my credit card and cash and do you know the finder tracked me down on Facebook to get the purse back to me. I’ve had a busted window for two weeks, and no one broke into my home. I travel alone.
I was once on a train when I met a Nigerian Universität student who was getting his graduate degree in mathematics. I will never understand why people will pay to get a degree in math but that is beside the point. He said something that was so profoundly simple:
“You will never do things excellently if you have never been exposed to excellent ways of doing things.”
When I sit here, saddened and feeling helpless by all the terrible tragic news spawning out of my country, I wonder if Americans are aware that there is a better, safer way. Now, media sensationalism is an issue on its own, but just the fact that terrible tragedies and massacres happen for the news to report on is a concerning issue. Americans are quick to believe that bad, crazy things like the Boston Marathon bombing happens everywhere, we just don’t hear about them. As if it somehow makes the regular occurrence of violence in America more normal. I just don’t think most American have been exposed to a non-violent way of life.
I hear those who oppose gun control. The moment they hear the phrase, “gun control” they know they are opposed without hearing how guns will be controlled. I hear the common argument from gun enthusiast, “guns don’t kill people, people kill people”; “Guns causing deaths is like saying a fork causes obesity” ; “Gun laws only are only followed by law abidding citizens.” I get it. But I wonder if those people would change their tune if they were the ones frantically calling their teenager who went to the movies on a Friday night with friends that got shot up. I wonder if they’d change their argument if they were standing in the lobby of that movie theater surrounded by dead, brace-faced teens with phones going off in their pockets.
Photograph by Nick Ut/AP Photo
I am a southern girl who believes no civilian needs to own an AK-47 or an AR-15. The purpose of these guns is to stop battalions of approaching, adversary armies equipped with equally deadly weapons. And what American, with the except on of the less than 1% in the military, will ever be faced with a situation where they need to protect themselves with a machine gun? No one shoots a deer or a dove with a machine gun! So why have one? So really the only reason for one is to use on humans. A machine gun is overkill (excuse the pun) for self defense. And how can one even practice shooting with one? What gun range allows such weapons? If you are not in the war fighting industry, in the profession of arms, protecting your country against an enemy army, what right do you have to won a military weapon? We often confuse rights with privileges. And Americans have abused the privilege of legally owning military-style weapons. If a zombie apocalypse happens let the U.S. Military handle it. They are trained and equipped far better than the paranoid folks down home who are storing up arsenals for it. Besides, 40% of the military comes from the south. They will defend their homes first, no doubt.
Some argue the simple point that gun control is unconstitutional. They argue prohibiting them infringes on their constitutional rights. Really? Every American has the right to own a weapon of major destruction? Americans have the right to bear arms. No one is taking away our right to own a gun. But just because someone is American does not give him the right to spray bullets at anyone. And concerned Americans should not wait and punish such people after they do. They should make it more difficult to allow it to happen in the first place. I’m pretty sure when Thomas J and his buds wrote up the constitution they had no idea America would be turned into a vigilante, child-killing state.
Yes there will always be ways to kill. But hitting 20 kindergarteners to death with a baseball bat will take more effort than hosing them down with an AK-47. The National Rifle Association released an advertisement hours before Obama spoke on gun control that accused him of hypocrisy for accepting armed Secret Service protection for his daughters. The White House only called the ad “repugnant” and didn’t dignify it with any other response, but allow me to state the obvious— the secret service does not carry machine guns to protect little Sasha and Malia! Besides, those two little girls are targets for evil doers. Most Americans are not. I’d bet most who own or lobby for semi-automatic rifles are not high interest targets for attacks.
So how should Americans prevent violent massacres from becoming common place? Americans do not want their rights to own whatever guns they want taken away. They do not want limits on violent media — that would be censorship and a violation of freedom of speech and expression. What do we do when it is our liberties that breed our violence? Some say stop shielding kids from disappointment so they learn they don’t always get their way, put God back in public schools, parents need to know what’s going on in their kid’s lives, better yet, and women should stop working so they can focus more on their family. I do think families are key. But not everyone has good a good family. How do you enforce parental responsibility? Just shrug our shoulders and say it’s not our problem…until someone comes to our children’s school, mall, or movie theater?
When do we get tired of having to set out memorials?
Since I’ve lived in Germany I’ve watched a list of shootings happen: Tucson Shooting, Portland mall holiday shooting, Aurora, Colorado Movie Theater Shooting, Sandy Hook shooting, and now the Boston Marathon bomb. But nothing of the sort has happened in Germany during that time. In fact, I can only find three school shootings in German history on in 2002, 2009, and one before I was born in 1964. The most recent ones, committed by teenagers just as American shootings are usually committed by young people. The Washington Post and New York Times reported that America’s homicide rate is 20 times more than any other developed country. No other developed country has this problem! Are we leading or trailing? America is on par with war-torn, poverty-stricken, developing (or formally third world) countries. Violence is becoming a common part of our culture like Gaza, Syria, Iraq, Afghanistan and Iran. And yet we pride ourselves at being world leaders and the standard of excellence. If I were from a developing country with America’s crime rate, I wouldn’t be out of line to file asylum and get to stay in Germany as a refugee.
