And what is a poor fresh RPCV like myself supposed to say?
Truth is, its a little over rated, but still #1.
While sitting in my hut I exaggerated the wonderful nature of the U.S. of A. The food was better in my mind, the convenience of driving more fun, the juices and snacks more plentiful. The idea of America was an incredibly powerful part of my Peace Corps experience.
Shortly before I came home I had a vivid dream. At the time I had a big, bushy, mountain man beard which could have hidden away any number of small woodland creatures. In my dream, and it was one of those drams you think is absolutely and utterly real, I found myself in front of a plate piled high with Buffalo Wings.
The poor guys didn't have a chance!
I recall eating one wing in particular, one of the little two bone guys, and I was intently trying to get all the succulent meat out from between the two bones, working it this way and that, hot sauce and chicken bits smearing across and into and around my beard and face and hands.
It was glorious!
When I woke up I had to wash my face several times. I was convinced that I had wing remains all over me.
A few days ago myself and a handful of friends hit up Buffalo Wild Wings, that chain place which specializes in providing the ultimate in televised entertainment and fifty million sauces for your wings. Being the over zealous individual that I am, I ordered 18 wings in three sauces.
A few things I learned;
1. American hot sauce is not as hot as I recall.
2. There is such a thing as too many wings
3. An individual who has been a defacto vegetarian for two years should never, ever, ever, ever, eat a meal that is 99% meat and 1% spicy hot sauce.
4. Dont chase your dreams.
The wings were good, dont get me wrong. But it was at that moment, perhaps 12 wings in, when I realized I was attempting to achieve something that was impossible. The concept and the idea of America that had sustained me in Lesotho was non transferable to the real U. S. of A.
As a PCV I needed the idea. I needed to build america up as a land of dreams, a land where anything was possible, a place of both milk and honey. Those cold lonely nights in my hut were bearable because I could imagine a place with heat, I could imagine a place where iced coffee was just $5 away (and I suppose a place where I had $5, another myth).
Yet despite the disappointment, I wouldnt trade those days of fantasy for any reality that resembled it. I'm glad I'm disappointed. I'm happy that America isn't all I'd imagined. It reminds me that the world is a real place, America is a real place, and I have a place in that.
Abstract, wandering, not entirely clear, I know, but important none the less.
On a side note: I enjoy blogging. The hubris that I spoke of in my first post is still there. I enjoy a certain comfort in thinking that someone out there might read what I write. The egoism of thinking my ideas are worth publication, which is the disease of my generation, is incubating nicely within me.
The blog will stay, my self gratifying posts will (if I'm not as lazy) continue to appear.
