MISS AMERICANA
- USA, the country of opportunity, up and down -
The U.S. is a great power that polarizes the world. It makes you all curious to get to know the country and the people who live in this special cosmos.
After we had to postpone our trip by three years due to Corona, which we would never have expected before the pandemic outbreak, our trip finally started in the summer of 2023. As always, when you have something so big in mind, the good and not-so-well-intentioned advice and messages are present. It is too hot there in August; there are only overcrowded national parks, and everything is too expensive. Who do you think you are, going there in the hot summer months? I had meticulously planned and pre-booked everything, and despite the bad news, we set off with a lot of anticipation and positive energy to conquer the land of unlimited possibilities. After a relaxed and usual orderly flight with the German Lufthansa, we set foot on the legendary American ground in San Francisco, arriving in a completely different world. The fact that data protection is handled fundamentally differently here than at home becomes clear when entering the country. In addition to fingerprints and a digital photo, which is stored without having to deliver ten signatures on a thick stack of paper, you are asked insistently and with a severe face what you are up to, how much money you have with you, etc. I am an advocate of personal freedom and the protection of one's own identity. But when you consider that potential bandits also have to hand in their data when entering the country, this might be a good idea.
We had passed the "mustering" and were allowed to start our adventure. If you know Munich and compare it with what welcomed us here, then you know that the Bavarian metropolis can be described more as a village than a large American city. On our first trip on public transport, a young man took a seat next to us with a knife attached to his trousers, so big that you could quickly kill a bear with it. An invisible, pathetically smelly smell rose to our noses when we got out. For our daughter and me, it was an indefinable, horrible scent. After a few days, in which we had encountered this fragrance experience again and again, we asked the male member of our travel group if he would also smell this indefinable thing. He grinned and explained that these joints polluted the air so much. Now we knew it, too, what drugs smelled like. We got our rental bikes on the first day of our vacation without wasting any time. Every typical tourist in a major American city travels with designated tourist vehicles such as buses or taxis. We don't, of course. We cycled more kilometers than a local puts together in his entire life here. Americans love their cars and don't dream of changing this situation.
Nevertheless, San Francisco is an Eldorado for cyclists. The city has bike lanes, and we've used them all single-handedly – from the Golden Gate Bridge to the Painted Ladies. By the way, it's a good remedy for jet lag. You're so tired every night that your body doesn't notice something wrong with time. Another advantage is that you can immerse yourself in the different worlds by bike. First, you cycle through the squeaky-clean financial district, only to arrive at streets littered with tents on the edge of which people live because they can no longer afford "normal life". On such a bike tour, this country impressively proves that it does not have the name "Land of Unlimited Opportunities" for nothing – in both directions, up and down, without the social security network we are familiar with. Yet, paradoxically, most Americans have an unwavering sense of humor. They are said to have no culture. That's true, in a way. But is a way of life whole of serenity, gratitude, humor, and helpfulness, as we learned impressively during our trip, so much worse than "culture"? As always, there are many opinions on this. In any case, the Americans have inspired me with their way, and I have decided to keep a piece of it. We've been back home for a few weeks now, and it's not always easy not to let the German mentality steal this "way of life". I won't give up!
Back to the trip. The best way to get to know the breathtaking nature of this large country is to rent a campervan. We already had a snappy driver with us (see "Winter Camping"), and with time, I also got faster, so we covered several thousand kilometers. From time to time, I was driven off the wheel because it was still too slow, but this happened less and less often as time went on. The journey was the goal, and we had the funniest encounters in parking lots and the supermarket. Our very first purchase was an experience. The gallon is the most common and popular beverage packaging unit. We were still delighted at the checkout that we had just bought 3.8 liters of iced tea, which we would not even drink at home. The friendly young man at the checkout and his colleague of retirement age, who packed our groceries and brought them to the car for us, thought it was "cute," a funny conversation ensued about our origins and travel plans. The "packing grandpa" grabbed it courageously and skilfully maneuvered our shopping cart full of bags to our motorhome. He wanted to know a lot about this "great vehicle" and didn't miss the opportunity to put the bags from the shopping cart into the car. Employment and the consequent social participation make American retirees so much more fun and grateful for life than their wealthy German counterparts, who, while indulging in idleness, become increasingly dissatisfied. I don't want to presume to give good advice to people who have worked all their lives. It may be worth a moment to think about this phenomenon. There would be plenty of fields of activity.
