2013 in Review

Last year there was no review of 2012. I suppose with the travelling for 6 months of the year, the posts were constant, and with all the excitement, trying to pick a 'best of the month' was impossible. I suppose now my life is settled a little more, I want to put on here what I often put on Facebook in picture form. Perhaps add some more detail as I look back on 2013.

I will say that the number 13 used to cause fear in me. However, 2013 being such a rewarding year. And of the most poignant of those rewards happening on the 13th of the month, I think I will make 13 my second luckiest number after 16. Anyway here goes.

January
My New Years Eve was the most unique to me in years and years. Not since the 1980's have I had this type of NYE event. Because, I slept into the New Year and did not see it in, in a conscious state. Still staying in with my sister, we had some beers and pizza, and about 10:30 I was in bed. My feeling has always been that the NYE is a metaphor for the year holds true. My sensible steady ease into the year has been indicative of the fact that this is the year I really try to calm down mentally. I'm in my heart-attack years for goodness sake.

January after NYE is always a bit of a non-month for most people. Often you are paid early in December and have 6 weeks to spread your earnings, with Christmas taking a big chunk of your money as it is. It means the month of January is a quiet one. I was still a temp being paid weekly, so financially it wasn't an issue, but the month was as quiet for me as anyone.

Of major importance to myself was January 30th, at 11:30am marked 10 years since I last saw my doggy Oscar. While I noticed early in the month and decorated my Facebook accordingly. I forgot about it on the actual day. I mentally flogged myself for forgetting that, how could I? Even though I remembered the following day. Its like I let that dog down again. The reasons I gave him up were pure selfishness. A dog that gave me so much, yet only required a walk a cuddle and some food each day. There for me in my darkest moments. But I gave him up because he was in the way of me wanting to travel (which I did in 2004) and further a pretty crap career in London. We all like to say we have no regrets, but that is bollocks. We all have regrets, even if they serve no purpose. I will always regret my awful decision to give up Oscar, and I further regret not remembering on the actual day. I have no excuse for being such a horrible person.

February
My job at Manchester Airport finished in the first week of February. I enjoyed it there and as I wasn't aware I'd be coming back, I was sad to leave all my colleagues there.

However on the 15th, I was off on my mini-adventure into Poland. I was to spend a month volunteering, teaching English or doing some farm work. Although right up until 2 days after my arrival into Gdansk, did I know for sure where I was going. It turned out to be a lovely eco-farm called Agrochatka in Klucksborg, Southern Poland. My hosts Ela and Jerzy were such lovely people as were the whole family. I spent the rest of the month helping in their school. Stacking pumpkins. Cooking my British dishes. Shovelling snow and coal.

March
I spent the first week of March helping at ABC Language School in Lebork, Northern Poland. It was to be my first big classroom experience. With me as a teacher, teaching English and a class of teenagers to control and keep from texting and Facebooking and not concentrating. I stayed with the owners of the school for the week before returning to Gdansk.

Back in Gdansk I met up with a chap from Sunderland who was also travelling alone. I had little English company until this point so we did what English do. We hit the bars in Gdansk, well we hit two bars. Polish beer starts at 5% and moves up from there. We were hammered in the first cosy place next to the hostel. But on we went and when the stomachs could take no more pints we decided then was a good time to become Polish and try the various vodkas. Polish shot glasses are like more like whiskey tumblers. I vaguely remember the walk back along the canal, then awake to one of the worse hangovers of my life.

And what a day to start with a hangover. The snow was falling in Gdansk as I made my way to the Station then to the airport with Hamburg, Germany as my destination. I started at Burgerking in a feeble attempt to fight the sickness with calories and sugar. No such luck, I could not take more than two bites out of the burger. I crossed the street and saw the bus leave, then read that another wouldn't be along for an hour to the airport. I waited in the snow feeling awful, but aware this was all my doing. Why can I remember every footstep of that hungover journey from Hostel in Gdansk to Hostel in Hamburg, yet so little about the night before? There is a lesson on alcohol in there somewhere.

On arrival in Hamburg, I got the bus to the centre. I went to my dorm and stayed there until morning. The next day I caught the train the Berlin where I spent 3 days following my new hobby of photography. Well not a new hobby, but a hobby with a recent cash investment to up the game a bit. And generally exploring the city I absolutely love.

On returning to Hamburg I visited the immigration museum, the next day a submarine, and Beatles Platz, before returning to the UK and back to my kind sisters home.

By the end of March, I had found a way back into Manchester Airport as a temp, and I am grateful to them for finding work for me right up until the end of my time in the UK.

April to May
Nothing much to report in either month. Margaret Thatcher died in April and that split the nation a bit in opinion. And I was surprized in myself how little I found myself caring that her funeral may be state-funded, and how she supposedly invented greed and said nasty things about Mandela. I just saw an old lady who was a PM once. Didn't agree with her very much, but couldn't detest her personally.

Somewhere in April or May I finally got an interview date for June 11th at the US  Embassy. The day was in sight.

I also spent much of May getting the injections needed to come to America. So many I forget which and what for. Seems I spent every few days in a clinic in Ashton-Under-Lyne.

June
On the 5th I had an appointment with a doctor appointed by the US Embassy to see how fit I was to come to America. It seemed I was overweight (I knew this), blood pressure a bit high (I knew this too), but physically ok and unlikely to be a burden to the US (as if they had a public health system or something). Questions on my alcohol intake which I think is normal and less than average seem terrible when you are saying them out loud to a doctor who gives nothing away facially.

On 11th my visa was approved to be a permanent resident of the USA. That was a moment of relief. The following week I booked my flights, and set about disassembling my life in the UK. Fortunately, my life was confined to a room in my sisters and there wasn't much to do logistically. All the packing up was emotional.

July
My last month in the UK. I suppose it started by saying goodbye to everyone in Manchester. While I always saw Manchester as a city I never wanted to settle in, the people I met there are utter treasures. For all I rattle on about dynamic crazy London, for the 6 years I spent there, compare the people I keep in touch with from London days to those from Manchester days. This is telling. So a few nights of saying goodbye and hugs was bitter-sweet.

I also built bridges with two of my siblings, both of which separated by time and incident. We were in constant contact for a while after July, but I guess the things that divide us are more overwhelming than those that bind us. The 'pat eachother on the back' and 'kudos to all' fest has fizzled out a bit. Unfortunately distance isn't the reason. It seems there are completely irreconcilable differences, with a basis in something we will never agree on, and exasperated by us growing culturally so far apart.

On the 13th I arrived in New York and on the 14th into Haines Alaska. The rest of the month was spent job hunting and getting to know the people of Haines. This is with the back-drop of a wonderful Alaskan summer

August
After failing to secure a job in the small town of Haines, I got my first job in America on the 13th, but all the way down in Juneau.

With 3 days training from the previous accountant, I pat myself on the back in hitting the ground running with my first all round general ledger position since 2009. Also finding myself almost alone with learning Federal Taxes as opposed to PAYE, which I had even less involvement in back in 2009.

Also my co-workers are all pretty amazing people.

I got my social security number the week following, at last. And it had 69 in the two digit part - uh, hur hur! I love innuendo.

September
After weeks of long waits on the phone to USCIS, I finally get my actual Green Card. Or by its legal name I-551. But it is a card and it is green and it serves the purpose you'd suppose. I now have to carry this on my person all the time by law.

October
I met my cousin Sara for the first time in our adult life when we took the drive from Haines to Whitehorse, Canada for Canadian Thanksgiving with the family. My Aunty and Uncle were also there and we had a great meal together. Also, the first time I visited Canada, so a new country on my CV. I'm looking forward to our next visit in Spring. It's fantastic having family on my doorstep - well doorstep in North American terms.

I passed my written driving test, and have a State of Alaska Driving License. Instructional only, I have two years to take the road-test, which needs to be done in Spring when the snow melts.

November
Our American thanksgiving with Turkey was good. Just Sarah and I. A cooking calculation error meant we eventually started eating about 9pm. But with Turkey having the soporific effect, alongside killing time with beer, we were passed out pretty soon after dinner.

December
Our works Christmas do was small and perfect. It was my idea to meet up on the Friday before Christmas Day under the email subject "mayhem". The following day was a very sore-head day, but happy that it was a really great evening in Downtown Juneau. And not least due to our amazing boss who paid for the first few rounds and food. Bless her.

Christmas day, was low-key for Sarah and I, here in Haines. We had a ham and my special garlic and rosemary roasters. No presents were given, just a very relaxing day. And of course, being in Alaska, it was a white Christmas. My first since 2009, which was my first ever.

New Years Eve will be spent at a Masquerade Ball. My costume is a scary blank mask and gothic type jacket. Tonight I am helping with decoration of the ball venue. If the party leaves me with a hangover, then the perfect cure will be available on Jan 1st, 2014. I plan to join the town of Haines in polar bear club. That is jumping in the water by Haines harbour on a cold snowy day. I am scared.

Anyway if you've read this far; HAPPY NEW YEAR!

 

Nation Under God

I touched on freedom in another post. How freedom in America is tied up with the landscape, and the past of the people, and the ideological or political aspect is secondary. Then I am reminded about the other overly sentimental soundbite of Americans, tied up with liberty. That is one "nation under god".

