How Can Things Change Like This In Six Weeks?

Going home tomorrow. Plus, some Russian humor

A Russian joke: Every day a man would go to the news stand, pick up a paper, look at the front page, and put it back. He did this every day. Finally the news seller, curious and a bit annoyed, said, Why don’t you just buy the paper? The man answered, I’m looking for the obituaries. The news seller said, You idiot. You won’t find them there because they’re in the back of the paper, not the front. Not the ones I’m looking for, said the man.

I was going to add to the joke. I was going to write one lone line that simply said, “comrade”. But I didn’t because I’m still an American. Just like I used to say I was Catholic, even after I had stopped practicing for years. It took a very long time for me to shrug off the name.

Catholic.

Now I wonder if my American identity will go away, too. What did it even mean? When did it matter?

Six weeks ago, when people learned we were Americans, they were always a bit surprised that Americans would be traveling as we do. As opposed to the young Americans you’d find, college students who were “studying abroad”.

Now, when people hear us speaking English, the dynamic has change. They first ask, Are you Canadian? English? When we say we’re from the United States, there’s a definite pause. A step back. A strange look comes over their faces, in their eyes. Distant. Taking us in.

(Except the German and her Polish husband. They just launched into talking. They just had their elections, too. They have experience with what now is happening in the United States. Remember the Swedish poet I wrote about recently? “They have no idea what’s coming.” Karaoke and jackboots in the night.)

What is this thing called an American? They used to know. Have some idea. Now they have no idea. Who are you? We used to know. Or we thought we did.

But me? I knew all along your notion of an American was a myth. The “all men are created equal” and the “streets are lined with gold” fairy stories. It didn’t matter to me, though, because I benefited from your disillusion.

Not anymore. Now you see me for what I truly am. What I knew all along.

Is it for the better? Maybe. Maybe not.

Canadians we’ve met say, We have nothing against you. It’s your country...

For us, Sue and me, it’s easy to separate the person from the country. But we know there are people who can’t. Who won’t.

Come live in Canada, said one, not entirely joking. Yes, but it’s not that easy, becoming an immigrant. The question of leaving home or staying is a big one.

Doesn’t it make you appreciate immigrants more? For their bravery. For their pluck.

No? Well, if it doesn’t, can you see the problem?

Again, no?

It makes us quiet. Extra polite when interacting with people. We don’t want to draw attention to ourselves. It’s maybe the first lesson in becoming an immigrant. We’re learning.

We visited the Gulbenkian Museum on Sunday. I’ve been there several times before, so I just kind of wandered. Like going back to an old neighborhood. The permanent collection pretty much outlines the history of Western art. I stopped to admire the illuminations of the ancient books. The only other time I’ve seen others as impressive was at the mighty Met, in New York.

A tiny landscape by Corot. I was drawn more to the smaller works, instead of the grand pieces. I skirted the two Rembrandts, identified as much as anything by the crowd gathered around them.

There was a temporary exhibit that confused the hell out of me. Which isn’t a bad thing at all. Something about the environment. I mishmash of 2D, video, sculpture. I’d normally go back again to see if I could learn more about it, from it, but this time my time is limited, so it will remain confusing in my mind.

There were a few pieces that held my attention.

I think I spent most of the time watching people. I get the feeling I won’t see these pieces again. Any of this again.

More people…

More images to work with when I return to the United States.

Tomorrow.