Groundhog Day

Today is Groundhog Day.

As an interested party, we from this blog celebrate this beautiful tradition, imported to North America from Central Europe, where it does not exist any more, and we are curious about what do Phil and the others predict for this year: are we going to have an early spring or do we still have to go through six more weeks of winter?

Great Plains

I have seen a world of ice covering the land, whose incomparable beauty on the reflections of the delta Sun would have brought tears to the eyes of any mortal.

I have seen the ice melting, leaving space for a vast primeval ocean in whose womb everything began.

I have seen the thunderous clash of continents, I have seen land masses emerging, I have seen green organisms conquering them.

I have seen the rising of mighty rocky mountains to the West.

I have seen a very bright explosion to the Southeast that brought cold, famine and death.

I have seen a shallow sea leave place to a sea of grass, its vast ranges pastured by gigantic bison herds, further than the eye can see, reaching beyond the limits of my extensive dominions.

I have seen Red People living in balance with the Nature, feeding on bison but revering them at the same time.

I have seen the Great Stream to the East.

I have seen the first White People come from the South, moved by their greed in search of the descendants of the seven bishops of Mérida, in search of the mythical cities of Cíbola and Quivira. I have seen them fail.

I have seen the second wave of White People come from the East, at first on poorly constructed wagons, later riding smoky iron steeds, restless marching on shiny paths.

I have seen White People hunting millions of bison to sell their skins and bones and leave everything else to rot away. I have seen the bison being driven to near extinction by pure greed.



I have seen White People forcing Red People to move away, into the West or into reservations.

I have seen millions of settlements under the Homestead Act, I have seen the land divided in great numbers of 500 acre farms, poor White People trying to make a living out of them.

I have seen technological achievements cause deep open wounds to the land. I have seen ploughs that had the power to wipe out the soil, the same soil that kept moisture even in dry periods.

I have seen people mistakenly thinking that the climate of the region had changed, that rain really followed the plough. I have seen the land being converted into a massive granary for the contenders of a distant world-scale war. I have seen mechanization. I have seen the land being squeezed to the last of its riches.

I have seen the return of drought. I have seen the uppermost layers of the land literally being blown away in my arms. I traveled on dust storms, I brought the soil thousands of miles away, I deposited much of it on the bottom of the ocean. I created black blizzards on half a continent.



I have seen millions of people having to leave their homes buried under the dust. I have seen them load all their possessions in poor trucks and set out for the West, where oranges grow and honey flows... at least that is what they thought. I have seen misery, hunger and starvation.

I have seen thousands of ghost towns.

I have seen strange circles sucking water much faster than it can possibly be recovered.



I have seen slender white towers growing on the land. I am going to gracefully give them a little amount of my endless energy.



(all images taken from Wikimedia Commons)

Through wars of worlds / invaded by Mars

A couple of weeks ago, October the 30th, was the 70th anniversary of the famous radio broadcast of "The War of the Worlds" adapted from H.G. Wells's novel.

This broadcast not only meant fame for a young Orson Welles, but there were also reports of thousands of frightened citizens blocking telephone lines by calling police stations and news agencies, really believing that the Martians just started an actual invasion of the Earth after having landed at Grover's Mill, New Jersey. Reports talked about mass panic as well, people fleeing their homes and driving miles away to seek shelter. Even though the general atmosphere of tension and anxiety that preceded World War II might have had something to do with these reactions, careful research points out that the reports were intentionally exaggerated by the press, in a time where many newspapers where concerned that radio, a new medium, would make them defunct.

This story is often taken as a proof of North-Americans' gullibility and ingenuousness. Not seldom you can see a self-satisfaction smile along the account of this anecdote, kind of: "Americans, you know...". You may see the same kind of smile on an European when reading "Employees must wash hands before returning to work" in US food court toilets, or when filling up the I-94W immigration form where, after questions like "Do you belong to a terrorist organization?", we are warned that answering YES to any of them might result in denial of our US visa. Sly smiles that come because we think we can see an idiotic society everywhere, to whom what is to be done must be always said, as if people were little children.