Now I discussed this with my wife. It started with me asking how a certain Jehovah's Witness we both know could come to be an American Citizen, without being a raging hypocrit. There are two facets that would be contradictory to a JW's beliefs in the mandatory contract between the government and aliens wishing to become US Citizens.

One is, you have to accept that you may be called to fight for the USA, or at least give some military help if needed to. So a JW taking this oath is either taking it with crossed fingers (lying), or they are ready to break their oath of pacifism and neutrality to god at some possible point. Or more than likely they feel the event so unlikely, they under-value the contract they are now taking between person and state.

Secondly; you have to pledge allegiance to the flag, and this 'nation under god'. Something the JWs fought tooth and nail with The Supreme Court over.

The day may come when I have to do this. I have no qualms that being part of a nation state, seeking its protection, you may have to contribute towards its safety and pick up a gun. Its unlikely in this day and age, but if my citizenship comes along, I will take my duties and contract as a citizen of the United States as seriously as I took those being a British Subject.

But as for the phrase "one nation under god". I detest it.

Now in my discussion with my wife on this, she pointed out that the pledge of allegiance adopted that sentence in the early 1950's. It doesn't go that far back in US history. I bowed to her knowledge there, when I found it confirmed by Wikipedia to be 1954. However, it does go back a bit further, as wasn't it that three minute speech by Lincoln, The Gettysburg address? "this nation, under God, shall have a new birth of freedom"? So while not in the pledge of allegiance, for a long time it has been in the forming of this nation. For many a longtime "in god we trust" has been blazoned across the currency. God and nation are very linked in the USA. And lets be honest its the white majority god; Yahweh.

The USA separates church and state, yet so closely aligns itself to the majority god. I'm not happy about it at all. Why? Because I'm a goddam atheist that's why.

I've not been an atheist all my life. I was brainwashed or bullied as a child into believing a god exists. I've always considered myself a logical person, but the fear of what god could do or will do to all those who deny him overwhelmed the rationale that there is no scientific likelihood of god existing. Looking back this stifling of my natural reason, is mental abuse, and I'm not being over-dramatic claiming that.

So coming out of that fear of god, is my liberation. I therefore cannot understand how liberty can be aligned with god, as American institutions do with such ease. I cannot reconcile seeing a president observing a prayer (and pretty much all 46 of them were Christians) can faithfully uphold a constitution as he swore to. A constitution which promises to the populous the very rights Christianity has fought against from history to present.

Slavery was an economic disaster waiting to happen, despite being just damn well wrong and unfair. Who gave the practise legitimacy, but bible thumping slave owners? I am aware that the abolition movement was both Quaker and christian, but my point still holds. Today, stem cell research, Pro-choice for women, same-sex marriage. The loudest voices battling this, do so waving a bible. In Britain, they are lunatics, in America they are Super PACs and lobby groups.

This "nation under god" statement is the biggest weight on America's ankle as it walks towards intellectual progress. It also keeps America thinking that sheltering Israel is looking after a nation promised by god, and not giving an apartheid state the legitimacy to continue to subdue a people based on their race - in the name of public safety.

It is my passionate opinion, that rejection of god and his existence and rejection of people who shout about his existence without any real proof, is a ginormous leap towards ones liberation.

Imagine that, I do something good because I just want to help someone, not because god will reward me.

Imagine when someone does me a good deed, the credit goes to their kind heart, not to god.

Imagine that I feel ashamed I did wrong, because I caused discomfort to my fellow man, not due to fear that god will punish me.

Imagine that all my successes were mine, and my effort, and I owe god nothing.

Imagine that I accept all my failures as mine, and fess up to them and not blame the devil, or cry to god for help.

Imagine this life is it, and you live it to its fullest, you take in the world that you have a hand in continually creating and innovating - if you want to get off your arse.

Imagine that you only have 80 to 100 years on this planet - that's all, nothing more.

Imagine there is no chance to make good on your mistakes after you die. This is it, absolutely it.

Imagining all this is imagining real freedom!

Or believe in god. Everything you do is being watched and monitored. Someone is tallying your good deeds against your bad on some giant naughty or nice balance sheet. When you die, you have more to do because even in death you aren't free. You either sit by god while he nags you or you are down below with flaming poker up your arse.

Or in my belief system, the same plebs who ruled my life, kept my mind hostage, designed my moral code for me right down to the length of my hair. If I was good, I could live forever under them. Nah, death please.

Imagine your moral choices are written but open to someone elses interpretation. That would be a 'nation under god', and it sounds bloody Orwellian.

But how does this effect me in everyday life here? Happily it doesn't. I live with a christian, but he knows I'm atheist but we politely never debate it. The patriotism of America isn't as strong in Alaska as most other states. This nation under god, has zero effect on me, and people I associate with, who also seem geared towards atheism or agnosticism. I guess I'm lucky.

But in my analysis of America and my role within it as someone who has to tow the line, I am deeply uncomfortable with any use of god and politics. To the extent I wonder, when I am entitled to vote if I will abstain. It would seem whoever I voted for - god would win.

Amythica: Healthcare

Up to now, I have been going on the general defence of Americans and trying to dissolve some of the nasty myths and opinions that cross the Atlantic. But here is a case where, despite reading up on as much as possible and listening to Americans, I still have not had an answer to the following question. That is:

Why with a technologically advanced economy, society and revenue collection system America cannot get it together to ensure all the health needs of all the population are met. When I say health needs I am of course talking about the fact that I strongly feel if you live in a country as developed as the USA, one of the things you should not need to worry about when you are injured or severely sick is - how much is on my credit card, or this is going to bankrupt me? When you are sick you have enough on your plate. This is a human right for all. It should be defined in the UN Charter.

Unfortunately, enough Americans disagree with this and feel health insurance, is like car and life insurance and should remain on the general market. This means that although there are victims, American healthcare is the best in the world - if you can get to it. This is something I disagree with. But lets look back across the Atlantic at Britain and explore the good old NHS.

I read an article about the 2012 Olympics in London, an American article. They were sneering at us for a change. Laughing at why we celebrated NHS hospital beds on the opening ceremony. What other country celebrated a health service in an opening ceremony to define their culture. I admit it looked a bit daft. Probably Danny Boyle had been given a little too much free-reign in telling British culture through a working class perspective. Not that it isn't my preferable version of British modern history.

There was no better showcasing of the British view of the NHS. We are all united in defence of it, and any politician who suggests the slightest intervention by the private sector is an evil heartless Thatcherite. Because the NHS was built out of the most noblest of intentions. The father of the NHS, Nye Bevan said on it's formation "now we have the moral leadership of the world". A grand delusional soundbite, the welfare state was an invention of the German Empire pre WW1 (you know the evil Empire we fought against for no real reason), not ours at all. That said, while Britain was broke and battered from being first in and last out of WW2. Begging the USA for money to repair the towns blown to bits from The Blitz, it decided to reward the war heroes (which went beyond just those who held a gun) with health and housing. Not the way the government rewards modern soldiers today, with PR and poverty.

Greedy doctors, reluctant to join the socialized system, had their "mouths stuffed with money". The introduction of the NHS for all was not going to let anything get in its way. Not the broken UK balance sheet, not the greedy insurance companies, and not the doctors who feared becoming low-grade civil servants. And this is where Obama could have taken a look and some notes. Nye Bevan, took on the greedy and those who financially benefited from others being ill. Obama seemed only interested in taking on small businesses and individuals. The health system was right, ethically unavoidable so it needed to be done, end of discussion. America can find money for wars, they feel are morally right, but not healing the sick. Yes the more you dig back into the foundation of the NHS, and see it as our peaceful workers coup, I'm beginning to come on board and agree those dancers bouncing on the beds at the 2012 Olympics was a perfect and necessary inclusion into our culture, and the sneering American article can go fuck itself.

So why can't America get its shit together over Healthcare? I suppose there is the logic that the task is impossible. To make a comparison with American Health Insurers and pre-NHS British health insurers, is woefully inadequate. The American health insurance system has advanced into so many separate strands, employs many, and is tied to internal economics, you cannot just quickly pull this Jenga brick out suddenly. The British system was all over the place. The average workplace had each worker with a separate insurer. There was no mass-discount and grandfather schemes as in the US. Health insurance in the UK was a failing industry, and getting rid of it was a mercy killing.

Why do Americans accept their Healthcare so easily? OK there are those who have never left their state, and buy into the propaganda that American healthcare is the best in the world. The British let old people die on hospital beds (sometimes a little closer to the truth than we like to admit to the Yanks, even though it is not a policy).

Apart from the disciples of Sarah Palin, there are many Americans who say "it is what it is" and continue with their lives. Even though these same Americans would shout the roof down if the milk was too hot in their Latte. But realistically that's just it - it is what it is. It is rightly felt that an overhaul of the health system would carry such damage. Damage which may not right itself in a decade, its a gamble not worth taking. Especially as by definition no President, Congressman, Senator can commit himself to a plan longer than 4-6 years. That would be thinking of the people over electoral success, political madness.

Of course there are those who aren't in the least disciples of Palin, but reject the fact that healthcare should come from taxation. Or that healthcare should be controlled by the Federal government. These are often slightly left leaning Republicans, or Compassionate Conservatism to coin the Dubbya phrase from 14 years ago. And I have some sympathy for this line of thinking.

