London
Our hotel was at the base of the London Eye, across the
river from Big Ben and Parliament. We watched Andrew Marr interview Prime
Minister David Cameron and our hotel window was just over Andrew’s shoulder. The
first morning we came out through the lobby, super models were posing on our
front steps. We inquired about this and were told that it was a piece for
Mexican TV that was being made in anticipation of the London Olympic Games. The following morning, the rain had eased up
but, alas, there were no supermodels on our front steps. Not wanting to come
across as boorish Americans, we decided not to complain to the front desk about
this lack.
We visited Churchill’s War Rooms. On one wall was a remarkable
hand-made chart showing the daily casualties (the sum of deaths and serious
injuries) from Nazi bombing of London. During one two-month period shown,
casualties ranged from 80 to 600 per day. Imagine the trauma of 9-11 every
week. I suspect that our generation would have snapped like a Xanax tablet in
these conditions.
The UK’s recession officially began its second dip while we
were there, GDP growth dropping below 0. David Cameron – the sort of
intelligent and articulate conservative one might wish for in this country – is
struggling with a 29% approval rating. He looked beleaguered in his interview. “So
if we’re doing the right thing by cutting spending and the Americans are doing the
wrong thing by stimulating, why is the American economy doing so much better than
Britain’s,” Marr asked.
In the British Library, the Treasure’s Room, there are a
number of remarkable handwritten documents. Among them is a piece of music by
Beethoven that seems to capture his energy almost as much as his music, even to
the frenetic energy in the crossed out sections.
Whenever it was convenient, I asked young people throughout
our trip whether they were optimistic or pessimistic about their economy, about
its ability to create jobs for them and their generation. Every single European
– even the Germans - was pessimistic.
The only exceptions? Two Argentinians and one Brazilian. It might be mere
coincidence that Argentina and Brazil have female presidents.
Westminster Abbey is a stunning cathedral, but obviously a
national tomb, in contrast to St. Peter’s at the Vatican. Not just kings but war
heroes, poets, and scientists are buried here. Charles Darwin and men who led
troops are buried here. It truly is the Church of England.
Paris
It may be unrelated to the euro, but while Blake and I were
decoding Paris’ subways, we couldn’t help but notice that about 50% of the
folks coming to street level just jumped the turnstiles. This did not strike me
as a culture particularly constrained by rules, whether about paying a euro to
ride public transit or paying taxes to support said euro.
It is no wonder that the French riot when their 35 hour work
week is threatened. The French word for work is “travail.” Who wants more of
that than absolutely necessary?
Unemployment rates are stubbornly high in France and Italy –
nearly 10% if measured as we do, and their youth unemployment rate tends to run
about double that. Spain’s youth unemployment is about 50%. If you offer people
a system that offers them nothing, it is no wonder that they’ll seek
alternatives. The day after we left, Hollande won the presidential election;
for the first time in 17 years, France has a socialist president.
It turns out that Sarte’s favorite café was directly across
from our hotel. It was the place where he redefined philosophy and modern
relationships, smoking unfiltered cigarettes and waxing eloquent about
existentialism. For all of my story telling to Blake, this moment of explaining
existential philosophy over an omelette seemed the most oddly gratifying.
There are times when clichés play into the theater of our
lives in ways that leave me confused. I’m never sure whether to reject them as
serendipitous or embrace them as emblematic. As we wheeled our suitcases down
the street in search of our hotel, we passed a sidewalk café with a beautiful
young woman sobbing as she told her story of – presumably – heartbreak to an
older man who seemed insufficiently moved by her beauty, her sorrow, and her
story. I was moved to see that not everyone in a sidewalk café is empty with
existential dread. Romantics still inhabit this city.
Speaking of romantics, the charm of Paris seems to resonate
more with females. Nowhere on my travels have I seen more single women with
suitcases, backpacks, and guide books. This is the city of love and apparently
women still come in search of it.
Rome
As I came into Paris through the subway, I got the sense
that I should stay on the alert for criminals; coming into Rome, I got the
sense that I should be on the alert for the businessmen.
Rome is shabby. Broken sidewalks, pot holes, graffiti, and
trash were everywhere. The Vandals invaded Rome and apparently never left.
What Starbucks outlets are to cities in Canada or the US,
churches are to Rome – only bigger. I don’t think that we ever walked more than
3 blocks without seeing another fairly remarkable church.
I wonder if an economy dependent on ruins doesn’t do
something to the psyche. It felt like great deference to the past, to the point
that fallen Roman columns were simply left lying in fields, property in the
heart of Rome left idle because someone had built a structure there 2,000 years
ago.
Perhaps it is part of the make work mentality that the ruins
have almost no signs; for information about what you are seeing, you are dependent
on guide books and guides. Few objects have even simple labels.
Augustus’ palace is in ruins near the Forum (you know you’re
something big when a month gets named after you – everyone for thousands of
years living 8% of their lives in your shadow, as it were), as is a truncated version
of the Stadium where 250,000 fans could watch chariot races (Roman NASCAR). The
only signs I could find in the area explained what type of flowers are planted in
the beds.
They say that all roads lead to Rome, but apparently it’s
harder to find a pithy saying to help you to navigate the city once you’re
there. The only thing that people seemed to spend more time doing than look at
ruins was looking at maps. There’s little that seems predictable or intuitive
about the city’s layout.
The sense I got of Italy is that it’s a place where far more
passion is expended in protecting jobs than creating them. The entrepreneurial
spirit seemed largely subdued, seemingly finding its only expression by what
struck me as African immigrants selling suspect products on the sidewalk. As an
example of how jobs seemed to be protected, we got processed at the gate for
boarding the plane out of Rome and then – inexplicably – about halfway down the
ramp to our plane, we were stopped by two women in uniform who – again –
checked our boarding passes and ID. Unsurprisingly, no one new had entered the line.
Like Disneyland, the Vatican is an independent kingdom completely
surrounded by a foreign city. Unlike Disneyland, it is an absolute monarchy,
the world’s last. A place where the fact that 12 is the legal age of consent
(the lowest in Europe) is irrelevant for the simple fact that its roughly 800
citizens are all clergy or Swiss guards.
Blake raised an interesting question. If the Vatican is a
foreign city, does that mean that every Catholic Church is technically an
embassy? I’m sure there are priests who would welcome diplomatic immunity.
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