The European political science students I run into just don’t understand our need to balance our constitutional right to own arms. “Why does your country allow crazy people to have guns and kill children,” Hugo, a Political science student at Valencia Universidad in Spain asked. I had the same conversation with a French guy in a bar. It’s so difficult defending our politics to Europeans.
We’ve got to try something. Some politician has got to be confident enough to try to do what’s right without regards to what is going to keep his nice pay check flowing. In Germany, only sportsmen can have guns after getting a license and testing. Either we acknowledge that access to the most deadly weapons are part of the problem or we just shrug our shoulders and chalk it up to our culture. We just accept that school shootings, and killings in public places are just a part of the American way just as those in Gaza, Yemen, Iraq, and Pakistan have adjusted to life with bombs constantly going off around their homes. I say let’s try the president’s plan out. Let’s be concerned with mental health. Let’s do more to keep guns out of the hands of unstable people. Let’s do more than just sit around talking about the travesties then oppose every idea to prevent future tragedies. If we care let’s just try to put laws in place. If they don’t work we can re-evaluate later. Otherwise, let’s just accept violence as an inherent part of our liberties.
People in the U.S. are generally less mobile than those in Europe. Certainly, you can point out a few exceptions: President Barack Obama, singer Amerie, basketball player Kobe Bryant, actor Boris Kodjoe, missionaries, and military members, and so on who have had experiences living long-term abroad. But for most Americans, the biggest move they will ever experience is the one they make when they leave home to attend college. Or perhaps they move across town, across the state, or in more rare occasions across the country. Some estimates say only 30 percent of Americans own a passport, thus even less than that have been out of the country, and even fewer have ventured outside of the North American continent. The concept of remaining in one’s own country is simply unheard of in Europe. Why? Because the European countries are small enough that a two hour drive can launch you across international borders into neighboring countries with different languages and varied cultures.
I believe it is because of our lack of travel experiences that we Americans are particularly comfortable putting simplified labels on other people in an attempt to categorize their background and make assumptions of their beliefs and upbringing. It bothers us when we cannot readily categorize someone — in essence, simplify our understanding of their being. I am not saying Europeans do not do the same thing as well, however, I do believe they are more aware that simple labels do not adequately classify people because they have the opportunity to come across a diversity of people every day. You may say, “America is very diverse! We have so many different ethnic backgrounds that make up Americans.” But that’s just it…at the end of the day we are all Americans with the same primary culture.
In Europe, these simplified categorizations become, well, not so simplified. When you ask a person where he is from, you can expect a variety of answers. Truly, what does that question mean? In the U.S. you will either get a response that articulates where a person was born, where that person grew up, or where that person identifies as home. On rare occasions you may get an answer that deals with lineage to another country. Recently at a Mexican restaurant in Stuttgart-Vaihingen, the owner had the strangest accent that I could not place. My friends and I asked where he was from.
“I’ll give you your meal on the house if you can guess,” he said, “But you’ll never guess.”
I guessed he was a Brit. I would say I was closest, but was I really? He was born and reared in South Africa by parents of English decent. He served in the United States Military, lived in southern California where he learned how to cook Mexican food, and then he moved to Germany for, what else, love. So how is a white South African of English decent who served in the United States military and has lived in Germany for a large portion of his life identified? He didn’t grow up with the same experiences as a British child. He’s kind of South African…but not a Dutch South-African, as he made certain we were aware. According to the article, “Black, White – or South African”, 82 percent of white South Africans identify themselves as South African as opposed to only 44 percent of the black majority of residents there. Yet only 5 percent of white South Africans consider themselves as African. Seems inconsistent right? How can one be South African but not African?
The South-Africa-with-English-lineage-Mexican-restaurant-owner asked how I’d describe where I was from.
That’s been the kicker since I have lived in Germany. Do these people want to assume I’m a tourist and desire to know where in the United States I am from, or do they want to know where in Germany I live, or do they want to know about the origins of my European last name? During a visit to France, a man refused to call me an American. I told him my German & Scottish heritage. African was the only label he would accept. African — as if that label is not complex enough in itself. The Mexican Restaurant owner talked about how he’s called folks back in the United States “African American”, and they corrected him with more accurate labels which influenced him to no longer label people, or to live by the labels incorrectly adhered to him.
The discussion with the restaurant owner led me to recall a student in one of my undergraduate courses who discussed her dilemma whereby she was encouraged to apply for an African-American scholarship. The problem? She was actually only “African”. She emphasized that there was a big difference between African, African-American, and Black American. The cultures, heritage, and traditions are different. That same year, a white South African who earned his American citizenship applied for that same scholarship, causing a stir when it was awarded to him. Some claimed he was more representative of the title “African American” than the intended scholarship target group who were actually black American students who had never been to the continent; yet some refused to accept this pale-skinned man as African even though he lived in Africa for the majority of his life. Perhaps South Africans do not consider themselves as African since others on the outside have a hard time accepting them as such. Is saying that a white person cannot be an African equal to saying that a black person cannot be American or European? How is it different? That was the year I no longer considered myself African American but a Black American.