Yes the figures are there that in reality more American tax-dollars are spent in the end on the health industry than British do proportionately. But it is true when something is directly taxed, the government has a responsibility to it. Health and government are not good bed fellows. And, possibly you could take that criticism across the pond and say the modern drawback of the NHS (now we've stopped being all teary eyed about Bevin) is the government either overly tinkers or doesn't do enough, but either way is the big gremlin in the works.

Oh how the stupid debates continue; Should doctors run the NHS? 'No' the doctors say, we went to Medical School not Business School. Should businessmen run the NHS, get value for money and look at efficiency drives? 'No' the populous says, my young son with Leukaemia shouldn't have his life decided by an Excel formula.

In America, the government being out of the equation, has some merit. It is a fabulous idea, but completely impossible. Too many people are owing five and six figure debts on uninsured treatments. Debts they will forever be stained by, but never able to repay. The government cannot ever be so lessez faire, to ignore this. After all it is the ultimate underwriter.

Both British and Americans look across the pond and are horrified by eachothers health systems. And this is due to mutual misunderstanding of what is culturally important to the British, and a living reality to Americans. It's fuelled by documentaries in the UK such as one showing a clinic run by a British doctor, with massive lines forming at 5am for basic healthcare. And of course that twat Michael Moore and Sicko (Mr Socialism-Lite). The reality for most Americans in everyday life is not that drastic. If you are injured in a car accident - there is usually insurance for that. Americans work most of their lives and workplace liability covers many mishaps.

Most uninsured visits to US doctors carry a nasty but usually not financially damaging bill. Yes, if you need major surgery and you are uninsured, you could be utterly fucked. But behind this is often a culture of people clubbing together to raise money for someone needing help. Not completely dissimilar to the increasingly common fund raising drives in the UK to send cancer sufferers to the USA for treatment. The everyday American life is not that affected by their healthcare system, so really we Brits don't need to worry so much.

Alternatively, while I have personal knowledge of a child almost losing his hearing due to an NHS nurse saying that the popcorn he put in his ear will come out on its own, the reality of life in this socialist healthcare system is largely adequate. Old people aren't allowed to die by the NHS, they usually die because they are old. Thinking a socialized healthcare means a single standard across the nation, controlled by government, is an American misunderstanding. From my last local hospital who mis-diagnosed they popcorn child above, and my wife's ongoing complaint, and to sadly letting an old person die of near starvation (they forgot to feed her). A hospital in Bristol which mistakenly amputated the wrong leg. These make headlines, but are not an argument for or against private/socialized healthcare. Especially when you consider that a lady in an American hospital recently (a British lady as coincidence would have it) wandered off in a medicated haze and was found two weeks later, dead in a stairwell. No one in Britain is screaming that as an argument against private healthcare. Because aside from the headlines, I know of my sister who screams praise for tumour removed by the NHS and the after-care. And a former acquaintance of mine, who while suffering brain damage and from that being mentally unmanageable, was kept in a regular hospital by the most patient and firm nurses, while her parents were finding a specialized living arrangement for her.

No one likes to be sick. No one likes our loved ones to be sick. It's the most stressful time to sit as an observer or be a part of. When my wife was in hospital for four days while travelling, the helplessness, of just visiting her being the only thing I could do - it is horrible. At this time where the funding is coming from should not be an issue. Then again, this is an issue between family and doctor, it should not include the government. Where you are in hospital in the UK, will greatly affect your treatment, based on the medicines and beds available. But you have little choice to take control of all options, as you are likely to be constrained geographically. The American in a serious situation buys him/herself into a more involved part of the process. This is empowering for patient and the family, who have things to do to help. I get that, from my experience. My wife was in private care in Kuala Lumpur. At every stage we both felt involved, were given options. It is that touch which makes a huge difference.

Both the UK and the USA should not look at eachother, they are bad for eachother in this debate. They should both look at mainland Europe, Canada, Japan and Oceania. The systems which seem to know how to balance the private provision, with universal care regardless of wealth. Britain needs to realize, that while the Bevan and NHS formation story is a lovely one, it happened a long time ago and beautiful stories do not mean 21st century efficiency, medical education, employment, technology and finances.

Maybe in relation to both its own and America's healthcare, Britain should adopt that American phrase I have grown to adore, "is it what it is!". I should maybe adopt that phrase more myself.

Amythica: Fat

Americans are fat. This is obviously a crass and rude charge. But it is built out of observations and some statistics. First though, let me just say since coming to the USA, I have lost weight. However, this is due to me not having a car for most the week and cycling everyday. I almost never drink during the week - and fattening beer is my alcoholic drink of choice. Also quitting smoking, which for me has never really been an effective appetite suppressant, but very good at keeping me from exercise. Energy output increase as opposed to energy input decrease has always been the way I've kept weight down more effectively. But, encouraging for me, it doesn't dispel the myth I'm exploring here about Americans being generally fat.

Now there are sound reasons why America has its obesity problem. Food is bountiful, and most of that food is not fresh, it is processed. American cuisine is, in my opinion, very under-rated and should be taken much more seriously. That said, there is a tendency to glorify a large portion as more pleasing to the eye, than a dish which is presented a little more carefully.

The more I think of it, unlike my last subjects, I cannot think of a reason why Americans don't in someway deserve the fat moniker. Food is big, it's in your face, it's presented as fast. It's a million miles away from eating for relaxation. Food is either meant to be fast, and on the go and therefore a digestive nightmare. Or it is meant to be attacked. Something to gobble down, and feel guilty about latter. Hotdogs are a case in point. I know there are many excellent gourmet dishes originating in America, but hotdogs seem more tuned into Americana. They are huge but designed in such a way that eating them has to be done in the fewest bites, with tennis ball size blobs of bread, "meat" and sauce passing down your throat and settling at an awkward angle in your tummy each time. There is no way to get all the ketchup, bread, mustard, ketchup, onions, pickles, chilli (all the flavours) with a small bite.

The knife and fork seems to be only for formal dinner. Even then, the British way of turning a fork down to limit the quantity of a bite, is replaced by a shovelled fork in the right hand into American etiquette. I'm desperately trying to avoid snobbery here, but still thinking that table etiquette is there for a reason. That reason is digestion. I used to be viewed as quaint by my wife for taking a knife and fork to the largest of burgers, or at a barbecue using a knife to spread ketchup on my bun. But this is a case where I will cling to what I have been taught as worthwhile.

However, food is life. Whether it is a Greek family pushing 8 dishes of grilled meat down you. Or a French table with wine and hours spent passionating over each smell and mouthful. In English there seems to be no phrase like Bon Appetite. This is unfortunate. There is no phrase to celebrate the food, like 'cheers' or 'chin chin' does with alcohol. That said there are moments in American culture, like the tail-gate parties at football games. Cook-outs, and outdoor grilling which while are present in the UK, they are an import, and when they happen they don't seem to have the celebration of food as a central conversation piece.

Food in America is a nasty industry, with the poor as it's more severe victims. I'm fresh from watching Fastfood Nation last night - so not in a good mood to write about the food industry in America. Even so, at the stage of consumption. The serving of food by a tip demanding waitress, it is still a part of the positivism and progression of America.

Do Americans deserve to be called fat? Maybe the stereotype is a little deserved. But to wake up to biscuits and gravy, French toast. Pizza's the diameter of an adult hula-hoop. Soft-shell crab, Sweet potato mash with marshmallow topping. Corn beef hash. Burgers cooked rare, topped with crispy bacon. Clam Chowder. Its all so good. I've forgotten what I'm on about. Who cares? I'm off to cook something.

Amythica: Freedom

I was talking with a typical anti-American at work once. The type who's sneering of Americans has jealousy written all over it. But truthfully it was I that volunteered this complaint of an American stereotype, if only to seek some common agreement in the conversation lest it turn into argument. The fact that so many Americans think that Freedom is something unique to America.

The 'good ole boy' song, sung loudly at Speedways and once covered by Beyonce has the lyrics "I'm proud to be an American, where at least I know I'm free. And I won't forget the men who died who gave that right to me". Just hearing those lyrics I'm sniffing condescendingly, and sniggering a bit, at tears wiped away from eyes, and the flag flapping in the wind. It's a bit laughable, as extreme American Patriotism seems to outsiders.

The fact that freedom, and by freedom it is largely assumed to be freedom of economics, expression and speech, is nowhere else but America. The rest of the developed world, and a large part of the developing world say; "Newsflash America, almost everyone has freedom". Freedom is enshrined in many constitutions, and even alluded to in the Magna Carta (the mother of constitutions). It's not new or unique. So why do Americans get so teary eyed over what is a basic everyday right, experienced by all bar a few despotic regimes? I have the answer of course.

Freedom for Americans is more than ideology. Essentially the freedom they talk and sing about is the freedom earned after 1776 and America was free of British tyranny. Calling British colonization of America 'tyranny' is of course being over-dramatic. When we see what the British were capable of in India and Africa, that was tyranny. But this really has nothing to do with the American embrace of freedom, not really. The freedom derived from their independence as a nation, is merely a mascot, not the heart of the matter.

I experienced American freedom on my first full day in Alaska - July 15, 2013. I remember spouting it to my wife in the car, who no doubt rolled her eyes at yet another over-indulgent observation I felt I absolutely had to share aloud. Freedom is in the landscape, the big sky, the open space.

