I'm a European Citizen!

A good few years ago now, an American friend, living in Munich, explained how he had recently travelled to Barcelona and stocked up on his favourite red wine. Checking in for his return flight, the Spanish airline attendant informed him that he was 23kg over his 20kg allowance (wine bottles, however carefully wrapped, are quite heavy) and that he would have to pay an excess fee. My friend paid no fee and removed none of the bottles. "How did you get away with it?" I asked. He said "I told her in a loud voice that I was an American citizen and that in the US, 43kg was no problem". He asked her why he was being discriminated against. He demanded a manager be summoned to explain why he was being treated like a criminal. In short, he made a big fuss.

My friend told me this story with a smile. He's not usually an awkward customer but he had travelled a long way to get this wine and he wasn't letting it go easily. He explained that he was taking advantage of many european's prejudices that all americans are mouthy, loud people who have no hesitation in making a scene when they feel that they have gotten a bad deal. In this case the check-in attendant didn't want such a scene and my friend & wine made it onto the flight.

That story (which I hope my memory hasn't subverted) has stayed in my head for nearly ten years. Spending some time in the States allows me to experience some of the different ways of approaching and carrying out everyday tasks. I've been caught out a few times already and have felt the temptation to exclaim - "I am a European citizen and we do things differently!". In an ideal world, this would afford me some respect and slack from my American hosts.

For example, the other day rushing to get a rental car back on-time, I pulled in to get some petrol and had extraordinary difficulty operating the petrol pump. It didn't help my mojo that this pump appeared to have clear, very simple, instructions on a little LCD screen. I thought I followed them but one small detail was missing - the nossle is surrounded by a hose that must vacuum-seal around the tank opening before any petrol will come out. In I went to the shop attendant, "the pump on number 6 doesnt work", I explained. Out he came, followed the same instructions, clamped the nossle to the car and out came the petrol. "There you go", he said but in his eyes I could see he doubted that I was of an intelligence to be trusted with car keys. Had I more confidence, I would have explained my European citizenry to him and watched as his respect for me was re-established. Alas, the opportunity slipped by.

Watch out for the Ewoks

More about those Ewoks later. Yesterday was a day for sight-seeing in Marin County, north of the Golden Gate Bridge. Before we could go anywhere, we needed a car and Avis kindly obliged. In a moment of weakness, I agreed to hear a pitch to join their membership program. The good. A kind man with a deep voice and a rich southern accent spoke with me. The bad. He was reading a script that took a very long time to read with no breaks. The good. After agreeing to a trial membership at $1/month and giving him my date of birth, he twigged it was my birthday and said "Well golly, gosh Mr. Moran, its your birthday. Many happy returns." The bad. One easily hooked Irish-man signed up right there.

So, a compact car powering us, we crossed the bridge and stopped at the Lighthouse Cafe in Sausalito for a coffee and a bit of grub. I watched the cook make my 3-egg omellette with hot italian sausage, spinage, mushroom and onion, and the result was a thing of beauty. Crossing the street to settle the bellies we strolled through a couple of Sausalito's many marinas. There are a lot of live-one houseboats moored here with a variety of styles.

On and up and around some twisty bends to see the giant redwoods of Muir Woods National Park. The trees grow tall and straight dwarfing humans staring at them from below. Being a Monday, the crowds were small and once off the main trail, there was a great sense of quiet with just the gurgling of the creeks below. The reference to the Ewoks above comes from George Lucas using an almost identical forest in Redwood National Park, Northern California to shoot the Ewok scenes on the Moon of Endor for Star Wars, The Return of the Jedi. I saw that movie as an 11 year old in the Ambassador cinema in Dublin and in my head, I could hear the sounds of the storm troopers lasers zinging through the trees.

More fine photos available at Knud's flickr photo collection.