Then there’s the concept of the Black American vice the American Black which stems from the consciousness of how one self identifies. The differences lie in the distinction of meaning when the words “Black” and “American” are used as an adjective or noun. Is one a Black (noun) who identifies with the world’s collective Black population and you happen to be the American (adjective) representation of Black? Or is one an American (noun) who identifies with America as a whole and happens to be a brown-skinned (adjective) representation of “American-ness”? My college roommate said she thought all the Jews of the world were united as one until she made a pilgrimage to Israel. She then realized she is certainly a Jewish American and not an American Jew.
I have two friends whose identities are a patchwork of beautiful culture, birth, and residence. Annie is a first Generation American from Ghana. Bibi is a first generation American from Nigeria. They speak to their parents in Twi and Yoruba respectively. They grew up with African dress, manners, music, family gatherings, and seemed to know everyone from their countries within a 100 mile radius. Annie had both a traditional southern debutant ball as well as a Ghanaian event where she was introduced to society. I have had classmates who were first generation Americans from Senegal and Sierra Leone, they seemed more representative of the term “African American” than me. I identify more with the “Black American” whose roots are so deeply embedded in America’s history that I cannot claim a particular country in Africa, but could certainly lay legitimate claim to origin from countries on the European continent.
In Europe I find more and more intriguing stories of identity like this. Just recently in the Canary Islands someone approached my beau and I. “American Accents!” he exclaimed before asking where we were from. He called himself a native Virginian (but didn’t call himself a Southerner, though he did label me as such.) He said he left a lucrative job as an attorney after being disgusted when he discovered that justice was dependent on income. Instead, he chose a profession as a videographer recording whales and sea life in Spain. His mother was from Tenerife in the Canary Islands, and he held dual citizenship in Spain and the U.S. He spoke with quite a strange accent. He almost sounded British, which made me wonder if he developed his dialect while hanging around the Brits who inhabit the islands, or perhaps his mother was a British Canary Island dweller or a native Spaniard. There he was, a fellow southerner with a complex identity. I wonder if he ever reflects on his unique identity.
One of the most intriguing conversations of my life was with someone with an unclassifiable identity. My beau and I were dining in a fancy French restaurant in downtown Stuttgart (Le Cassoulet you’ve got to try it if you’re ever in the area). Our interest was inexplicably drawn to a party of four at a nearby table. They flowed smoothly in conversation switching back and forth from French to German. My Beau, a mildly talented French speaker, eavesdropped to see what he could understand. Finally, the most verbose of the group had enough wine to break the ice with us. We asked if he was French or German. The three men and one woman in the party chuckled. “Where are we from?” the lady pondered, buying time until she could decide how she would tell the story. The lively man’s German-Jewish parents knew something was heating up in Germany before WWII, they fled to Shanghai just before he was born.
“Why Shanghai?,” I asked.
“Why not?,” was her response.
The West had restrictions on immigration at that time. So the only place to go was east, “and who wants to go to Poland?” the man joked (or so I think). So his family, like many others, went Far East where he spent the first seven years of his life in China. When it was safe to return to Europe, his family settled in France. His first European home was France. Now he is a well-traveled business man who frequents Stuttgart. So where is he truly from, and how does a one-city or one-country response to “where are you from” adequately articulate anything about this man’s experiences?
In The South you’ll often times hear, “Where are your people from?” as if the answer will validate your existence and shed light on your character and what is to be expected of you. Sometimes people will proudly tell you the county or state they hail from or even what schools they attended as if that should tell you all you need to know of them. It’s not uncommon for folks in The South to live on the same family land for generations, so perhaps that question was appropriate many years ago. But since WWII, people have been set in motion and are constantly on the go. Among the hundreds of discoveries I’ve made about myself and the world through my European experience, I am learning that it is less apt to try to define people by where they are from than to get to know their story. Accents, bone structure, skin color, eye shape, language, teeth, and mannerisms can help gauge where a person is from but you’ll miss out on their amazing story if you stop there and don’t get to know them. Although our history forms the building blocks of our collective societal foundation, it’s our personal experiences that completes the construction of the individuals we truly are.
I challenge my readers to venture out and get to know someone’s story; even someone you think you know quite well (like a family member or co-worker with whom you sit beside every day). You may have to build relationships up or break barriers down to get past the “What are your hobbies, how many kids do you have” type questions. Wonderful soul-revealing conversations include discussions of what drives and motivates a person or how they overcome conflict. You might be delightfully surprised to find that your unassuming aunt has stories that offer a depth to who she is, and that could inspire you for years to come.
