Willow’s cousin, Patrick, was in the car that drove us from Orlando Airport to Willow’s uncle’s, Brian, house. We asked him how far we had left to drive until we would arrive to the house. He didn’t know. Can’t blame him. Every other mile was just a repeat of the previous one. Like a vinyl record with a big scratch on it or a catchy radio song. Deja vu.
Then Patrick says, “We are close know, we just passed a Chuckey Cheese next to a Congo River.”
Welcome to Florida.
I’m very European. Swedish mom, Italian dad and English girlfriend. I’ve been to most countries in Europe, but never been to Asia, South America, Africa or Australia. I’m well aware of culture differences, and I appreciate and respect them. Unlike most of my Swedish friends I don’t see Britain as a under developed country based on the lack of three layered windows, an average indoor temperature on 22 Celsius and poor bank services.
Different doesn’t equal wrong.
Florida felt weird. It felt wrong. I had a similar feeling (but not as strong) in Lake Tahoe, California, last Christmas. There is something fundamentally wrong about american suburbia. Something missing. Everything is oversized, feels fake and appears empty.
The human strive for perfection has killed society.
Patrick’s mom told us a story about when Patrick missed the school-bus. This was about 2 years ago when Patrick was 13 years old. He missed the bus so grandpa offered to drive him to school. After a few hundred meters down the road they had to stop. When Patrick needed to know how to get to his school, it turned out he didn’t.
We Europeans quite often look down on the average American and claim that they are less intelligent then the average European. The difference is not intelligence. They don’t have smaller brain capacity on the other side of the Atlantic. The American society just require less effort from it’s residents, and as we all know, humans don’t tend to do more than necessary.
You can’t really blame Michael Jackson for being a bit special, different and unique.
Brian had his house full of contractors repairing his roof. So the first night we spent in a tent next to the pond (not man-made) outside his house. After that we stayed in a Motel down the road. The Motel added the dot above the i. Two floors. Balcony. Gun range next to it… it was just perfect.
Follow this link to see more of Willow’s photo’s from Florida
After our first night in the Motel, Willow and I decided to walk back to Brian’s house. Big mistake. The city planers obviously didn’t have pedestrians in mind when laying out the road.
What happens if you eliminate the natural need for exercise, but not the need for food?
It might sound as if my Florida experience was horrible. It wasn’t. Not at all. Just a lot to process. It was different. It felt weird and inhuman.
The last morning in Florida, Adam (Willow’s brother), Willow and I went to a Starbucks in an attempt to get some drinkable coffee. I was surprised in finding that they sold John Lennon and Damien Rice records. The cups were recyclable.
Who ever thought that Starbucks would feel culturly refreshing and of a high standard.
