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On the Home Front America. Thai food—that was the first thing. It was great. And TV (yeah there is cable in Armenia but really it is no comparison). On Saturday we drank soordj (yes, I took it home) and filled our flask for the Dolores Park peace rally at 1:00 PM. The view from the back: a crowd of colorful people of all nationalities, signs with slogans saying “Hate Free City”, a giant likeness of Mumia that was 20 feet tall alongside three others in bright papier mache. The faint scent of Indian incense, pot, burning sage, and fresh California/Vietnamese spring rolls filled the air. Speakers who were leaders of organizations of peace were reenergized and called to duty by the blood-hungry middle Americans who have cars with flags on their antennas and wear t-shirts with “God Bless America” or “United We Stand.” Their speeches were filled with love and stressed that hate, war and violence were not solutions to our finally-waking-up-to-how-half-the-world-feels-everyday fear. All of a sudden our “stuff” that we love to have and do is threatened. Ironically, I took it all in drinking a Diet Coke, still thinking back to the soft bed and couch at my friend’s house and the thought of one of these days going to a supermarket, then a record store, and definitely in that order. I stopped thinking in dram the night we went to our first bar. I brought $15 with me. (That’s more than 7500 dram!) Charm enabled me to get drinks for the rest of the night using the “water every few days,” “no driving,” and “six dollars a day” lines depending on who was there. America is great. Things generally are a wonderland. The city I remembered while in Hayastan is still here with twenty things to do a night. Clubs and parties, food from everywhere; but also junkies, people smoking crack in alley ways, homelessness, trash and plastic littering the streets. I never realized how much plastic is in America—from the bread to cell phones, all plastic. L.A. I got in and went to visit a friend near Hollywood in my old part of town. The zip code where I used to live is legally Los Angeles. We, the public, then get little names for our areas depending on the number of cafes there and how clever the person in charge is who gives. Ours is called Los Feliz. While I have been away some things have changed. One: a small sign announcing the name (as I crossed Vermont at Sunset) of Little Armenia. I walked a little further, remembering no one walks in L.A., when I saw a mini-mall with parking for approximately four cars and ten stores. Two had Armenian letters, a pharmacy and a bakery. I didn’t think that I would see the word Tarm Hatz in a window for a month. The pharmacy was better though. The name was Robles and Pablo Farmacia, which was then transliterated from Spanish directly into Armenian. I saw Jermuk in the store selling for $1.45. The signs were everywhere in Thai and Spanish and Armenian and Russian and English. Ah Los Angeles… Whidbey Island, Washington State. My parents love the slow quiet of the Island. I lived there for a few years and hated it. Going from San Francisco, a city of over 700,000, and the LA area (pop. 21,000,000) this town of Clinton Washington with 1,200 residents was strange. My Armenian host village had more people! We pulled into the parking lot of the post office, almost hitting a woman who turned and smiled at my mom in the car. I asked my mom if she knew her and she said, no I don’t think so, why? I said, then why was she smiling at you. My mom said that people were friendly there. Freaked me out. The island cable does not have MTV, the newspaper prints all police reports. Out of 28 for this particular week, five were anthrax scares. America—especially Middle America—is terrified. Here is one report: “Sunday, October 14, 2001: At 11:26 PM a Freeland woman reported that she had just opened a letter and had gotten a white substance all over her fingers. The woman said she was upset over the nationwide anthrax scare. She then mentioned that she had just baked a cake for her son and that she could have flour on her fingers.” Yeah, America is different. September 11 has changed every part of peoples’ lives. Things are divided into two categories: before and after The Attack. There are machine gun-toting soldiers in SFO Airport. All news is about Terror. This week the country and its residents have been told to be on high alert due to terror threats. I was so glad when Chris called me from work just to check if I was on high alert. Wow. I almost let my guard down. Glad to come home, even if it is for eight more months. I need a break from America. |