you were a miracle of a human being.
Friday, 25 July 2008
Sunday, 13 July 2008
The Chap Olympics
Stumbled upon yesterday while on a walk with my friend Annette in Hampstead Heath: A huge group of people dressed in 1920s costume, men and women, assembled in a huge meadow, playing some kind of series of games.
We asked one of them who walked our way what on earth was going on.
"Oh, it's the Chap Olympics," he said.
"What is that?" asked Annette.
"Well, basically a celebration of all things gentlemanly." he explained. "And we have contests. Right now it's a cucumber-sandwich-tossing contest."
God bless London for having some of the most diverse cultural communities on earth-- but this seemed to take the cake. We watched for a while, bemused, as people streamed in. They were all around our age. Young women wearing fancy 20s style dresses, men with suspenders and 20s style hats...
As we walked away Annette commented how it used to be the case that telling someone he isn't a gentleman was considered a huge insult-- a way of claiming rank in a classist system.
"So the chap olympics," she continued "are a sort of celebration of classism. Fascinating, really, this country we live in."
Personally, I thought it was pretty damn amusing.
Traveling While American
On a recent trip to Turkey, I took a few days with my friend Denise to see Cappadocia, a fairytale like landscape of strangely shaped mountains with houses and churches built into caves in the mountain walls.
In the evenings, we'd hang out with Halis, the manager of our small hotel and a really nice guy who has worked as a tour guide for many years. One evening, we stumbled on the topic of America and whether Americans need to be careful about disclosing their identity when traveling abroad. Denise and I were pretty open about saying that we were from California- a place we love and are proud of. But we could understand why some people prefer (in some instances) to pretend they are Canadian.
Halis completely derided that practice, saying that it's offensive to assume that the people you talk with abroad aren't open-minded enough to judge you on your own merits. I could see his point. The vast majority of people anywhere are pretty reasonable.
But later that week, on the subway in Istanbul, I faced the same dilemma. A guy sitting across from me asked me where I was from. (Denise, meanwhile, on the other side of the aisle, was thoroughly entertained by a cute young man who was telling her about his Turkish music career.)
"California," I told him.
"Oh, you're American," he said. "I'm Iraqi."
I wasn't sure how to respond. It was one of the only times since the invasion that I'd met an ordinary Iraqi who actually lives in Iraq, not the diaspora.
"Where are you from?" I asked. I found out he was from Mosul and that he was in Turkey on business. Except- he didn't seem to be dressed for business. His clothes were rather plain and I kept looking at his eyeglasses, which had a crack in the corner and were missing one of the side handles that would have kept them attached to his ear.
What do you say to an ordinary Iraqi you meet in the subway? Like it or not, when you travel abroad, meet a stranger, and tell them you are American, you automatically become a representative of America as a whole.
"I'm sorry," I said, "for the state of turmoil your country is in. I apologize for that. I really hope things will get better."
"Thank you," he replied. He had a kind look on his face.
Three days later, as I was preparing to go the airport to return to London, the US consulate was attacked. Gunfire. Several dead. Lots of confusion and turmoil. Lots of worrying about people we knew at the consulate. And it wasn't the first time for me. I lived in Kenya and worked for USAID about a year before that embassy was attacked.
I texted Halis from the airport. I asked him if the event had made him change his thinking at all about whether Americans should be careful about disclosing their identities.
"No, I still think the same," he texted back.
I'm not sure I do. I'm really not sure what I think on this particular topic anymore.
In the evenings, we'd hang out with Halis, the manager of our small hotel and a really nice guy who has worked as a tour guide for many years. One evening, we stumbled on the topic of America and whether Americans need to be careful about disclosing their identity when traveling abroad. Denise and I were pretty open about saying that we were from California- a place we love and are proud of. But we could understand why some people prefer (in some instances) to pretend they are Canadian.
Halis completely derided that practice, saying that it's offensive to assume that the people you talk with abroad aren't open-minded enough to judge you on your own merits. I could see his point. The vast majority of people anywhere are pretty reasonable.
But later that week, on the subway in Istanbul, I faced the same dilemma. A guy sitting across from me asked me where I was from. (Denise, meanwhile, on the other side of the aisle, was thoroughly entertained by a cute young man who was telling her about his Turkish music career.)
"California," I told him.
"Oh, you're American," he said. "I'm Iraqi."
I wasn't sure how to respond. It was one of the only times since the invasion that I'd met an ordinary Iraqi who actually lives in Iraq, not the diaspora.
"Where are you from?" I asked. I found out he was from Mosul and that he was in Turkey on business. Except- he didn't seem to be dressed for business. His clothes were rather plain and I kept looking at his eyeglasses, which had a crack in the corner and were missing one of the side handles that would have kept them attached to his ear.
What do you say to an ordinary Iraqi you meet in the subway? Like it or not, when you travel abroad, meet a stranger, and tell them you are American, you automatically become a representative of America as a whole.
"I'm sorry," I said, "for the state of turmoil your country is in. I apologize for that. I really hope things will get better."
"Thank you," he replied. He had a kind look on his face.
Three days later, as I was preparing to go the airport to return to London, the US consulate was attacked. Gunfire. Several dead. Lots of confusion and turmoil. Lots of worrying about people we knew at the consulate. And it wasn't the first time for me. I lived in Kenya and worked for USAID about a year before that embassy was attacked.
I texted Halis from the airport. I asked him if the event had made him change his thinking at all about whether Americans should be careful about disclosing their identities.
"No, I still think the same," he texted back.
I'm not sure I do. I'm really not sure what I think on this particular topic anymore.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
