Fresh off the Boat

On my way back from a recent sojourn to Chicago, our progress temporarily slowed down by some late afternoon traffic as the highway skirted around the city, I managed to sneak a glance to my left and intoned a silent, ‘Wow!’ at the picture perfect view of the sky-line of downtown Chicago. The buildings jutted into the sky framed perfectly against the backdrop of a cloudless azure sky, hemmed in by the tapering structure of Hancock building on the left to the distinctive tubular shape of Sears Tower towering over the rest on the right. A ‘concrete jungle’ as some might sneer, but to me at that moment those were symbols of progress of a country that had been founded less than 300 years ago. Coming from India, I mused, where the first ancient civilizations were established 5000 years ago it’s difficult to comprehend sometimes, just how recent the history of this country is and more remarkably how quickly this country has been able to establish and assert herself in the world stage. Of course its endowed with rich natural resources and more importantly it has always attracted the best and the brightest from all corners of the globe; ordinary industrious people willing to take risks whether in the factories and mills dotted across this vast country or in the corporate offices of Wall Street or in the exploration of Space or more recently in the garages of Silicon Valley. It reminded of something I had read not that far back:

“It should not be denied that being footloose has always exhilarated us. It is associated in our minds with escape from history and oppression and law and irksome obligations. Absolute freedom. And the road has always led west”

And what about my own first impressions of this ‘Great melting-pot’, as the cliché goes? I wasn’t escaping any oppression or wanting freedom of course but the inebriation of youth was tugging at me to be footloose, to explore and experience different cultures from up close; maybe it was simply a touch of wanderlust? But what was my first ‘fresh off the boat’ experience like?

I still vividly remember my first visit; after what seemed an interminably long journey, (I missed my final flight because the connecting flight arrived late) I stepped off the plane mildly disoriented but my mind still agog with anticipation, ready to experience the country we all read and hear about so much. The first few days were a mélange of emotions—feelings of homesickness jostled with wide eyed admiration as I gazed at perfectly paved wide highways, generously spaced out office buildings, immaculately laid-out tree-lined suburban streets, huge shopping malls with department stores selling every conceivable thing my jet-lagged mind could imagine. The clean antiseptic smells coupled with the general lack of people and noise was very disconcerting at first and exacerbated the feeling of being far away from home. Soon I had my first ‘initiation’ into the American way of life--ordering the first burger at MacDonald’s (in the process trying desperately to figure out what ‘To Go’ meant) and my first visit to Walmart.  It was indeed a rite of passage--a coming of age that established a ritual to be repeated without fail almost every week that I have spent so far in this country. (Admittedly, I don’t go to MacDonald’s’ that often now but invariably end up having fast food every week). The bewilderment that I felt when a complete stranger on the street greeted me with a cheery ‘Howz it going?’ question was something I recall with a smile as well.

“Keep right in two miles”, the mechanical voice of the GPS rudely jerked me out of my reverie and for a second I turned my attention back to the road ahead but I wasn’t done yet.  My mind drifted back in time again and I was struck by the contrast between now and then; of how familiar everything looked and felt now. The smells and sounds no longer seem new, the roads seem well paved as usual and orderliness is almost expected. What was unexpected however was when we missed an exit and had to take a detour under a highway overpass. Shabbily dressed people lined the road, with signs hanging, begging for gas, money--anything that might possibly elicit the pity of passing motorists. Were these people merely an aberration as a pitiless, detached view might suggest or the increasingly real face of economically impoverished America hiding beneath the veneer of a big city? But that is another topic for another day and as we emerged back on to the highway and onto the mainstream, I smiled wistfully at those precious memories of my first days in America knowing those feelings won’t ever come back again.

Shades of Yellow

‘Starved Rock’; Ah! the name itself conjures up images of long forgotten battles and bloody sieges that you read about in the pages of history. It was an unseasonably warm autumn day when we left for the state park,  stocked up with food and armed with enough cameras to put even the most dedicated paparazzi to shame. The drive itself was uneventful; the only excitement being provided by the beautiful fall colored trees lining the highway on both sides. We drove past empty fields waiting for the winter snow, past golden yellow corn fields ripe and ready for harvest, past giant machines (harvesters) sitting like prehistoric beasts ready to devour their prey, past quintessentially American farm houses, pickup truck dutifully parked in the front; across the surprisingly wide Illinois river sparkling in the late morning sun dotted with boats trying to make most of the last good day for sailing before winter sets in.

Entering the park, we were greeted with all kinds of colors; not really the variety that we were interested in though! A full parking lot choc-a-bloc with cars! We were surprised by the huge crowds that had gathered there; perhaps enjoying the last warm day before the temperature dipped again we reasoned.

After a light but tasty lunch of sandwiches and cakes we set off on foot to explore the park. Poison-ivy trees lined the trail with warning signs besides them. Pine, maple, fig all kinds of flora were visible-a true botanist delight. A short climb led us to the bluffs overlooking the Illinois River, undoubtedly the most scenic spot in the entire park. But we had to contend with not just the milling crowds with people jostling for space to capture that perfect camera angle but dogs of all shapes and sizes-it was all too crowded sometimes. We continued on the trail past red colored trees lined with brightly colored wild flowers, stopping sometimes to capture a close up shot. The trail led us to French Canyon where the afternoon sun filtering through the dense foliage of yellow colored leaves washed everything in shades of yellow creating a scene of ethereal beauty. Moving on we wound up on the beguilingly named Lovers Leap, the spot on the opposite end of the bluff we had stood on just a few minutes back. Finally with an eye on the clock, we hurried back, our pace quickened not just by the downward slope but also by the impending dusk accentuated by the dense foliage overhead. After resting for a few minutes we were back in our cars, our thoughts about the week ahead but like a fancy camera that alters the hue of a photo, the mental image of the yellowish light that cast a strange unearthly light on the way to French Canyon stuck in my mind for a long time. In the words of the celebrated American naturalist, John Muir “In every walk with nature one receives far more than he seeks” How true!