I have just returned from spending a few days in Italy with
Tomato. While in Venice, it was good to see so many Americans soaking up our European culture – literally, as it turned out, on account of the weather. I made many observations about the Americans we ran into during our stay.
I shall refer to Mr. and Mrs. Average-American by their generic names of John and Jane Doe. That’s what they do themselves, but oddly enough I’ve never met an American whose real surname was Doe, but plenty whose first name was Bud. Mr. and Mrs. Doe will be aged about 60, and that’s because they’ve had to wait for John to retire from his job at the Goodmonth Tire Company so that they could have enough money to make the trip, and because John’s holiday (vacation) entitlement at Goodmonth was only 2 weeks, and that only after 35 years of service.
One can always tell when America has plagiarised the name of a European city, because they will suffix the name of any such city with the name of the country in which it is located, thus we have cities with names like London-England, Paris-France and Venice-Italy. To Europeans like me, it is quite adequate to know these places as London, Paris and Venice. But many Americans are not well travelled (or should I say “traveled”?); Many have not left their own shores, and most are not passport holders. So we must make allowances for these quirks. A common mistake seems to involve London, Britain’s capital city. Because it is a relatively large city in a relatively small country, some Americans seem to believe that London is not just the name of a city, but also the name of the country as a whole.
I met part of the Doe family on Sunday evening as
Tomato and I waited for the vaporetto (water bus) to take us to Piazza San Marco. I was very impressed with Mr. and Mrs. Doe. Mr. Doe was well kitted out, with the best guide books and maps, and had really done his homework and was able to tell me exactly which water bus we needed, and when it would arrive. Both were suitably attired in quality waterproofs, although John did not have over trousers to keep his Rupert Bear trousers from getting wet. Mrs. Doe had sensible walking shoes, white, which looked sturdy and would not slip on wet surfaces – the kind of thing I would expect to see on the feet of a Californian coffee shop waitress. Had the weather been warmer, John might have been wearing baggy shorts, but with the same black socks and black leather shoes that he wore under his suit at Goodmonth.
We had a few minutes to spare as we waited for the water bus. I asked John whereabouts he and Jane lived in the US –
“near Raleigh in North Carolina, the southern US” came the reply. Ah yes, I’ve been there – the 2000 Warbirds conference at Research Triangle Park. Jane was impressed. Both John and Jane were fascinated that we had come all the way over from London (London-England) for only a few short days, and I had to explain that we have low cost airlines like
http://www.ryanair.com which make that possible. I watched the blood drain from John’s face as I explained that our round trip fare including taxes had come to US $50 each. John and Jane had been fleeced for their trip, the airline having soaked up a sizable portion of John’s lump sum pension payout. Now old Uncle Beet1e has crossed the Atlantic on about eight different airlines, so I wondered which airline had been used by John and Jane.
”Connynennal”, came the answer, an airline I thought I hadn’t heard of until I remembered that Americans do not favour use of the letter T in spoken English.
The water bus arrived and we said goodbye to John and Jane and thanked them for their help and wished them a pleasant evening. We found a restaurant near Piazza San Marco, and thought it looked good though there are times when appearances can be deceiving, and this was one of them. It was quite early for us to be having dinner – not quite 7pm, and it was then that I remembered that Americans do things very early. Get to work at 8am.
Start thinking about lunch at 11am, and make reservations for 11:30am!
And have dinner at 6pm or even earlier.
Well we got seated next to another branch of the Doe family. I knew they were American because they were just about to leave the restaurant to allow time for a stroll, and bed by 9pm. It must have been a special occasion for them because they had consumed an entire half bottle of red wine between them. Clearly Mrs. Doe had gone along with her pocket calculator to make sure that the number of units of alcohol in said wine would not exceed their daily allowance stipulated by the Surgeon General. And neither John or Jane had plans to operate a motor vehicle that evening. That’s something else: In America, they
“operate motor vehicles”. Here in Europe, we just drive. We could tell that Mr. and Mrs. Doe had been disappointed with this restaurant, just as we were to be ourselves. But the Does were clearly appalled that in Italy they allow
smoking! Right there in the restaurant. Yeah, well I feel their pain on that one.
The following evening was our last before returning to London-England-Stansted, and having become disillusioned with the tourist rip-off nature of the San Marco area, decided to have dinner at a bar-restaurant in Piazza Santa Margherita. (I may have spelled that incorrectly. The writing on the map was very small, and my eyes are no longer young.) It was an excellent evening. The waiters knew us from previous drinking sessions, so I had no need to specify the size of the beer I wanted as an aperitif. There is only one size – LARGE. Anything else is just half a beer. The Doe cousins from California were at the next table. When I also ordered a litre of house red to go with our meal, they must have thought we were expecting about four friends to join us. How would we all fit on that table etc. etc. I find Americans’ attitude to alcohol a little anomalous. Of course, I would not consume large quantities of wine if I planned to operate a motor vee-hickle soon afterwards, but red wine is good for you. 
That, combined with moderate exercise keeps my arteries from furring up. How anyone can disapprove of alcohol, but enthuse over sausage, greasy potatoes and eggs with everything for breakfast is a conundrum I have yet to solve.
Yanks and Limeys. 
We are so alike and yet so different. What can we do with the Yanks? What could we do without them? 
To know ‘em is to love ‘em. 