Even as I type this and look out the window and see Mendenhall Glacier, and know behind that glacier is miles and miles of ice and nothing else. It is unfathomably endless, like space. And like the endlessness of the land, so the possibilities seem endless. And from possibilities, ambition. Once you sense it, you can never feel free in a terraced house in England or with your face against an armpit on the London Underground. Not saying uncomfortable (I miss The Tube) - just not free.

The USA isn't exactly the only country with miles and miles of space. Australia, Russia and Canada leap to mind. But to my knowledge and understanding, the entwining of freedom and landscape with the soul of the populace doesn't jump out at me as readily as in America. Maybe it is part revolution and part landscape. Australia and Canada don't harp on about it, yet they aren't nations formed out of revolution although they were settled by peoples of similar ancestry to Americans.

So yes in Britain, in France, in Germany and the whole of the EU we have political and sociological freedom. But I challenge anyone to gaze out at the Scottish Highlands, The Pyrenees or the Alps and see anything more than beauty. Amazing beauty, without a doubt. But not a landscape that screams freedom like the plains and mountains which join the rocky shores of Maine to the endless Pacific Ocean.

So that big bearded gentleman with a CAT hat on and his wife with a stars and stripes badge sown onto her blue puffer jacket. Then ones with their hands on their heart, and a lump in their throat when the word 'freedom' is sung. They aren't just thinking about macro-economics or The Emancipation Proclamation. They are thinking about the endlessness of the landscape they lovingly survive in. They possibly have a mind on some ancestor who came over on some plague-ridden ship and built his Jerusalem amongst the bears and the weather. The word 'Freedom' encapsulates all this. I get it!

But really what about me, it is all about me eventually. What did my epiphany of freedom on July 15 do to me, how did it effect me? As a person, I prefer see equality and liberty as causes all humans need to strive for on a personal and political level. Unfortunately the two aspirations are often at odds with eachother. In the choice of the two, I lean towards equality. And from equality comes a freedom for everyone. It seems while Liberte, Egalite and Fraternite are core values of France. It seems the USA, sees freedom as the only thing. Give all freedom and the rest will take care of itself. This is a myth, I think Americans are fooled by more than any other nation. They call it the American Dream.

Amythica: Insular

Many times I have giggled with my sisters about Americans asking directions in London and pronouncing Leicester Square too literally. That was cheap, how many times have I miss-pronounced Potomac? But behind the laughter is a little something. Almost every British person I know, has a passport and has left the little island at some point. Passport ownership in America is at something like 10 - 15%, depending who you ask. What does this tell us about a comparison between Americans and British?

Now the comfortable smug thing to think is "travel broadens the mind", hence British travel more so their minds are broader. Poppycock! The British grand tour of the Victorian times has morphed into the lower-middle-class Asian tour of today. Gap-years, redundancy windfalls and anyone with time and money to kill sets off from Heathrow one day to Bangkok. Some Brits go on the Australia and mingle with an identical culture in a warmer climate. Then back to Asia. Thailand, Cambodia, Laos. Drinking cheap beer, avoiding the locals and coming back £10000 lighter and feeling they've accomplished something. These aren't just Brits, many are Australians, Germans, all G20 nationalities and yes a few Americans. But for some reason, the Brits cling to this culture of hedonism, and consider the practise places them up the chain from 85% of Americans who won't leave the country.

In my job I have the fortune to meet the most open-minded, keen and optimistic kids, neh young adults. Many have no passport, many can only boast Canada as their only foreign country. But to call them narrow-minded because they have not yet got round to getting a Henna Tattoo on Koh Phi Phi, is offensive. I am in awe of these guys and girls who walk out into the Alaskan Wilderness, camping in the middle of nowhere, securing their possessions from bears. These young adults have lived 1000 times more than Sally on her gap year strolling drunkenly with a tray of noodles down the Khao San Road. When they tell me about their adventures, my jaw drops. Especially a gentleman called Isaac who hiked the Chilkoot Trail in his precious cowboy boots.

The Americans I see are lovers of life. Optimistic, 'can-doers'. This is with business, with ideas, with relationships. Frankly I found this attitude micro-thin on the ground back in the UK. Does this abundance of optimism and excitement tire me? Of course it does, cynicism came to me at birth. Do I feed off it? Yes I do.

You ask any British person at any time to name The President of the USA. If they couldn't, they would more than a little out of touch. Ask any American who the Prime Minister of the UK is and there is a good chance that they won't be able to name David Cameron. Nor Gordon Brown before him. In fact, historically, many Americans only know Churchill, Thatcher and Blair. Does that make Americans weak on International knowledge? Not at all.

Ask many Brits to name the President or PM of Ireland. The PMs of Norway, Sweden. The President of Germany, the PM of France. These are our neighbours and we don't know who leads them. How dumb! But for some reason a twinge of defensiveness arises when Americans don't know who our PM is.

A teeny amount of offense is gained by an American not fully understanding the geography of Scotland, Wales and England. Why is it only Americans who offend us by not knowing as much about us as we do about them? Its easy to answer this, and hard to hear as truths often are. We British are much more interested in Americans than they are in us. No matter how much you remind them of their history as a former colony of the British. Incidentally they were also a colony of France, Spain and (here in Alaska) Russia. The Spanish and Mexican Wars are as important in the forming of the United States than the War of Independence, but many silly Brits don't even know this.

There are other aspects, of this one-way interest and it doesn't necessarily just include the British. America has been the consistent dominant power since at least WW1. Of course, the USSR, and China are past and present contenders for this crown, but the US has been there the longest and seems most comfortable with its role as major world power. I'm not going too far down the politics thread here, as foreign policy is something that should never define citizens. However, decisions made by Washington effects almost every human being on the planet. Therefore, there are few people on the planet who haven't an opinion on America. However, the same is not true in reverse. Americans are not fully aware, how US policies and export of cultures have effected each person or nation on the planet. As it said in The Rough Guide to the USA Guidebook. "Don't expect Americans to understand how US Foreign Policy has effected your country". And why should they? Americans work hard, pay their taxes, have government waste their taxes like the rest of us. They don't owe you an explanation as to why a McDonalds has closed down a local restaurant in Athens.

So we ask why America is so insular (and it may well be), we have to ask ourselves why we are so insular? If an American cares more about jobs in America, than the trouble with the Eurozone. Ask why you are more concerned about illegal immigrants getting council houses and the Conservatives selling off the NHS than Quebec Nationalism in Canada? Europe not getting its shit together, has taken more than enough of American time, blood and treasure. Frankly the US owes Britain and Europe nothing - but Europe has a huge debt to the US, one which we like to conveniently forget. Namely our freedom.

Amythica: Intro

I remember reading the introduction to Stephen Fry's America, the book which accompanied the series of Mr Fry visiting every state in the US. In this introduction, he hit the nail on the head as to British attitudes and opinions of Americans. The snobbishness which tells us more about us than it does about them. Unfortunately, I am an 'us'. And being British I fall guilty of relapsing into that habit which is ingrained. Sometimes encouraged by the American love of my accent, that feeling no matter what British social class I am, it automatically trumps being American. When I see myself thinking this way, I am immediately shamed.

Then again, I want to explore the myths and stereotypes of Americans and America. I want to do this maybe 85% with my own observations as an ex-pat and my personal experiences. Observations which are very open to debate.

Stereotypes are there for a reason. Myths, have some basis in truth to seem plausible, and stand some test of time. Even if the original truth gets to us as reliably as a game of Chinese Whispers. So myths are none-the-less interesting, and to again quote Mr Fry, that our view of Americans "tell us more about us than them", means that a closer look at the relationship of 'us' and 'them' valid and stimulating.

So, in dealing with stereotypes, and therefore generalizations, no doubt any reader will arrive at many examples which contradict me. Sure, I can come up with a few myself, and this is what I will no doubt do as I carry on. When I talk about Fat Americans, please shout back "what about Adele?". Or even, how much do you weigh Chris? When I talk about the glory of British music, please shout ... well there are loads of counters to that.

The subjects I am covering are:

Insular

Freedom

Fat

Music

Language

Healthcare

Home

I'm writing this in a strange state, a glow of optimism with a wretched hangover as a backdrop.

Last night we had our work party, and with a staff headcount of 11, a turn up of 9 people was a success.

We started the night at the US Coastguards bar, sat on tall tables drinking wine and ale, with fingers sticky from the cheese, chilli fries. It was the works Christmas do.

Earlier in the day I cracked a joke on Facebook, accompanied by a picture of our Christmas meal at The Broiler on Nugget Mall. I compared that Christmas party with that enjoyed by my ex-colleagues in Manchester, who enjoyed an extravaganza with footballers and Leona Lewis. My jealousy was artificial and pure pantomime in the pathetic search for Facebook 'likes'. In reality I have just finished the last of the best work christmas' in my office working life. Something tells me I am now with my people. A rag-tag group of lovable individuals which form a kind of loose gang as popularised in Richard Curtis films like Four Weddings and Notting Hill. So much in common, yet figuring out a single denominator is completely impossible.

A colleagues husband turned to me and asked "where do you call home?". This is such a hard question for me to answer. I really don't know. The easy answer I gave to this, and "where in England are you from?" is; "The West Country" or "West England". But defining me geographically is impossible, even if I wish it weren't.