The question of Americans' favorite pastime is quickly and unambiguously answered: making a fire! On every corner, you can buy "Firewood" and on every campground, there is a professional fire pit in every plot. On the other hand, they save on the equipment of the sanitary facilities. Regular showering is overrated, anyway. With a heavy heart, we buried our obsession with cleanliness and turned to making fire. Full of enthusiasm, we cycled off to buy two bundles of firewood in the camper market. The wood, adventurously strapped onto our bikes, we certainly made a funny picture. Our American camping neighbor eyed us a bit strangely. We hoped he was well-disposed towards us because he always had a pistol on his belt. Finally, the evening came, and we were looking forward to our BBQ. But then came the rain - an offshoot of the hurricane from the coast. And so our first fire fell into the water. This evening, rain accompanied us for a whole week, which did not bother us. However, since the space in our motorhome was very limited, we had to share the area in our toilet with our firewood during this time. The smell of wood made you feel very close to nature while visiting the quiet place.
By the way, the gloomy prophecies of our travel prophets who stayed home, that it was too hot and busy, did not come true. One could only guess that Americans were also plagued by "overtourism" a few years ago. But in their way, they made short work of it then. In the national parks, there were only shuttle buses on the famous scenic routes, and, to our great delight, you could also cycle everywhere. Rangers check compliance with the rules. When faced with such a ranger, armed like the SEK and big as a cupboard, you quickly think about whether it is better to comply with the campfire ban due to drought and, if in doubt, to pack your firewood again. After all, they won't have to store all their wood supplies in the toilet. Hiking trails are unceremoniously closed, and the right of access is raffled off in a lottery. Don't you think so? Me neither. Until we won a "Permit" in such a lottery, we set off on the road lined with checkpoints the next day, where we had to show our winning confirmation and I.D. every time. The checkpoints were happy with us, as it seemed very hopeless to win. There are said to be people applying for it for years. We appreciated this luck and enjoyed our climb to "Angels Landing" very much. This unique trail got its name from its discoverer because it is so steep that only angels can land on it. It was already a hot number, but the thrill was rewarded with a breathtaking view.
After some time between wood fire, camper happiness, and nature, Las Vegas was waiting for us, a glittering fairytale world popular with tourists worldwide. Since the tourists, contrary to American habits, do not participate in gambling as much as the casinos would like, they take the dollars from you right away when parking, eating, and sightseeing. The result remains the same: visitors are broke, and casino owners rub their hands. We still had our wood next to the thunder beam. In case of total bankruptcy, we would have just made a campfire and grilled the remaining sausages.
It didn't come to that. We moved on in time. Our journey was slowly coming to an end. Only the famous Yosemite National Park was waiting for us. Due to this location's high popularity and a big fire that destroyed some of the campsites a few years ago, it was almost a miracle that we got a night at a campground. One of the most beautiful places was waiting for us, probably to make it even more difficult for us to say goodbye. The seating area with a fire pit directly on the Merced River and a few meters further up, between the trees, our motorhome, without eye contact with the neighboring campers - which would be our undoing later. The only safety notice we got at the entrance was that there were a lot of bears there. The safety rules you should follow on a flyer if you value your life.
We used the remaining hours for a panoramic drive through the park to solemnly fetch our last "Firewood" from its exclusive depot after dark and let ourselves be carried away by our dreams one last time while looking into the crackling campfire. All of a sudden, out of nowhere, a dark, deep roar echoed towards us. Bears! We jumped up, as if stung by the tarantula, and disappeared into our camper faster than Usain Bolt could ever be. Hallelujah! Outside, our food was on the table, which, according to the instructions in the bear country, was not allowed under any circumstances, and next to it, our campfire blazed into the night sky, which you also have to extinguish before you leave. At that moment, all eyes were on our male companion. Fuck emancipation! Now, he could prove what a real man is. And sure enough, after a few minutes, armed with his tiny pocket knife and a headlamp, he made his way out how we would have loved to have a knife like the man next to us on the bus in San Francisco (maybe he just came from Yosemite?). Shortly afterward, our personal hero reappeared, grinning, to tell us that it was probably the dog from the neighboring camper that had scared us so much. Sometimes, seeing what's going on with your neighbor would be better.
And so we crawled out of our mobile home again, prepared everything for a quick escape despite the all-clear, and enjoyed our last hours on American soil at our campfire.
Traveling educates. What did I learn on this trip? That luxury and social security are not prerequisites for serenity and unwavering humor. And that we Germans often stand in our way with our German thoroughness. Admittedly, it isn't easy to find the right balance and stay relaxed because not everything is always as simple as it seems from the outside. Maybe Karl Lauterbach had the same experience as me because he was behind legalizing cannabis. Because sometimes you would need a little smoke to take a more chill approach. If I ever meet him, I'll ask him. Until then, I'm practicing going through life with a smile, even without a joint, and not taking the daily madness too much to heart – staying a little bit Miss Americana.