The Great election adventure 2012

Boston, Massachusetts; a liberal bastion for most of my lifetime, home of the Kennedy’s, the base for the error strewn campaign of John Kerry (made running against Bush 43 look harder than it should’ve been). But in a strange twist it is also the birthplace of American freedom from oppression; the blacksmith Paul Revere and his famous ride that signaled the start of the American war of Independence, the Tea party protest over taxation without representation (the genesis of which prompts modern day debates on big vs. small government and American self sufficiency).

For the trip moving into its defining leg, Boston was the perfect place for two reasons; the first being related to John Kerry and 2004. It was in this year and this campaign that Ant and I started working together, and as the campaign with international ramifications drew to its thrilling conclusion we began talking about our mutual love of politics, and our developing fascination with US elections and of course the West Wing (so many people begin their interest in US politics through the wonder of Sorkin’s 7 season series on the ups and more often downs of the Bartlett administration). At this point I’ll be fair to Ant, as although an avowed British Conservative, he would translate more as a fiscal conservative with a small c in the American context. I however am an evolving liberal (evolving towards libertarian in my middle years), and so was confused by his stance on many issues, leading to many hard fought debates!

The second reason Boston was a good choice was that as the home of the Tea party this election would be defined by what Republican candidate Romney referred to as “gifts”. In political terms a debate about big vs. small government, in economic terms it was about the 47% (Romney’s term) of the country that wanted something from government vs. the rest that were self sufficient. Or indeed on a human level this election was about the equity of the current system and the ethics of withholding state aid from those in need of it most. I don’t want this to be a political essay, or indeed an overtly political story. This is essentially about the drive from Boston Logan airport to a small town on the Canadian border in the state of New Hampshire called Dixville Notch. But I guess the context of the trip helps?

Having gone from terminal building to transport bus to hire car company, we’d met half a dozen people and engaged them in conversation, not one of which were or had ever voted Democratic! I was beginning to get nervous about Obama’s chances if we could meet people at all levels of the economic spectrum but not find a supporter of his…. Maybe he had alienated the country? Having spent time in Pittsburgh last year I was able to correctly predict the route our journey would take. Leaving Boston on a bumpy under maintained four lane highway, the signs of a metropolis were clear; concrete over passes, a mish mash of interconnecting highways with houses seemingly crammed onto slip roads, SUVs jostling to primacy over-cutting and undercutting to gain small advantages on the commute back to suburbia. As we moved through place names that resembled the English home counties; Cambridge, Winchester, Andover, we saw a small reduction in traffic and in lane numbers (now down to 3). On crossing the border into New Hampshire we got our first taste of the eccentricities of the north country. “Live free, or die” proclaimed the state we were about to enter, including reminders that we were now allowed to exercise that freedom by not wearing a seatbelt…. Damn those lily livered liberals in Massachusetts and their concern for our welfare. Ant and I chose to buckle up, but I guess as we chose this we were in compliance with the state motto.

Once past Manchester we were treated to the well known beauty of New Hampshire. Down to two lanes now, we were just about able to make out acres of forest on either side of the highway as the sun plummeted below the horizon. Even though it was only 6pm the darkness of the night sky and rural environs made it feel much more like 10pm or even midnight. Down to one lane and warnings of moose 500yds ahead. How the local transportation police knew with such certainty that a series of permanent signs were appropriate I don’t know. Luckily we didn't have an encounter with a moose to verify the accuracy of their claims. Quickly off the beaten track, through a range of literal one horse towns that pepper the rural New Hampshire roads. Typically a Rite Aid (equivalent of Boots), a tavern, a church and maybe a dozen houses to provide customers for this local economy. As we traveled further and further north we kept a regular check on the temperature gauge, dropping from a positively balmy 60 degrees in Boston, now down below freezing (32 degrees) which was confirmed by the constant interruptions of snow drifts; making visibility tough but not impossible.