I like to think as the city where I was born, and educated me, Bristol is my home town. But I don't know it anymore. Cornwall; where I grew up as a child but I don't identify with it. I should though. Cornwall is a beautiful county, with the rolling hills, quaint villages and dramatic coastline. A culturally rich part of the UK with its own language. Its waiting for me to claim it as my culture. But I can't, I reject it. I'm even in almost denial of it, with an occasional desire to wipe it from the pages of my history. I understand why, I just wanted to get out of the place, which offered so much to everyone but me. Maybe I didn't reject Cornwall, Cornwall rejected me. And the secret of my nomadic soul, is not so much as that of an explorer, more an outcast.

London, now I love to say how I was there, and why not? I overplay how the city influenced me. But really I have to report, probably only 2 out of the 6 years there were bathed in contentment, the first year and the last year.

Am I at home now? How the fuck can I answer that? Its been far too soon. In reality I'm still travelling in my mind. For despite the job, the cell phone, the health insurance, I'm still travelling and running from something. It lives in my mind most Fridays when I grab my ruck-sack early in the morning, and sleep in a sleeping bag on a top of a ship heading through the inside passage. I still feel like a traveller those days. Sometime soon it will register, this is home now. I fear my response to the realization.

Life is a ship at the moment, with the UK as a shoreline that is getting fainter on the horizon. I'm forgetting what living there is. I forget what a five pound note looks like. I go onto the BBC News website out of habit, but being on a US server it defaults to the US news. I less frequently check the UK news. But like all ships, to continue the analogy, its still on the water, and not into port yet.

Where is home if not geographically? I'm not the person who will ever know. If that place turns up which throws an economical and spiritual paradise (maybe like I have found presently), I will spend too much time trying to work out the catch, cynic that I am. Some souls live in torment of their place in the world spiritually more than others. I'm clearly one of those people.

I gave up on happiness over ten years ago, and settled for the search for contentment instead, as recommended by The Dalai Lama. Contentment seems more stable, more conducive to maintenance. Happiness seems like a rush. There is no such thing as a 'happy ever after', yet we all search for it. In that respect the downside for me is, I will always view happiness with some suspicion. I will see it for the temporary dopamine release that it is. No better than a Prodigy gig in 1997, dancing with passion and warmth. But accepting of the fact that this emotional elation will be offset by tears the next day. You never hear of people taking drugs or drinking or gambling to feel content. They do it because it makes them feel happy.

My happiness tangent, wasn't really a tangent. My problem is I relate home with happiness, when really, I need to relate home with contentment.

So my psychological education continues.

Independence Day

I often forget about October 27th, until it is upon me. It's not a happy day in the least. It's a day of tragedy. Yet of tragedy, oftentimes something is born that is good. Tragedies can end chapters. This will force a new chapter. New chapters are always seen as positive, therapeutic, not always pleasant. 

October 27, is my reset day, my year zero, my Independence Day. From that point, some years ago, my life became set on a differing trajectory. It was a day where the disaster of another freed me to pursue a life free from fear, free from squalor. Free to follow a path of my choosing in the general direction of happiness. 

You are waiting for me to be less vague, and give details of the tragedy. Well I won't. Just the same as no one else observes October 27 as my Independence Day. I observe it solemnly myself. I use it as another marker on life's journey as I enter the second half of it. I reset the mileage.

So with you not knowing what I am necessarily on about, and me staring out the window at those mountains interrupting the turquoise still waters of Lynn Canal. I grab my $1.50 coffee, I toast myself not in celebration - but in recognition that I am alive and well and free in the pursuit of happiness.

Happy sailing!

Winter is a-coming!

 

The first thing anyone thinks about when they think about Alaska is the cold. Second to that, possibly very short days in Winter to compensate the long summer days. Now the cold view of Alaska is deserved, even if the great summers are a little less known.

Since arriving I have braced myself for the winter. I have asked advice from everyone about what to expect and how to plan and importantly what to wear.

Back in the UK, my winter prep would be minimal. I'd use a winter coat which is 3 years old of little use or possibly a water proof coat with changing layers underneath. Winter foot ware was very low on my radar. Why should it be? At worse in Britain it will snow for 2 weeks of the year. If it is really bad - work would accept a snow day off. So I always considered it best to wait until the January Sales to buy winter gear. When the January Sales were upon me - what small tolerance I have for wandering round busy consumer districts has been stripped by Christmas shopping a week earlier. In any case - spring will be here soon and paying £70 for a North Face jacket seemed redundant. 

Now I'm guessing with Alaska - even my sissy southeastern part of Alaska - having snow from November through Feb the following year, Alaska has found a way to work around snow with no need to alert the American version of COBRA - if they even have one. It also is something I have to work through. My winter clothing is no longer a matter of comfort over personal economics. It is now about survival. So last Saturday I spent the most I've ever spent on a coat; $130 (£87). A heavy duty thing which when I tried on in the store - immediately drops of sweat poured over my top lip. It's a heavy canvass, which I'm told is also waterproof - though I'm not convinced about that.

Everything changes over winter. The cruise ships have all left Juneau, and the businesses supported by the cruise ships - most of downtown Juneau, feel this is a good time to shut down also. Who can blame them? This includes a Filipino burger stall called Manila Bay, near the Cruise Ship dock. The owner, I have met. In winter she goes down to San Francisco to look after her other business down there. Definitely who can blame her? 

My base town of Haines, has turned into almost a ghost town. The tourist places which dot 2nd Avenue are redundant. The restaurants are closed - bar a few cosy soft lit havens. Winter is upon us all.

Those who saw Haines in the summer and said they would live there, found a way to before experiencing a winter, are now considering moving on. And it's the movers on who are making me proud of myself - or at least they will make me proud of myself. Because in four months from now, I will puff forward my chest and say I made it through an Alaskan winter. Of course my colleagues in Anchorage would scoff that this could be a source of pride. But for me, it will be something. 

Lets be honest. I am living in two heated houses. Neither are isolated. My commute to work will be changing from the bike to the bus. The bus stop being a 5 minute walk from the house. On Fridays the taxi will pick me up and take me to the ferry - which I'm told chugs up the Lynn Canal to Haines whatever the weather - even if sometimes the ferry gets tossed around like a rag doll (I can occasionally suffer sea sickness). 

However, I see the mountains behind my home in Juneau dusted with snow, and I can see the snow approaching. On my way home from work last week, I saw a rare break in the cloudy Juneau sky, and like a badly photoshopped picture there was this snowier than usual mountain, the mountain overhanging Mendenhall Glacier. It looked unreal. Like those old epic movies where the landscape was obviously just an impressive painting. But it was real, it was winter on its way. What was happening on that mountain, an flurry of wind and snow, will soon be down in the valley where I live.

Winter won't be spent as I imagined it back in the UK; gathering wood for a fire. Feeding the fire all night or waking to Artic temperatures. But I know it will be a new experience and will bring a few stories to tell. I am eagerly awaiting you winter, and I want you to give it your best shot. 

Now all I need is a pair of Tuffs!

 

Life goes on....

I have passed 2 months in the USA and most notable is; I feel I really belong as I have a physical social security card and an actual green card. Getting a green card is often a term used to describe the process of becoming a permanent resident. However, eventually after entering the USA you get the actual green card - and it is actually green in colour.

I remember my first few months of arriving in Bristol in 1995, then London in 2003. I spent so much time looking around and not believing I was really here. And I guess the same is true here. Interesting too, is I have found the adjustment a little easier than adjusting to life in London. Maybe I am older, and not so wide eyed about the world. I realize that wherever I am in the world, I have to get up, put on my trousers and go to work. And that work will probably be an office. In that respect, the USA has been easy.

I may as well list things I miss. Clover Butter Spread is one. There is nothing I've found similar. I live as a single person for 4/7 days of the week and everything seems in large portions. So I either eat too much or nothing. But these are minor things. What do I prefer?

Above all I like, what I've always liked about Americans and America. The enthusiasm and optimism. This is over all 50 states, but more profound in Alaska. I feel like I am sitting on the shoulders of giants when I think of those who came here 100 years ago. What they did to make Alaskan Territory into the State of Alaska. Living alongside bears. Surviving bitter winters. It's a place where people come not to make it, but to survive. A snowy California I've heard some say. People come from all over the USA to Alaska to discover something new. In California they will probably return, realizing the house on the hill, or beside the beach will never be theirs. In Alaska, they will make it past a winter, feel proud to have done so and stay on forever. Or they find they can never afford to leave. 

This leads me onto another type that stays in Alaska. Those that feel trapped. The vibrant city of Seattle looks so cruelly close. It's an hour or two by plane from Juneau. Yet a most flights cost $500 one way. The ferry to nearby Bellingham is $350, and another $300 if you want a cabin for the 3 day trip. In so many ways, once you are in Alaska you are stuck here. But the isolation brings rewards also. The crap of Washington seems further away. It seems London is more tied to decisions in Washington, than Juneau is. The irony of Alaska is supreme. An independent state, with more in common with Canada than the lower 48. Yet completely dependent on federal handouts. A beautiful snowy or green paradise, mostly untouched by man, but at most risk from jobs effected by green legislation with so much of the state reliant on the energy industry for jobs. 

