May 15, 2004
Gettin the Hell Outta Dodge
Oh Canada, Eh?
I often hear from Canadians attempts to create or express their identity. They seem constantly to struggle with it, often measuring up (or down) to Americans. Bizarrely, for an outsider, there is plenty of Canadian identity. It hit me right at the border, in the organic focus of the nation's flag. Next was the relaxed, coherent and cheerful young waitresses in the first bar we stopped for a snack. Her banter verged upon a slightly kinky attitude compared with tired platitudes we'd been served across America. Expressing Canadian identity in words is admittedly, tough. European sensibilities diffused in North American vastness? A cocktail of British quirkiness and Gallic flamboyance? It comes across vividly in the confident stride of multi-cultured Torontonians engaged at every level of the city's business. Unlike the melting pot of big business USA, where there's always a hint of condescending sympathy for those who can’t quite pull off a crisp WASP accent. Condescension that provokes a pushier, reactionary style among minorities.
Neighboring countries always help shape the identity of a nation through shared history and their daily trade interaction. The French and Germans are not concerned about melting into each other. Language and a few hundred years of tormented and well-recorded history leave no doubts as to who is who. Not so with Canadians when it comes to America. The way cultural industries are infiltrated in Canada goes beyond the influence of friendly commerce. Where it involves education or health care, in Canada it gets personal. However, complain as some do, it is in Canadian actions their identity asserts itself best. Just as effective parenting occurs primarily through example and not loud prohibitions, Canada can, and routinely does, make its point sans rhetoric: witness their little army's efforts to clear up the mess left in Afghanistan following their neighbors' proclamations of victory. Of course, there are plenty of less self-effacing Canadians, just skim away the surface from the 'American' celebrity gene pool!
London In and Out, Shadow of the Empire
Clearly, I can claim only superficial impressions from our two three-day stays, two weeks in Israel separating them. But these impressions are fresh as the brisk autumn wind was on the Thames. Back in 1990, I had loved living in London. In spite of the recession, it was a full-on party town for the curvy blond snob of a Muscovite I was back then. I had no money but plenty of haughty attitude, a survival instinct completely unburdened by “English propriety ”, and a limitless appetite for new experiences. In sum, I went places. My little black book boasted Krishna-ites alongside slick Abbey Life executives, a 250 lb black bouncer of a fashionable night club and an E-popping art historian.
London in Fall 2004 tastes and looks very different. It took me about 40 minutes of walking around the Camberwell Common before I found fish and chips. Disposable plastic plates, kebabs on the menu, and not a sheet of old newspaper in the place; this was no "Chippy". A peculiar blend of international comfort food has evolved in the big cities of Europe: in Germany it would be the 'Imbiss'. Warm dough, cheese, grease and spicy meat, seemingly randomly referred to as pizza, hamburger, shnitzel or doner.
Taking a double-decker through London is like touring the old British Empire. All the languages faces and fashions of the Commonwealth converge in London. Attitudes from all latitudes have also made the migration. It took maybe 5 minutes (and 10 Pounds Sterling) for a crisply dressed clerk at Enji's Electronics to “unlock” my cell phone so that it would accept any SIM card.
A young Muslim man couldn’t contain his sadness and disgust, while taking in the Jake and Dinos Chapman exhibit at the Saatchi Gallery: “ Why do they want to see children this way!?” he asked me. Dozens of cheerful girl-boy mannequins explored eachother's cute toddler’s togs, their sweetly inexpressive faces all sporting an adult's penis in place of a nose. The long queue in one post office remained eerily aloof while an elderly Jamaican man raged impotently at the prim clerk behind the plexi-glass. Older Brits we met abroad later in our trip, and there were many, universally complained about the reverse imperialism of modern day England: “They get apartments, food, and social services just for coming to England and having their babies!”
Our hostess, Sue, illustrated the other side of what London is become. Broad Scots dialect coming from a cute Oriental girl is a little disconcerting at first. Heiress to a dry-cleaning shop in Glasgow, Sue has decamped for London town. Cheerfully, she evades her Mom’s nightly long-distance attempts to set her up with another nice man from Hong Kong. In the morning she dons an electric yellow rain coat over crisp Calvin Klein power-suit, mounts up and cycles off to her job as analyst for a venture capital firm.
Posted by sublime at May 15, 2004 09:00 PM