Return to Rochester

Tom had to work all day then drive a hundred miles or so to a hotel for a dance meet. Couldn't say I envied him. We had a late night snack and chat the night before anyway.

Tom told me about the IKEA showroom outside Philadelphia. It was a gem of a find. Simple, elegant furniture and household fittings for a low price. I see how they do it. Most of the goods are for self-assembly so they save on transportation. Also they don't hire an army of salesmen. Instead you look at their showroom, decide what you like, then pick it out from their warehouse shelves. I come away with a couple of side tables, lamp stand, clip lamps and window shades, without setting off alarm bells on my credit card account. I wish I knew about this place earlier. I think it might be worthwhile to make a special trip down if I need more furniture.

The northeast Penn Turnpike extension was crowded but not unbearably so. Mostly it was the two lane traffic that kept cars bunched together. By the time I exited at Scranton, most of the other traffic had evaporated. A half-hour later, I was in New York State.

I was supposed to meet Doug at 6 pm for dinner. He transferred from Rochester to Cornell a while back. Cornell seemed to suit him better. Ithaca is on the southern tip of Lake Cayuga, a glacial lake. As is normal with glacial lakes, the lake sides are steep. Ithaca is by the lake so all roads downtown have this steep descent. I remember sitting in a boat cruising on a glacial lake in South Island, New Zealand. The captain told us the water was about a thousand feet deep under us. The thought of that much water underneath gave me the shivers.

After dinner and pleasant banter, I drove back along the eastern shore of Lake Cayuga. Most of the time I had used the other bank. I found this side nicer because the road remained within sight of the lake bank and I could see the house lights on the other bank across the narrow lake. The smell of hay and manure reminded me I was in farm country.

I saw much scenery on the trip that pleased me, especially in the Appalachians, but nothing lifted me to ecstasy. The US had that (non-)effect on me. Much of what I saw was banal. Frieda's words came back to me often: It looks so unloved. In Europe or Asia, humans look like they belong in the landscape. Even though wild forests mostly don't exist any more in those continents, nothing is untouched by civilisation and none of the animal populations are original, humans and their surroundings have adapted to each other and made the earth feel homely. In the US, humans seem transient, just a blot on the face of the earth.

One has to travel far in the US to see a change in scenery or vegetation. And yet I did not get the sensation of having traversed large distances when I reached Florida. The urban landscape was similar. You can get the same sort of fast food in Florida as elsewhere. I can already imagine what California is like, even though I have never been there. Funny how large countries tend to uniformity while small ones tend towards diversity.

Americans are too eager to destroy historical artefacts in the name of progress. There is little sense of history in this country. What's left is mostly a collection of historical markers in the landscape that are impossible to read while driving past. No traditions, nobody stays long enough in one place to acquire traditions. Patriotism seems to be more a superficial sentiment or emotional outburst than a genuine feeling. The best the American pavilion at EPCOT could offer was a band of singers rendering This Land is Your Land in dulcet tones. Why not pictures or films of the landscape, which is truly magnificent in places, like other countries? No, Americans must have words, more words to stir people. Is it any wonder nobody really loves this land?


At midnight I was at the junction of West Henrietta and I-390. I was home.