Mostly I get Alaskans, and they get me it seems. That is because most Alaskans, are not Alaskans by birth. They are those like me who at one point stepped off a plane or ferry, intimidated and excited all at once. Knowing that pride should be left for another year, as for now you need all the help and advice you can get.

This is more profound where I work, with young people from all over the USA. One of our corps members arrived today. No car, just like me. No place, just like me a month ago in Juneau. He is from Mississippi, but he may as well be from Romania. This is all new and exciting for him. 

Life is easier in the USA. It's a service industry country and wherever there is someone available to help, they almost always do it to the best of their ability. With one eye on customer service. I enjoy my day to day routine in Juneau. I rise early, and not really because I have to, I get up with ease at 6:30am. Often waking an hour before me alarm, restless and willing to start the day. I look outside my window and survey the day. I cycle the 2 miles to work, so rain (and Juneau rains a lot) has a bearing on what I will wear. A rainy day brings out the cycling lycra. Yes I'm often a MAMIL. The cycling is my exercise so I say, but really it's so flat, my journey, I don't change gear all week. I arrive about 7:15am at the office and grind the coffee beans for a fresh cup of coffee. I do my best work from then to 11am, my most productive part of the day. 

I work 40 hours over 4 days, and return to Haines by ferry often on Friday mornings. This journey I love. The taxi arrives early, to take me to the ferry terminal. I board and wait until 7am for a ferry breakfast - usually of eggs with biscuits and gravy. Several refills of coffee later, I climb up to the solarium, climb inside my sleeping back. There I read for a bit struggling to keep my arms warm from the crisp air. Then often I drift off to sleep with an hour on the water before I arrive in Haines. Again each week doing this, I find it hard to believe I'm really here.

Sometimes I feel guilty of my present blissful life, and feel so undeserving of happiness - I've been less than a good person. Then I cast my mind back to a dark evening in early 2007. When a bitter voice, stinking of cheap wine, told me I better not sleep, or my pretty throat would get cut. I lay awake, and just prayed to anything that I just get through to morning. I also thought at that point that life has got as low for me as it will ever get. And I measure much since from that point. Then I have other points of measurement too. When I was a young boy - 14 or so, growing up in the drabness of small town Cornwall. Strangled by close-mindedness, and mental dictatorship. At points in my life, I often wanted to go back to that boy and show him, this is what happens. Sometime the ghost from Chris-mas (see what I did there) future flies back from his uni days in Bristol. Passing the course his mother said he was too thick to pass. Show him having fun living in a city for the first time. Showing 14 year old Chris his desk in Canary Wharf tower, his travels around the world. And of course I would show him the last part of his life, in America. Then I'd tell him to take heart, that all those around you, the ones who see you as simple, unworthy. Well you will see them on Facebook (ofcourse this is 1985 so explaining FB may take a while) and they will be still cleaning windows and having nothing but procreation to be proud of. Then again - 14 year old Chris pretty much knew life was going to be eventful anyway. The restless always know this.

Something my restless soul knows is, I identify with Alaskans. And as I identify more with Alaskans, my memories of Britain fade. Yes, after just two months. I always thought I'd keep an interest in Britain, and have British pride. Well I guess I do, a Union Jack flies proudly in my office. But apart from that, I have no idea what is happening on my island? I don't think I will ever voluntarily go back to the UK. Then again, decisions to move are seldom made when life is good. Maybe something will happen that soils paradise. Who knows, good or bad, up or down, life goes on!

A month and a week later

When I arrived in New York over a month ago, I had ideas and dreams but without knowing the future, you can never precisely know where you will end up. So here I am a month and a week later in Juneau, capital of Alaska and a 4 hour ferry ride from my wife and home in Haines.

It wasn't easy adjusting to the USA, not really. I didn't expect it to be, but most disconcerting was seeing how limited work was. Sarah was working 50 hour weeks and it wasn't fair to be choosy, so I was looking at jobs doing anything. Cleaning buses, bar work, gas station attendant. But no joy. Each day I felt incredibly guilty that Sarah would get up at 6am, and I would have to sit through boredom. To fill the day. Luckily I had a dog and a cat to keep me company. 

Some days, I would get the car and I would take Horton on the local trails. Other days, I wouldn't have the car and Horton and I would go up the trail behind the house. I tried to get some structure. 8am make the bed. 8:30am have breakfast then do the dishes. 9am, allocate an hour to job hunting. And of course plenty of Internet and tea breaks. 

It wasn't all boredom. One Saturday we helped out at the state fair. Sarah and I volunteered at the Haines Animal Rescue Kennel (HARK) stall. Sarah sold tickets for a duck game and I sold raffle tickets at $20 a pop, for a $1500 holiday. I thought 20 bucks would be a tall order, but I was surprised to see how many I sold. My sales were helped by nationality when I heard a British accent and the camera crew for Discovery Channel were at the fair. I got a hug and raffle sale. We saw a few bands, ate cheesecake on a stick, and had a couple of drinks in The Klondike Bar. The weather was perfect, a perfect day. 

A couple of occasions I helped Sarah. Well I didn't help, I guested on her radio show. Her idea was to have banter about music. I wasn't sure about this. If there is one thing we disagree over is music, a lot. I foresaw a domestic in the radio. In all, it went very smoothly. 

I love Haines. I like all the people I've met thus far (bar only one). But I needed work and one day I got a bite. However it was a job in Juneau. At first I inquired about working remotely, but it seemed that wasn't possible. But the job looked exactly the thing I wanted not just in America but anywhere. For ages I lamented that my only contribution to society by way of occupation is by paying tax. After almost a decade in useless advertising and TV, I now had the chance to work for a company which helps teenagers get on the right track. And not a bad salary to do it either. I was interviewed twice over the phone. On Friday August 9th, I received a call. "Hello Chris, I'd like to offer you your first job in America, when can you come in?". "Next Tuesday?" I replied. "Great, see you then". I booked a hostel and ferry for Juneau and paced the room with excitement for a while. 

The weekend went too fast. I booked on the 7pm ferry to Juneau, getting me in at 11:45pm. Sarah dropped me off. With my rucksack and man-bag I boarded the boat, and told myself how confident I should be. I watched the night fall in, and the mountains each side of Chanel become golden as the last of the sun splashed the snowy peaks. I went to the bar and had myself one or two Alaskan Summer Ales. Golden bubbles dancing in a frosted glass, I became self conscious how fast it went down. But it felt good. I returned to my seat now darkness had descended, and fell asleep. I awoke 30 minutes outside of Juneau. 

Auke Ferry terminal is at least 15 miles outside of downtown Juneau where I was staying. And I wondered how I would get into town. There must be taxis waiting. Actually there aren't, but luckily I found a couple of Aussies who offered to share a cab with me. The total was $36 for the ride, and with a tip we paid $40 between us. The Aussies were staying at the Alaskan Hotel on Franklin Street, and as they were dropped off I first saw Juneau night life. The ferries of tourists had left, those who worked for a living, paid their bar tab over an hour ago. Only left were the drunks. The place reminded me of the old west. Compact and lawless. I was staying up the road at the hostel. Little did I know, they locked up after 11pm. If you turned up after then, tough luck basically. I hammered on the door without luck. After a while a guest talked to me through the door and said she can't let me in. Disgruntled and tired I made my way back down the hill to the Alaskan Hotel and got a half decent room for $70. It was at least 1:30am before my head hit the pillow properly and I fell asleep. I was up again at 6am. Tuesday was a big day.

My new boss offered to pick me up from the hostel, so I walked up and waited there for her. Storing my bag in the hostel. Before work she drove me around Juneau giving me the tour.  So nice of her and  I struggled to take it all in. What I did notice thought, were coffee shops, Walmarts, Fred Meyers and freeways. Haines is lovely, but for some reason I felt I'd really now arrived in America. 

My office is lovely, and my own office I will add, which is quite new to me after years in open-plan big buildings. Straight away I knew I'd be ok. All my co-workers are great. I seriously like each one I've met. I know I'm a bother for the company in not having a place sorted or a vehicle, but it's like they wanted to help so much. And this is normal. Most of those at my organization came from somewhere else and came off the ferry in Alaska confused, bewildered and needing all the help and advice they could get.

My first week was brilliant in Juneau outside of work. At the hostel I met Iain from Ohio, Basil from Harvard, Emilie and Sarah from England and for 3 days on the trot we made The Alaskan Hotel Bar our haunt. On the last Friday, we extended our bar crawl one place to The Red Dog Saloon. A great place on the corner of Franklin and Marine, with saloon doors and sawdust on the floor. With the bar lady dressed as a Wild West whore, it is obviously touristy, but with the tourists gone and a bar full of stuffed hunted animals, it's a must. Of my three nights at the Alaskan Bar, listening to live bands, I thought to myself in my beer buzzed haze, Juneau is a place I could love. And even though settling in is unsettling, I think settling couldn't be much easier, being fresh off the boat, no social security card, no car and only Craigslist for a chance of a home. 

Throughout the week, finding a place to stay was a worry. Particularly as the hostel only allowed 5 nights in any 3 month period. And it's the only hostel in Juneau. I emailed as best I could. I don't have a cell so email was all I had. Many replies that the places had been filled had come through. I was also in competition with another hosteller to find a place, although I was a lot less fussy. However, come Friday I found a place 2 miles from work. A room in a house.  I moved in on Tuesday August 20th. The plus side is, that the place is near work and some stores so its functional without a car. The downside is, I wanted a downtown place, as I wanted The Alaskan to be my local. That said, it's probably for the best. 