Having exhausted the charms of talk radio exalting the clear landslide victory for Romney that was just around the corner, we stopped off in one of the Rite Aid’s in a one horse town, for a stretch, take on some fluids and a cheeky packet of M&Ms. One more hour of driving brought us into deep forest, and more snow drifts. And finally after four hours of driving we reach our destination; an RV park on top of a hill in the middle of nowhere. No lights, no sound, no people, seemingly no wildlife either. On arrival we were greeted by a 6ft tall bear of a man who was the guest house owner, a full shock of white and grey hair atop his head and the hard worn complexion of an outdoors man, indeed just the sort of chap who wouldn't take to kindly to two office workers. He welcomed us in and immediately assumed we were reporters coming to write copy on the oddity of the Dixville Notch democratic electoral process. Conversation moved too quickly for two guys who had been cooped up in a Toyota Camry for 4 hours, and so we forgot to set him straight.

Hungry, and bleary eyed from a journey that had began in Washington DC at 6am that morning we sought refuge in the only pub in Colebrook; the Dancing Bear. Arriving at just before 9 we both order burgers, and were promptly served. The only other patrons in the pub were prospective state senator Jeff Woodburn and his aide. After they left it was clear (from all other lights in the building being sequentially turned off) that the bar was keen for us to move on. On inquiring about the official closing time we were told “well we closed earlier than this yesterday evening”. Our plans of staying until just before midnight and hot footing it to the ski lodge that would hold the vote were scuppered. Which in hindsight was a stroke of luck; as it took us over an hour to find the polling place, secluded as it was down a dirt track road with limited signage that was guarded by an actual lone wolf!

So that brings us to why we were there. Ant has the original idea of backing up our 2008 Denver trip to the Democratic national convention with an election week adventure. What we wanted to be careful of was repeating the assumption of the Denver trip; that we would be able to get close to the action and experience democracy in action at close quarters. We chose Washington and Boston, over the draw of going to a swing state (Colorado, New Hampshire, Florida, Ohio, Michigan, Virginia, et al) as we wanted to be able to have a plan B if all else failed. Where did Dixville Notch come from? Well an episode of the West Wing of course. Dixville Notch and Harts Location (or Harts Landing as it is referred to in the West Wing) take advantage of a New Hampshire election law that allows the vote to be opened and closed if all of the eligible voters are present. Dixville Notch has 10 registered voters, and so it isn't a push to ensure that they are all available at midnight on election day morning to open and close the ballot and announce the results. Harts location has a trickier job of being first in the nation, as they have closer to 40 registered voters. Aside from being first, Dixville Notch has absolutely no bearing on the election results, other than it is pretty much the only thing the news networks report in the first 12 hours of election day.

Drawing into the car park, we saw two imposing satellite trucks positioned to broadcast the results live nationally. We approached the building with great trepidation, after all we had no accreditation and were simply two British tourists. There was no one on the door, but a sign advising us not to campaign for a candidate beyond this point. We walked up the hall to the main room of the hunting lodge and encountered our first and only resistance. The coordinator of the election warmly welcomed us, advised us to not get in the way of the camera’s or the cordoned off “VIP” area for the 10 voters and suggested we help ourselves to the chocolate brownies and coffee provided in what usually was the bar area. Needless to say we were both flabbergasted! Front row seats, alongside the global news media!

Needless to say it was very surreal, we had a reporter speaking live to Piers Morgan on CNN, the AFP making frantic stabs at their computer keyboard, the University of New Hampshire student news paper took our names to add to a human interest story that they were doing, and local State senate candidate Jeff Woodburn overseeing the results that hopefully would kick start his entry into public office. My excitement was further enhanced by the results the first time they had seen a tie in the history of the vote. This also made me glum, as having watched live the Redskins beaten by the Panthers (an election week bad omen for sitting presidents), not encountered a single Democrat in Massachusetts, and now witnessed a tie I was more than nervous about the President’s chances of re-election. I needn't have been concerned, as it all appeared to be over by 9pm and confirmed just after 11:18 that evening.

