October 29, 2001

All Come To Look For America

September 11 is a watershed date in our history. Certainly our generation of Americans will never feel as safe or secure within our boundaries. The world, messy spot that it is, has invited itself into our lives.

Around 10% of Americans have passports. Yes, that’s all. The remaining 90% depend on external sources to define the outside world (global politics through the eyes of CNN). We are content within our borders, secure in our belief that a working knowledge of international affairs may be gained without the bother of international travel. We have lived, safe in what we do not know.

This fall I’ve come to look for America. Sandwiched between trips to Europe (Amsterdam, Berlin, and Copenhagen in July) and Japan (Iriomote in December) I have wandered in and around a surprising number of these United States. Texas, Oklahoma, Arkansas, Tennessee, Indiana, Michigan, Ohio, Pennsylvania, Virginia, Maryland, Kansas, Nebraska, South Dakota, Minnesota, and Wisconsin have all made my dance card. Although I detect a reassuring groundswell of patriotism in the hinterlands, this national pride is frequently divorced from the reality of what our country faces beyond the borders.

As Americans we would like to believe that the world generally reflects our own hopes and desires, only on a diminished scale. We would like to look in the world mirror and see ourselves, only less luminescent, more opaque. We complain when our cell phones stray out of service; 70% of the world’s population will never receive a telephone call.

In Fermata we believe that travel is transformative, revelatory. Through travel we are forced to view the world through another culture’s eyes. In truth, this is the essence of experiential tourism, the desire not to replicate our own culture in another land (the Club Med approach to travel and tourism), nor to transport that culture to a sanitized setting (Las Vegas). Through travel the mysteries of a world more inclined to slip itself within our boundaries are unveiled (rather than revealed).

Truth be known, I love my country. Not in a jingoistic fashion, but with a tempered affection born of experience and familiarity. This republic is a comfortable fit. I know its inhabitants. They are me.

My recent travel has exposed me to my neighbors’ fears, expressed in everyday actions and the millions of sound bites on talk radio. Women in Walhalla, North Dakota are worried about anthrax in the mail. Farmers in North Platte, Nebraska are sheltering their livestock against agricultural terrorism. Sheriffs throughout the Great Plains are warning their constituents to watch for untoward behavior. This fear is primal, elemental. This fear has torn at the fabric of our national harmony. We fear what we cannot see. We fear the unknown, the outside. We fear those who, in truth, fear us.

For the foreseeable future travel to foreign lands will be difficult for many, inconceivable for most. This gripping fear, tight around our wrists, will hold us firmly within our familiar bounds. Yet even during this time of apprehension an entire country awaits our discovery. For while Americans admittedly know little of the outside world, we also know even less about the counties and states that surround us. At least the press makes an attempt to inform us about Afghanistan, Uzbekistan, and Kazakhstan. What about Turtle Lake, North Dakota, or Conneaut, Ohio, or Great Bend, Kansas?

There is an America awaiting a visit. Rather than pining for the return of the friendly skies, pluck Bookends from its dog-eared wrapper and come look for America. Hike to the peak of Scott’s Bluff. Orient west, and notice the silver ribbon winding toward Wyoming. This is the North Platte, and the Mormon, Oregon, and California trails all passed here. Along this prairie river were the thoroughfares for hundreds of thousands of our forefathers who made the journey west over a hundred years ago. These immigrants ventured west in search of the peace and prosperity now rocked by world events. What could be more consoling than to reconnect with their vision of America’s unlimited possibility, promise, and peace?

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