With the mountains surrounding me in a spaced middle-class part of Juneau. A glacier looming in the near distance as I walk home from work, life is pretty good. I need my bike, and I'm pushing for that this weekend. The snow is coming soon and I'm worried there isn't much cycling left. 

So my routine is work all week, and an early ferry on Friday or Saturday back to Haines to see Sarah and Horton (and Vlad the annoying cat). Life is pretty good. America is pretty good. 

Arrival into Haines Alaska

My last post was typed up in the air, probably somewhere over the Midwest. What a great clear day to fly from sea to shining sea. The view got even better as we crossed over Montana, and better still as the plane reached Western Washington State to begin its descent into Sea-Tac Airport. I noticed a couple of downtown areas from the air of the Seattle area, but a closer inspection and I saw the Space Needle, and I immediately got my bearings. As we got down a little lower, Mount Rainier backdropped the cityscape of Seattle perfectly on a clear day, so far from the stereotypical rain of Seattle.

Unfortunately, my time in the Seattle was too short between the connecting flight to Juneau, so I couldn't leave the airport. However, Sea-Tac has changed loads from what I remembered in 1994, and the central food court gave me a wealth of options. I had not eaten since the bagel in JFK. I chose Fish and Chips, and they were not too bad. I think I like the North American idea of Fish and Chips, being large chicken nugget type bites and 4 or 5 of them. And plenty of tartare sauce to dip into. Closer to Scandinavian F&C, than British.

After eating I made my way to gate N1 for my 2:10pm flight to Juneau. My ears pricked up when the announcing ground staff sounded exactly like Sarah Palin. I also noticed many of my co-passengers were guys looking like they were off on an adventure holiday into Alaska, and they would have excellent weather for it.

My assigned seat, 7B, caused the split of two friends. One of the ladies asked if I minded switching. Of course not, I was on my own anyway and I'm never too fussy where I sit. As it turned out she took my middle seat and gave me a window seat next to the emergency door, which had huge legroom. I sat in comfort as the plane took off providing me a view of the majestical Puget Sound Islands. More beautiful than Ha Long Bay in Vietnam I will say. The islands dotted more or less all the way up the North Pacific coast, as we flew into Canadian Airspace and back into US Airspace again.

I formed a conversation with my seat neighbours. Stuart and (sugar I forgot hers). They were off on a fishing vacation, but live in Vegas and both work in tree genetics. A lovely outdoorsy pair. He opened the conversation saying he liked my shoes, a pair of cheap Karrimor walking shoes. He probably thought I was more outdoorsy that I am. Of course they asked my story, and I said I now live in Haines. "How do you like it?" "Don't know, I'm about to see it for the first time". So I described the situation. I shortened the amount of time the wife and I had been apart to last seeing her in February. I didn't want to discuss the separation. In any case they said "that's a long time". I remember Stuart saying "well she must be some girl to some all this way". Of course she is, I thought.

The descent into Juneau was exciting. My father told me about the time he flew into the old Hong Kong Airport and the plane flew between skyscrapers before landing. This was the mountain version of that. You don't expect to be on a Jumbo but seeing the wing so close to the mountains, as you glide into this titchy little airport. An airport you would not believe serves a state capital.

My final flight was scheduled for 7pm from Juneau into Haines, on Wings of Alaska. I managed to talk my way onto the 4:45pm flight, and told Sarah I would arrive about 2 hours earlier than arranged. I knew I was going to exceed my baggage allowance of 70lbs, but not sure by how much. These small planes weigh everything including hand baggage and me. I was charged 50c for every pound over, which came to about $11. Pretty good as I paid $60 for the baggage from JFK to Juneau.

Another thing I noticed and gave me some minor stress, my cheap Sports Direct bag was even more ripped up than when I left in in JFK. I prayed to atheist god for it to just last one more frickin journey. Gladly it did make the last flight without spilling all my clothes and stuff everywhere.

The flight on this small plane was a great experience. The pilot turns round in his 'driving' chair and gives you the safety instructions. He starts the plane up like it is a Mini Cooper, then to the runway and you are off. Once flying, the plane doesn't seem to move fast. It's like you bob in the air. But the views as follow The Favorite Chanel into the Chilkat Inlet (not to be confused with the Chilkoot Inlet - which is right next to it) before bobbing into tiny Haines airport. As the plane was landing I saw Sarah's Suburu Forester pulling into the car park.

As I got out and reached for my bags which are stowed underneath like a National Express coach. I made my way to Sarah who had her dog Horton. We hugged and kissed. Horton was more obsessed with barking at another dog.

The thing I was concerned about was meeting the dog. Dogs are territorial and protective of lady owners. Its one reason I love them. He barked at me a bit in the beginning. I got down as low as I could, and trusted that he wouldn't bite my face off. Maybe making myself vulnerable to him, to show I'm no threat. When dogs play, one dog is dominant and the other submissive, hence the play bow. I thought I'd do the play bow, and it may have worked. By the end of the evening, Horton and I were fine together. He's an amazing dog.

Our house here in Haines is situated on a the Inlet. Out the window are year round snow capped mountains. To the rear of the house is a trail where we took Horton for a walk. Or rather he takes us for a walk as he finds the trail better than even Sarah knows. But I had jet lag and it hit me a bit. Plus I became acquainted with the infamous Alaskan Mosquitoes. They are vicious. I think I passed out on the sofa back at the house. Then came to bed and slept in a patchy way the entire night.

The next day, 15th July, Sarah took me for a drive around my new area. We started for a walk to Battery Point, through a woodland trail. I'm going to refrain from describing the landscape too much and just start by saying it is dramatic and serene all at once. Every now and then I kept asking what the postman from Liskeard, Cornwall is doing here.

We stopped for lunch and a fish and chip van. That's two meals in the USA and both fish and chips. I love the way Salmon is more on the menu than in the UK. Then Sarah showed me how we get the post, which is a PO Box, as the mailman doesn't come to our door. Sarah also showed me her Radio Station and introduced me to her co-workers. They all seem so nice and friendly and welcoming. That goes for some others I met. It seems Sarah has made quite a few acquaintances, and done a good job of stamping her life within the community. Something else I like about Haines, which I will join in on. Cycling seems quite big. Possibly as the roads seldom rise very high, and seem like a cyclists dream. I'm going to get me a bike a.s.a.p. I also noted some bikes with really thick tractor type tires, this must be for year round cycling.

After lunch we took a quick drive to Chilkat Lake (maybe Chilkoot). Again mesmerized by the turquoise waters, the snow peaked mountains, and crystal waterfalls running down the mountains from the melting ice. Captivating!

That evening Sarah took me out to dinner at the local hotel. It's my birthday today, but she has to work, so she gave me a great day the day prior. I tried the local beer Haines Amber, a refreshing red ale. Authentic, but not too bitter and cloudy. I think I will be ok with the local brew.

Today is the first day of a few where I am home alone. I am without transport so I am a bit stuck in the house. I took the dog up the trail and I may do that a few more times today. I am concerned that he runs near the road when returning. I am drinking my Yorkshire Tea with milk, and I feel a bit like Alexander McKeig in Centennial who soothes his solitary state in the Colorado wilderness during the late 18th Century with cups of Lapsang Suchon.

The milk looks like something I have to give up. A small bottle (less than a pint) costs $1.39. Potatoes cost a fair bit, as does much fresh produce. The price we pay for this scenery is covering the cost of transporting food all this way to us.

Also alongside no door to door mail service, neither is our trash picked up. We have to take it somewhere and there is a charge for it. Its inconvenient but I like it. It makes us think about what we throw away and therefore what we consume.

More than anything else, I have to pinch myself that this isn't a holiday and I have to find a job. It looks like I may not be in an office again, which I think suits me fine.

Right now I am typing this occasionally looking out the window at the mountains on the Inlet. Sarah kindly asked her radio show to wish me a happy birthday which I heard just now. That was nice.

I'm sure there are many things I have found out in the last few days which I have forgotten, and there is so much for me to find out. Anyway I am here and all is good.

New World

The days were really leading up to this for a long time, the final piece to the jigsaw. Entering America as a permanent resident. People can be snide about America, but there are many people around the developed world, let alone poverty who would love a green card. So as casual as I can pretend to be, the stamp in my battered passport in my left pocket is something quite valuable. I must never forget this. 

My final week was one of saying goodbyes. Being asked to stay in touch and offers to visit at anytime. I know a very small minority of those offered will actually consider it properly. Therefore, there are a great many people I have come to love, I will never see again. But that is a negative thought as I was overwhelmed by the sincere congratulations and hugs I received. I want to describe a few as its my policy to try and not name people (bar my wife) on here. If they read this, this is a shout out to them. My long-term buddy from Wigan, my comedy writing partner, apart from the fact we never actually wrote it. A tall handsome Yorkshire fellow, who cuts his hair at Tony and Guys, wears tweed but wants us to know he isn't posh at all. To that gentleman; go the blades (or something). To a "nasty beyotch" who I spent 3 years sitting across from me and making my blood boil constantly, bringing me to tears...mostly tears of laughter. She will be missed. How can I forget the Americanophile from the Mersey. There is no one who can tell a story like her. To her and her husband, the most made for each other couple I have ever met. There are many more, and just because I haven't hinted at them here, doesn't mean anything less.