Throughout the trip I was taking video with the occasional commentary here are some of the highlights

How to survive in foreign climes

Great article on Twitter- http://quickbase.intuit.com/blog/2011/09/26/how-work-effectively-across-cultures/ Alexandra Levit.

Key points from personal experience-

Prepare for some discomfort- simple things like ordering at starbucks are emotionally intense experiences, being ok with regressing to baby steps and not getting frustrated is essential to not suffering a meltdown in a public place

Beware of sterotypes- Americans are loud, Arabs are lazy are just two of the ones I’ve encountered. This is unhelpful and puts barriers between you and truly understanding the individuals you’re dealing with.

Create a hybrid culture- I learnt this the hard way. There is a fine line between accepting a culture for better or worse and acting like a colonialist, chanting mantra’s from the homeland. Classic comment I heard in Dubai International Airport Costa coffee (second coffee reference?!) “They wouldn’t get away with service this poor in London”, well we weren’t in London! Taking the best of both worlds is tough, you have to be willing to compromise things you wouldn’t dream of doing in your own country. You have to be willing to amend, adapt or pause some of your values. You have to be clear about your mandate; best doesn’t equal own country ways of doing things.

Thanks Alexnadra, this came at just the right time!

Reflections of cultural differences; Subtlety at work

Aside from the Weasypeasy doing some blogging, I’ve been sadly absent from these pages, especially when it concerns my Americana experience. I look back on my blogs on Firth of Arabia and marvel at how fresh and exciting it all seemed, but also with its fair share of bizarre moments. I’ve been thinking about this on my walks into work each morning, and the best I’ve come up with for not posting more, is that it hasn’t been that strange or bizarre or as un-stereotypical as I would’ve liked it.

It was nice to read weaseypeasy’s guest blogs, because they have that freshness that is required to express what is really going on, that wide eyed amazement at the cultural differences shines through and captivates the reader.

So after having spent a day with a cultural awareness advisor in my first few weeks, I was surprised but perhaps reassured at the subtlety that defines the cultural differences between the US and UK. It is this subtlety that lulls the casual expatriate into a false sense of security, that catches them out in previously innocuous situations, and often results in unhappy experiences and early returns. So what are these differences?

Language is the best place to start; although we share the same language where expats get caught out are with simple things; lifts and elevators, hair fringes and bangs, porridge and oatmeal, trousers and pants, not just the stereotypical pronunciations (Tomato Tomaghto). Language can be even more of a challenge if you find comfort in idiom and metaphor to get your messages across. Luckily my familiarity with US sports terminology allows me some comfort!

Thought processes. Similar in terms of the linear logical education that both of our systems specialise in. However the Americana SAT system encourages absolutes, and the absence of grey. Whereas many English educational approaches encourage debate and discourse. In my most recent studies through the Open University we’ve been encourage to conclude in a balanced way; weighing up all the arguments and highlighting the nuance in making a proposal or decision. I’m no expert on this, but my experience in Americana suggests that the education system rewards strong argument on either side of the line, so long as you take a clear position. And I guess this shows through in the politics of the nation, two parties, opposing positions, lack of compromise, the language of winning instead of compromise.

It’s this final point that comes across most often; winning or competitiveness is everywhere. According to my cultural awareness advisor this stems from history and a book called “the little engine that could”. When the history of the country is so short, and the experience of the pioneers relatively fresh, winning begins to take significance in culture and behaviour. On the book, this is as likely to be in a kindergarten book shelf as goldilocks and the three bears. Winning takes on a hard wired component of daily life, it is very difficult for people to accept mistakes, to own up to problems, to give people feedback on performance. Sadly it can become divisive, forcing people into conflict when collaboration gets better results. And when someone loses they are unlikely to dust themselves down and “get back into the saddle” as we would say in the UK, instead they shy away from the scene of failure, unwilling to show the humility.

