Happy July 4th everyone. What a time to come back to the States and what a contrast in worlds and environments. First, the Cancun airport, even in low season is a veritable zoo of humanity leaving the world of beaches and going who knows where. Feeling a little silly at arriving three hours early (just in case there were unexpected delays in route to the airport), I felt justified when I saw at least 200 people in line before me. In varying states of undress and some still on a tequila buzz, travelers – having passed through security, spilled into a barrage of Duty Free shops and a dizzying overload of everything from tequila and vanilla to Gucci. Re-entry to the world of consumerism continues to be a little brutal.
Being in an empty airport all night is an experience. Those of you who saw the YouTube of the man trapped in the Vegas airport filming his own music video with Celine Dion’s “All by Myself,” may have wondered how he got all those shots with NO ONE in the background… Well – here’s San Francisco’s airport to the right. An interesting re-discovery of US air carriers was the fact that even on a 5 hour flight, there’s no free lunch – not even peanuts. Contrast this with Ethiopian Airlines that managed a three course complimentary meal complete with wine on a three hour flight. However, customs in San Francisco was thankfully easy, and I hoped this bode well for over-nighting in an empty airport while I waited for a 5:50 AM connecting flight to Oregon. The gift in that was being met by the sweet PCV friend who had to return to the States after being hit by the drunk driver in Uganda. The last time I saw her she was packaged ready for MedeVac to South Africa. What a great reunion! But that still left 6 sleepless hours.
Such an environment is ripe for introspection and remembering other airports, other trips, and other transitions. I realized I’ve lived in each of the four corners of the US and then some: Lousiana/Texas, Florida, Southern California, West Virginia and soon – Oregon. I don’t know that that says anything in particular – just part of the Gypsy mentality I guess. The walk I took yesterday afternoon through one of the amazing forests near Mt. Hood and along the Salmon River triggered an awareness of the contrasts inherent in the last two places in particular: the heat, sunlight, blindingly white
sand and turquoise waters of Playa to the cool, fern covered, moss draped banks along the tumbling waters of the Salmon River. And it all shifted in a day’s time – a real statement about the times in which we live. Things, places and situations can change in a heartbeat.
A good Peace Corps friend of mine reminded metoday of where we were on July 4th one year ago: Zanzabar! I have tended to fold my memories of Peace Corps into one envelope labeled Uganda and it feels like it was both yesterday and in the far past – yet it was only a year ago. I’d lost this beautiful memory of a fabulous time with friends in the over-arching memory of the difficulty of living in Uganda. That’s a loss, but it has colored my perceptions of the present and my ideas of the future, which unfolds in front of me like one of those sticky fruits roles where every little bit that unrolls is stuck to what preceeds it.
As I acclimate to the “first world,” having used Mexico as a transition to lessen the incoherence between the third world and this one, I gradually shed or at least become aware of the baggage brought with me – the stuff sticking to me. While in Uganda, I never went out after dark: too dangerous. In Mexico, I began poking my head out and discovering there’s really not a boogeyman in every shadow. In Playa I went to a friends’ house for breakfast and coffee and realized I was scooping up the extra salt on the plate – leaving no grain behind – only after my friend said, “You know you don’t have to clean the plate – you’re not in Uganda anymore.” There are other holdovers: a continuing – though reduced – hyper-vigilence, conservation of every resource, meticulous management of consumables – not quite realizing things are readily available and don’t have to come in care packages, dread and hyper-preparedness around travel. Now in the States I marvel that I can drink water from the tap and it’s OK to take a bath because I won’t drain the water tank doing it – not that I had a bathtub there anyway.
Since I now have a US phone, I suppose that makes me a citizen again – albeit not a very active one because I don’t exactly know how to use it. It turns off at its own will – not mine, and seems to have a prima-dona attitude, unlike those tough little phones in Uganda that tolerated being dropped in the mud, coming apart in three pieces and still working when you put them back together. It beeps at me for reasons unknown – I don’t know it’s beep-language yet, it not being English, Spanish or Acholi. But time heals all wounds – or wounds all heels – right? I suppose I will catch up, but am not at all sure that’s what I want to do.
So here I am in Welches, Oregon at the base of Mt. Hood where the beauty almost makes you weep – the pure richness and accessibility of it – picturesque little towns, bright purple and pink baskets of Petunias, giant evergreens and trails populated with families carefree enough to hike in the woods with the family dog, cold water rapids from melting snow. I suppose in part it’s being in a culture where despite our problems and the complexity of life, we have enough disposable income and time and feel safe enough to go climb a mountain, to travel, to expend energy in ways other than finding food and to think about what we’d like to do rather than endure what life has dished out.What strikes me as one of the most salient characteristics of the developed world is the presence of choice. It doesn’t mean that those choices are easy or that we even recognize the reality of their existence, but for the most part, they are there in every breath. It includes things as mundane as food choices: not IF we can eat, but which of many possibilities are we in the mood for. The down side is that few realize just how much opportunity to choose we have on a moment to moment basis and therefore don’t really exercise the right to choose, living instead by default.
So, in gratitude – here’s to choice and all that that entails, including the responsibility to choose wisely and often lest the freedom inherent in the privilege is lost.
Happy 4th of July!