🇩🇰 Originally published in Danish — automatically translated to English
Being nomads is still an adventure. Even though we are sometimes tired.
Barefoot, I stood out on the wet deck for a moment and watched the sun break through the clouds over the Nevada desert in the small former mining town of Beatty, while I listened to the birds and looked at the makeshift houses built from trailers, small sheds, and other solutions that aren't actual houses but work perfectly well as such. Did I hear an eagle's cry? I'm not good enough with birds to say for sure.
Beatty is the last stop on our American road trip this year, only a few hours from Las Vegas, where we are returning to some more peaceful weeks with our friends. Not much happens here, and it's hard to tell whether the town lives on anything other than the tourists who come through to see Death Valley. Like us. There are several motels and quite a few Airbnb-type rentals, a row of cozy, probably pretty bad diners, a single saloon, and, on top of that, a completely wild casino in some kind of steampunk-fusion design. Actually beautiful.
Outside town, there is a sign you can drive to and take a picture of: a 1930s sign for a legal brothel advertising Angel's Ladies. On our way here, we had actually driven past another legal brothel, now closed, still standing with Greek columns and all. What really draws you to the Angel sign, though, is the crashed plane lying right next to it. Some stunt in the 1970s that went a bit wrong and ended in a crash landing. A pretty photogenic spot, you have to give them that.
In the other direction, just a few minutes outside town, lies the ghost town of Rhyolite, where we arrived at sunset to read signs and photograph lightning and ruins. The town was founded in 1905 and abandoned in 1910, after no fewer than three railways had been brought to the town, four banks had opened offices, and large facilities for handling ore and serving miners (saloon, brothel, casino, bank) had been built along the main street, which is naturally called Gold Street.
Quite small but also quite big experiences in the middle of the desert were flanked by a Danish assignment for the young HF students in the family (HF is a Danish upper secondary program), and by studies in the art of cooking — first our own extreme diet, prepared in the excellent kitchen of our Airbnb, and then fits of laughter over the massive difference between British and American cooking shows when we watched TV (an exploration we sometimes allow ourselves on road trips): first some Great British Baking Show, where we learned about the historical roots of the English "pudding," from sheep's-stomach wraps through spiced offal and strange flour-based constructions in cheesecloth to the now so incredibly funnily named "spotted dick." What is happening to language?! Then we watched half an episode of Beat Bobby Flay, a totally hyped-up American show, which is naturally a competition with background music, stand-up-style banter, a cheering audience, and present-tense retellings meant to make something actually rather unexciting feel extreme. We had fun.
As a final note from our TV experiences, I want to point out that in this country, where an incredible number of people speak Spanish at home, and where there is no respect for this second language, I have now seen ads in Spanish. There are midterm elections, and you can feel it; some of the most heavily pushed ads run in both languages. Wildly enough, with different content for each group.
So. Spanish isn't taught in the schools. There are no Spanish labels on food. You can't speak Spanish in the emergency room.
But the ads.
Yes. This is the US. I hear the eagle again, will go out with my app in a moment and get it confirmed, and think about how driving through the US has added endless nuances to the picture we are trying to form for ourselves of this scolded and strange country. Everyone is illogical; everyone has flaws. With the role the US has chosen, the country is simply more exposed—and more dangerous for the rest of us in so many ways. The US takes up space not only in world politics but unfortunately also … well, I was about to say "culturally," but it is the part of American culture that undermines culture that is spreading like a plague across the world. Sorry, but I'm saying it. Couldn't we all instead cook as they do in India, with passion, cultural history, health and mythology in mind? Could we please dress and carry ourselves like the Italians, floating effortlessly through the streets in natural fibers, relaxed in deep self-confidence, or like the Japanese: sensible, high-quality construction, balanced. Could we be entertained like the Spanish, in the streets, in the squares, in the cafés — by each other, by community and celebration? Could we move, care for our health and our bodies like the Scandinavians: on bikes, on skis, in hiking boots, whatever the weather, whatever happens?
It would be so nice to be spared the ready-made meals, processed food, convenience solutions, drive-throughs, the mountains of sugar. It would be so lovely if people could still tie a shoe, button a shirt, pull on a slip before the dress so it hangs nicely, dress like an adult, dress for the occasion. And what if we didn't need entertainment, if we weren't understimulated because we are overstimulated, if we had the energy for the difficult practice of being present with those we love, if we had conversations and looked at horizons, went for walks with our elders and hung out with our friends instead of letting the huge TV screens and small phones constantly distract and entertain us?
I know it isn't all of the US. But it comes from here. It does.
Damn it, I bought vinegar to put in my morning water, a little too quickly (that is, without reading the fine print), and realized there is SUGAR in apple cider vinegar if you aren't careful. Just one of a thousand examples of how crazy even the food is here.
I once lived in a monastery where entertainment was forbidden. Even novels. If you do something, do it for real. Do it because life matters. You can read a novel if you have a purpose in it, and if it is part of "the calling." Religious or not, there is something to learn here. If we let ourselves be entertained, we head toward distraction—a damned state largely about avoiding the calling, that is, meaningfulness. Without meaningfulness, emptiness crashes in and devours us, and we want to run as fast as we can, as far from that feeling as possible.
The right path is to listen to the calling, to what might actually matter, to take on our responsibilities and straighten our backs. The wrong path is distraction and entertainment. Okay. That turned into a bit of a rant. Let me know what you all think. Maybe I'm just thinking a bit too much this morning. My hands hurt because I've packed the car every day for a week, simply moved too many things too many times. The sunrise is in full swing; the colors have shifted to a clear blue sky, and I need to go out with my bird app so I can identify the cry I keep hearing. I need more coffee, and I need to pack the car before we drive out into the hottest and driest place in the world, as a final crescendo before we head back to the cozy community with our friends in Las Vegas and relax in the warmth among hummingbirds and roadrunners.
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