One of the things that make you feel bad when you live abroad, when you have to live your life in a different society, is the lack of cultural references, those millions of little details, winks, processes, conventions, that a native knows without being aware of it but that may suppose a big problem for you. Quite often you have the feeling that you are not getting it all right, that there is something that everyone knows but that you ignore, something that turns your mountains into sand corns for the native.

I already wrote about frames and its fragility, and about how they adapt to a new environment without us noticing it. But I am aware that you will never be able to erase this uncomfortable there-is-something-I-am-missing feeling, no matter how many years you live in another country. I think that the lack of the new country's cultural references is one of the toughest problems an immigrant has to face. That's why every help in this direction is more than welcome and having someone telling you how things work, what are you supposed to do, assuming no previous knowledge, no common frame, is a blessing.

The US, and North America in general, are a land of immigrants: there is almost no one there not having an ancestor born outside the US. Maybe that is the reason why every rule has to be stated in a very very clear way. The reason why everything has to be expressed without any margin to wrong interpretation. Maybe the need to harmonize several very different reference frames, and not an idiotic population, is what makes them appear little children to whom everything has to be explained. In a land of immigrants where everyone has its unique bias, its cultural nuances, an accurate setting of the rules of the game with no possible misunderstanding, is a must.



This summer I was, in a short period of time, in New York City and in Paris. And interestingly enough, in New York I never had the feeling of not knowing how to do something, where to wait for my luggage, where to wait for my turn in the lane or what was to be found at its end. A interesting feeling of comfort, as if the path to adaptation into that society had been thoroughly packed down long ago. Some days later, as I arrived in Paris, again in the Old Europe, not only did I need a while to understand where was my luggage, I surprised myself quite often thinking "Merde!, I am missing something again".

The American Way

When travelling to the United States, Lufthansa offers some practical advice on how to complete the I-94W immigration form. Among other tips, it is recommended for European visitors to write numbers the American way, and not the European way, so that no misunderstanding can happen with immigration officers.



In spite of a lot of striking similarities, especially if you compare North-Eastern America with Central Europe, there is still an awful lot that's done differently on each side of the Atlantic Ocean.

The one thing that appeared most evident to me is that North Americans talk. A lot. It does not really matter if they know you or not. They are eager and willing to talk to table neighbours in a bar, spontaneously offer help if you just seem to be a little lost, ask you about your country or, simply, listen to your story. Someone told me that if you ask an average North American for the time, you have already made a new friend. And it seems to be true. Not only in lovely small towns at the heart of a National Park, but also in big cities (so big, in fact, that some might consider them capital of the western world).



This US people feature might be somewhat surprising to us residents of the Old World, where everyone tends to mind her or his own business and don't care about the others'. Confronted with the true masters of small talk, we felt a little strange at first. But we quickly recognised the advantages of giving conversation to people. Because thanks to perfect strangers that were willing to talk to us, we have been to places that we would never have discovered otherwise.



I think the greatness of this attitude is that it ends up in win-win situations quite often, in which both parties get something useful. And even nothing more but a friendly conversation with no obvious chance for anyone, it is still a nice experience. Either way, such an approach to social relations lets North Americans being open to new opportunities, to unexpected chances, practising actively the so-called "networking". Its principle is to establish contacts between people you know, who might be interested in knowing each other, whatever the reason. That way, the tremendous power of exponential growth is put to work for us.

A week before travelling to the States, I was waiting to get my international driving license at the ÖAMTC (the Austrian Automobile Association) in Salzburg. An old lady in front of me was asking for road information for her vacation, and I heard she asked about destinations on the coast between Barcelona and Tarragona. I smiled and waited for my turn. As I later got my license and went out, I saw she was still there at the parking lot, and I thought on approaching her and tell her that Tarragona is my birthplace and offer her some more advice. But, you know, I'm a little shy and do not feel really comfortable starting conversations with strangers, so I just unlocked my bike and rode away.



And I almost immediately regret not having talked to her, because nothing bad could have happened, she would have get first-hand information about the region from a native and, who knows?, probably I would have got something from her, even just the satisfaction of helping someone would have been fine. But no.

Maybe next time?