I roadtripped from New Jersey to Virginia today. I’ll be spending the next couple of days in Washington, D.C. It’ll still be a squeeze to fit in as much as we’d like to in just a few days, but I think it’s a more achievable task than the one we have before us in New York City (which mission I will continue next week upon my return to NJ).
During much of this trip I’ve had songs in my head: Downtown, Oklahoma, Santa Fe, Good Morning Baltimore, Country Road, and so on. That’s right, because all I know of most places in the United States is from popular culture, I have a medley of music in my head – Broadway, folk, pop, you name it – which plays every time I hear a word which triggers a musical memory.
After arriving in VA, I followed my brother to the Udvar-Hazy Center, one of the Smithsonian Air and Space Museums. The planes were displayed wonderfully, but I couldn’t help but feel that it was displaying a history of war. It was cool, but sort of mindbreaking, that they could display equipment used in both sides of a war – if they can obtain a weapon from the other side (in peacetime, presumably), what is the relationship between the warring parties really like?
Making small talk with my newly-met cousins later in the day, my brother stated that he loved New York City. A well-travelled cousin agreed; it was one of his favourite cities. In answer to a question about the USA, my brother replied that he would also like to visit San Francisco, Seattle, and so on. This made me think. Although I have my own reasons behind why I may not respond with the same level of emotion as other people to commonly enjoyed experiences, I am finding that a cause could be that I simply have different interests to other people. I am not as interested in those cities. In the United States, I would like to visit the Deep South. I want to visit Ohio. I want to visit New Orleans. I want to visit places which are truly different from my own. These responses are all instinct, though; none of these are opinions I have consciously formed (not to mention I know next to nothing about the geography of the USA).
More on personal safety in this country. I was walking down the main street of Alexandria, VA this evening when my brother halted next to me. I’m not sure we should go any further, he said. The waterfront was just a couple of buildings ahead. Why not? I asked. It might not be safe, my twenty-something brother replied. I was quite surprised. Yes, it was night, but there were two of us and it was the main street of a fairly well-lit small town. It hadn’t crossed my mind that it might not be safe. We took a few steps forward, past a few cars which were stopped but with engines still running. Those are cops, my brother said, seeming relieved, and continuing ahead. I personally didn’t feel any safer because there were cops around. After all I’ve heard about cops in America, I have to say that at times I view them as much of a threat as, well, other things. I feel guilty about this, because I have a lot of respect for police and the jobs that they do. But I have to admit what my first instincts were.