The flip side of this is recognition for a job well done or for successes. Americans desire praise and recognition, in a way that we would find embarrassing and the Danish would resent. In the UK we view this has the “have a nice day” phoney cheerleading we see on TV. In reality it is more genuine and heartfelt than those shows depict. Recognition large or small provokes real and lasting pride for the individual, they really appreciate their leaders speaking up, but also there is an equally strong response when peers do it. Having been a big cynic about all this high fiving and whooping, I realised that my colleagues considered this lack of recognition on my part as offensive and not showing good team behaviour, so getting into the spirit definitely drew me into the team and helped build relationships.

And finally on a lighter note, Americans are made about sport. Not just men, I’ve had better conversations about baseball, Football, Hockey, Rugby, Soccer, beach volleyball you name it, with women. Sport is a family affair, everybody sits down of a weekend to watch the games, whole families go to the ball park, and work colleagues decorate their desks with sports insignia. Indeed the end of each month is signified by a debate over whether dress down Friday can accommodate wearing your team’s colours.

I’ve loved every minute, I’ve been humbled by the hospitality and thankful for the opportunity to gain a better insight into our cousins across the pond!

Pittsburgh photo album

Not bad eh? check out more Pittsburgh photo's here- https://picasaweb.google.com/118260934742259323192/Pittsburgh 

Don't dress to impress

I don't know why, but i always believed that Americanans were a very formal sort of people, and that the land that brought us the "power suit" and braces with suits (wall street 1, has a lot to answer for) continues to lead the world in work dress etiquette.

Not so my fellow Englishers. Most people wear polo shirts! I know, how despicably casual. No ties, no cufflinks, no suit jackets….. unbelievable!

So I couldn’t be more of a sore thumb if I tried, I only have shirts with cufflinks, and I have order to the things I carry in my suit jacket pockets…. I can deal with change, I can, but this is too much!

Quote of the week- uttered during a training session on time management (DILO to the RBS crew) “I’ve heard the rocks in the jar story before. My pastor uses it to explain the importance of faith in our lives”

forget supersize, do you wanna go family size?

So I got a few choice lessons in the culinary delights of Americana. Obviously we all now that the portions are bigger, this is common knowledge. But how much bigger can often be a bit of a shock.

I was in an Italian restaurant yesterday evening, we had invited the business team we were working with out to build some bridges. You can see a picture of the Pope presiding over our meal on my twitter feed. However this wasn’t the shocking thing. The waitress explained the dinning experience by making it clear that they only did two sizes- small and family size meal (including starters). The small size was suitable for 3-4 people, and the family size upwards of 6!

Another quirk of Americana food, is the salad. Whether you order a starter or a main, you’ll be asked if you want a salad with it. I mistakenly thought this was going to nestle gently onto my plate next to the swordfish steak I had ordered. Instead I got two equally sized plates, one with the steak the other piled high with what can only be described as a greek salad.

Finally cheese isn’t the same. Ordered cheesy nachos- got cheese whizz cheese- horrible awful, sloppy, slippy, sticky cheese whizz cheese- wont be making that mistake again.

Happy travelling

As Stevie Wonder say- Very superstitious....

I mean did I walk under a set of stairs? Did I break a mirror, did a black cat cross my path. I can’t help thinking that something was amiss. I pondered my superstitious nature, during a 3 hour wait, standing patiently in line at New York’s JFK airport. Walking through my day to date to see if I had riled the Gods of Fate, if I may have slipped up and caused myself unnecessary woe…. But I couldn’t really pin point one particular moment, maybe this had been sent to test me, to see if I was really up for my grand American adventure. I remembered something Steven had said about pioneers needing significant levels of resilience, this seemed appropriate under the circumstances, and events of the previous 12 hours.

The first sign that things weren’t going to go well, was around 12pm, when the ebb and flow of traffic on the M25 meant I didn’t get to the airport until 10 minutes before my flight was called. I quickly swigged a bottle of complimentary beer, and realised that I was planning on a shave to look less like a terrorist (I understand the American’s are tetchy about such things), and this wasn’t going to happen, leaving me looking like a particularly dirty tramp!