I will certainly miss my sister and her wonderful children. My four neicphews, loud, disobedient, embarrassing in Ikea but I don't think I would want them any different. The windup one, the fairy one, the boastful one, the OCD one. Let me describe them in a different way. The loving one, the funny articulate one, the tech-savvy one, and the one with eye for detail. And my sister who does a wonderful job with all of them, while others sit in squalor criticizing, disrupting, never working, lying. To that person... I tried hard to know you, and wished I hadn't as you are the most hopeless person in this world. My only problem is your wonderful kids miss you, one of them believes in you and may always do that while most the world has rightfully given up on you. Someone who surprises me the amount of times a person can fuck up yet never learn. It's the only gift you have. 

To my other sister and brother. I'm sorry we left without saying goodbye properly. But I'm glad we built bridges a little at the end. I'm grateful to my sister for the text, and I'm excited that my brother was asking me the price of airfares to Alaska. 

My last few hours in the UK were spent with my sister and two neicphews. The weather in the week prior my departure was perfect. The UK was being like an ex-wife dolling herself up, just to show you what you will miss. My last meal was a Gregg's before I hugged my sister goodbye, thanked her for a fabulous 9 months, and off they went. As I stood on the escalators, I took one last look back and my sister walking off with two of her amazing kids and wished I'd said more before I left. But that's not the family we are. My only moment of adult affection was Dad seeing me off to America in 94, and wanting to hug, but patting my arm instead. But saying "I'm proud of you". That's the most important bit of validation a child can hear from a parent. So important I've clung to this one and only time almost 20 years later. 

The flight on over was without too much incident. I was one of only 3 white people of a full flight on Pakistan Airlines. I felt slightly awkward eating in the month of Ramadan, but looking around their were enough Pakistanis doing the same. In any case - why go in holiday on the one month you can't eat. And also the time of peak fares to the US. The curry on board was pretty good. They weren't serving beer, that was a bridge too far.

On arrival at New York, JFK I was faced with a confusing choice of lanes. One lane said visitors and the other Citizens and Permanent Residents. I was unsure as to my present status. A helpful customs officer told me "if its your first time, you use the visitors line". So for the last time I took the queue with visitors. 

When I finally got to the desk. I received a polite "hello sir". I kicked off by saying "I have a Permament Resident visa which I'm using for the first time". I'm not sure if that was the right terminology but it was ok. "So you have a package for me?". I handed him the package I was told to leave completely sealed, and he ripped it open. "Who's Sarah xxxx?" "My wife" I replied as fast and confidently as I could. He scribbled on my passport a bit. Then he tucked the file, my immigration file, into my passport  and asked me to step to one side so he could serve one more visitor. When he was done "follow me sir" I walked obediently beside him, in awe of his crisp uniform and shiny gun on his side. We came to a room which I think is called secondary immigration, the place if you are a tourist you don't want to be taken. If the border control at the front desk can be deemed rude and abrupt then they look like pussies compared to the secondary area. Firstly it seemed most my co-passengers on PIA were also in there. The room is blank and three 5 desks are seeing people who they need to check twice. I was forewarned that all first time Perm Res's will go here first. It was intimidating and I was wondering when I would see the cameras for Border Control USA. 

My file and passport got placed to the bottom of the pile, and I guess I just had to wait until they got to me. When they did I heard a shout "Christopher Novell". I jumped up. He gave me a form to sign. Then I had to make use of the ink pad to place my finger print on file. Then they handed me a tissue for my inky index finger, handed me my stamped passport and said "ok you're all set". That was it, the real culmination of all this. I'm now a permanent resident, and as long as I commit no crimes and always file my taxes, it's mine for always. 

Then out the door into America. I picked up my bags, one of which is a cheap Sports Direct bag which I doubt will make the journey all the way to Haines, the bottom is badly ripped. To the extent I no longer wheel it, which is the main function of a wheelie suitcase. 

Out the door to the airtrain, direction Howard Beach and to alight at Federal Circle. From there I dialed a toll free number and requested a free shuttle from the hotel. Up until now I always had great things to say about hotels in the USA. This was an exception. Not the room, the room was perfect, the staff. Firstly the receptionist took her time to deal with me, which not acknowledging my presence. When she did she picked up the phone constantly and forgot what she was doing. This could have benefitted me as she tried to pass me back my credit card before registering it, but I was too honest and reminded her. I asked her where there is to eat and she said "walking distance there is a Burger King, and a KFC, but I can give you some menus to order food". Later on in the evening I wanted to make use of this, but her colleague said "just dial from the room, we aren't waitresses". Ok then! I looked at the menus. Originally I wanted to toast my arrival into the USA with Philly Cheese Steak or something of the like. But this woman put me off and I didn't feel so hungry. 

I spent my evening in NYC  with a water watching the result of the George Zimmerman trial on the TV. It was amazing. Britain doesn't allow cameras into courtrooms, so a similar thing in the UK would be hard to do with all the lawyer drama, and witness statements etc etc. Those drawn sketches we see on the news of a major trial in the UK wouldn't cut it for the drama at all. That said we were waiting for the Zimmerman verdict, and while it is probably the most exciting part of the trial, it is arguably the most stagnant. The jury are away to deliberate and they come back and you think you have a verdict, but no they have a question regarding the definition of manslaughter. Counsel approaches the bench and some excited debate happens, but what have the TV got to show? Well to fill TV time, they had 6 lawyers trying to double guess what the manslaughter verdict would mean, how the jury would vote. The only agreement was basically, "no one knows". Which I guess is the idea about a closed jury session. But the excitement over nothing happening was so incredibly American TV. 

I tried to read the Zimmerman trial and understand what it was about. Well it became a race issue. America finds race issues in every case (Rodney King, OJ), Britain finds class issues in every case (Maddy Mcgann). On the Zimmerman side, we had an over zealous neighbourhoods watch who questioned a black youth for acting suspiciously in a gated community, a fight resulting in the black kid getting shot. The other side says he had a reason to be in the area, he was visiting relatives and on his way to a shop, some vigilante sudo-racist tries to thwart his freedom of movement, and ends up shooting him. This was no American Stephen Lawrence. Trayvon Martin (the victim) wasn't just a promising black student. He had races of marijuana on him, he had a past for handling stolen goods. Zimmerman also had a past for domestic violence, so we have two less than perfect people. Aren't we all less than perfect, who would look bad if our past was reborn in a murder trial? 

The final verdict was Not Guilty for Zimmerman. My verdict is; not guilty either but a few comments. If Zimmerman had not got out his car, none of this would have happened. And had he not been carrying a concealed weapon he would have just walked away with a few bruises, and Trayvon would be alive, and possibly facing court for aggravated assault on Zimmerman. This has been going on for over a year for Zimmerman. He may now face vigilantes from team Trayvon, so maybe he's suffered enough from a scuffle that went too far. I guess the legality of concealed weapons is what should be on trial here.  I think you can tell by my last three paragraphs, I was spell-bound by this trial. 

I tried to stay awake late to set my body clock on US time, but I failed come 9pm (2am according to my British body clock). So asleep I went in the crisp sheets, to wake up at 4:30am, and be fully awake by 5am. So coffee and TV, and I was making the right start for my journey to Alaska.

The shuttle arrived at 6:30am and myself and about 18 others, including some US soldiers, were on the ride to JFK. The driver hinted at tips at every stop, but I only had $20s on me. Can I ask him to break a $20? Is asking for change from a $20 to tip ok? I'm as unclear on American tipping etiquette as Americans are using a knife and fork. My wife will kill me for what I did next. Once he dropped my two heavy bags on the sidewalk (pavement), I took advantage of the other passengers looking for $1s and $5s and I made a dart for it. Fuck it, I will never see them again, and if that unlikely scenario happens, I will say "tip? But you aren't waitresses!". I believe the term for that would be "you have been served".

Bags checked in, through security and even though I had spent one night in NYC, I still hadn't had any American food at all. I envisaged some pancakes, bacon or steak and eggs with gravy at the airport. In the end my first American food was a bacon, egg and cheese bagel with a large French Roast coffee. Probably the American opposite of the Gregg's I had as my last meal in Britain.

I'm typing this somewhere over the USA, some miles up in the air en route to Seattle. I'm sat by the wing, but it's a clear day and I can see down at the country side divided in squares by the neat grids of roads. I can see the big sky, I can see the country which has graciously taken me in.

However, most importantly I have a wife waiting for me all the way over there in Alaska. I can't wait to see her and the dog and my new life. I have missed her, and at times wondered when I would see her again. I just know she has done a fantastic job of creating a life over there.

I'm glad we chose Alaska, or at least she did. It's the last frontier. For years reading American historical novels and reading of settlers, I realized that coming to Alaska is the nearest I will ever get to that. A frontier of my own, only with wifi. It presents challenges, but if I didn't want challenges I'd still be a postman in Liskeard, Cornwall. But from the postman, who went to the city to get he-self an education, to London to Manchester to travelling the world on every windfall that arrived to settling in the USA. I believe I may have a life that is worthy of a blog - oh here it is.