On boarding the plane, I was hit with another two unfortunate incidents; one, that we had no pilot (stuck in the same traffic as me) and that my TV only wanted to show movies in shades of blue. So after 90 minutes on the tarmac and a couple of glasses of “please don’t get mad at us” champagne we finally got underway. The rest of the flight passing without incident.

On arriving at JFK, I had my one and only bit of luck for the day. Immigration was empty, and after filling out the wrong form and then filling in the right one I got through and picked up my bags in record time. It suddenly occurred to me that the airport had 8 terminals, and I had no idea which one my connecting flight to Pittsburgh went from. I got in a lift, and in typical Firth style went up, then down, then up again as it wasn’t clear which floor I had to get out on (sadly people witnessed this faux pas, and laughed). After this I realised I was in the wrong terminal, and promptly got back in the lift again to go back down to the airtrain.

As soon as got off the airtrain at the American Airlines terminal, I was hit with the news that my flight was cancelled due to bad weather. I wasn’t particularly concerned as I had been here before on route to the Democratic National Convention in Denver 2008. I turned the corner into the main terminal building. I can only describe the scene as something close to a very disorganised ant hill, with people running hither and thither, precious little signage and no AA employees on hand to assist. Finally I was told to get into an ominously long rebooking line.

3 hours and plenty of good natured banter later, between a Swiss Indian Canadian, Bangladeshi, Goan, a Texan from the Bronx, an Australian and I. I was told that because my entire flight itinerary wasn’t with AA that I would be booked on tomorrow’s flight but had to sort myself out for somewhere to stay. Went to tourist information, got booked into the Quality Inn (as I found out somewhat ironically named). Agreed to share a cab to the hotel with a Nigerian man who went to get food and didn’t come back.

To pay for the cab I was now getting on my own I had to get cash. ATM, Lloyds card, declined. Hmmmm. Tried again for a smaller amount, rejected because the previous transaction was, however logical this appeared it was still frustrating. Went to the currency exchange desk, they only take cash! Balls. Try to ring bank on phone, tried 6 different ways of dialling it, but failed on all occasions. BALLS! Go back to ATM, use credit card…… we have a winner (with 2.5% interest on cash withdrawls! Yikes).

Cabs in New York has a nifty little feature, an interactive map in the back of the cab, not the front…. A fatal error in this cab drivers case. He had no idea where the hotel was, I politely prompted him to make some changes to his approach based on the fact I could see the map. Obviously sensing that I had view of the map, he started driving in completely the wrong direction (not a big game player this guy, cracks under the slightest bit of pressure). So I rather forcefully told him to do a U-turn and proceeded to direct him to the hotel myself, which resulted in a $5 deduction (I thought he should’ve paid me!)

On falling out of the taxi I was confronted by two rather “well made up” ladies. Who no doubt were amused by my struggles with two heavy bags. As I got closer, my sleep deprived bloodshot eyes realised they were prostitutes. Excellent I thought, I checked the name of the hotel for a geographic region, I was in Queens, which from my very limited research on the subject, I knew wasn’t exactly the New York equivalent of Kensington and Chelsea. Checked in and asked if they still served food, how foolish of me, they didn’t even have a restaurant! But they gave me two menu’s for takeout, one of which wouldn’t deliver to the hotel, and the other I was informed was probably no longer in business…. Thanks guys!

Having been up for 22 hours, I decided to get some rest.

5am the next morning, the well made up ladies decided to serenade me with motown classics from the sidewalk right outside my window. I got up for breakfast and remembered why Americans have such a problem with obesity (being diplomatic there!). As my breakfast options consisted of waffles, donuts (of many flavours), sausages that looked like recently chopped off fingers, and bagels with mandatory cream cheese spread. When in Rome do as the…. I just couldn’t do it, so I had some toast and a banana (I know fresh fruit, at this point a life saver).

No more incidents at JFK, nor on arrival in Pittsburgh. Unjinnxed? We’ll see.