There will be delays...

A few weeks ago, I put aside my prejudices and worries and decided to spend a glorious day on a bus trip to the "unreachable" mall. I left at 2:00pm and in order to optimise the potential number of busses to catch and minimise the potential waiting time, I first biked to the bus depot in central Morgantown. According to the schedule, I should have a bus every half our there and since I arrived at 2:20pm, there should be one within 10 minutes. As it turned out, I missed one while figuring out the schedules - the 2pm bus had left 25 minutes late.


In itself that wasn't too bad. While the bus stop itself turns out to be the local dope and smoke market (never before have I witnessed two total strangers talk about cocaine addiction within 5 minutes of introducing themselves), the weather was pleasant enough, as was the nearby trail (which I keep coming back to) and the scenery on the other side of the bus station. (The picture above should bring out the early April cherry blossoms, at least that's what I think they are. That lovely spring weather has by now been replaced by heat not unworthy of Melbourne Cup day.)

After 35 minutes at the bus stop, a 25-minute delayed bus did arrive and (after having stopped for an extra 5 minutes) brought us to the mall. While I had been gone from home for an entire hour now, the busride itself only took 15 minutes. Talking about efficiency.

There are three malls in Morgantown (though "around" would be a more accurate preposition). The first mall is immediately south of the city and has died ever since Wall Mart moved out. Now the only reason to go there is because the social security administration has its office there, so you're effectively obliged to go at least once, at the very start of your stay. The second one is right across the river from where I live and the final one is where I was headed now. None of these three malls have sidewalks. None of these three are reachable by bike unless you have no sense of selfpreservation whatsoever. A bus ride to mall 2 (as we just found out) takes 15 minutes, waiting not included. A ride to mall 3 takes at least half an hour - according to the schedules, that is.

Because there are rather few stores inside town, I presume my hopes were artificially inflated for what I would find at the mall. Upon arrival, though, I was quickly put in my place. The fear of losing my way in the seven full, three half and twenty quarter floors of which any Australian shopping mall seems to be built up (in quite a few Australian shopping centres I've seen, the word "floor" doesn't make much sense: you really need a continuous scale in z-direction or an altimeter to keep track of where you are), quickly evaporated when I realised this mall wasn't much larger than the little misfit we have in Kapellen (my town in Belgium). In fact, this mall didn't even have a supermarket and therefore became even less interesting than that one.

I feel like I have to qualify my disappointment, though. The fact is that the third mall (the one across the water from me) does actually contain some interesting stores, though it only has a single bus going there, which translates into an hourly instead of half-hourly service. I got a ride there twice now and it does provide you with good shops for at least some things. The problem is, of course, getting there.

Also, as much as I may seem to complain, I really should bear in mind that Morgantown isn't the metropolis I've lived in for the past ~4 years. According to Wikipedia it has less than 30,000 inhabitants so Melbourne is literally more than a hundred times bigger. The reason why a big city like Melbourne has all its shops in the centre while tiny Morgantown has them all a 15-minute drive outside town, remains a mystery to me, though.

So, after a five-minute stroll through what I expected to be a plethora of assaults on my common sense and - more so - wallet, I'd seen it all and strolled back to the parking lot with an empty feeling and without spending a single cent. It was 3:20pm by now - I had been gone for 80 minutes and had spent a total of 5 minutes in the mall. I figured I could walk back in, maybe eat something, but the 3pm bus (which should normally arrive here by 3:15pm but was delayed by an undetermined amount of time) could arrive any minute and missing that bus would imply an extra wait of at least 30 minutes. I figured the risk of missing the bus was too large and opted to play safe and inspect the parking lot instead.


Here you have a snapshot of the parking lot. It doesn't seem to be so huge, but that is because it encircles the bean-shaped mall and therefore doesn't need a huge radius to have a surface at least twice as large as the shopping area. Smart design in that sense: it allows the fast-food eating, never-walking homo sapiens (who think of a motor cycle rather than a bicycle upon hearing the word "bike") to limit its physical activity to an absolute minimum. (And then they wonder why the dysfunctional health care absorbs a third of US taxes.) Let's move on to somehing more positive and focus on the horizon in the picture above: the softly undulating foothills of the Appalachian mountains, specked with nice white houses that undoubtedly have lovely views over the natural beauty of which this Mountain State has so much. When/if I get to the even more sparsely populated region of Green Bank, you can expect some clearer evidence, because I'm aware this picture may not cut it in itself.


The bus did arrive, eventually. If I remember correctly, it arrived at 4pm and must therefore have been close to 40 to 45 minutes late. I would ask how it's possible to get such a delay on a lazy Sunday afternoon, but given that this post comes almost a month after the event, I don't feel justified in pressing that point. Getting back to the bus stop at 4:20pm, I made it home around 4:40pm, bringing the trip total close to three hours for a 5-minute walk through the mall. Luckily these durations don't scale linearly...


In Australia, the one thing that bothered me most, was the heat. Yet, when you sign up for a couple of years down under, you really should realise it's going to be hot so complaining about it isn't really justified. In America, the single most annoying thing (in my opinion) is the absence of sidewalks and the consequential necessity of a car. This, too, is an implicit part of the deal and it would therefore be unfair if I kept focussing on that point: I knew this was going to be an issue and I've had three months to get used to it, so it really is time for me to get over it and stop whinging - unless I want to end up a pom in America (which, given my accent, I'm not too far off.) I therefore decided this will be the very last post where I'll complain about sidewalks, public transport and necessity of cars. I rest my case, the rant is over.

Before I do so, though, let me humour myself by posting one more picture from my way to the supermarket. It shows one of the few crossings across a fairly busy two-lane road (I've waited quite a while to be able to take this pictures without any cars obstructing the view). You can see the crossing on the left hand side. It leads to ~5 metres of sidewalk which... vanish into nothingness. The sidewalk isn't continued along the major road and on the sidestreet there's not even an even stretch of grass to take refuge on (the left-hand side of the side street - though not necessarily obvious from this picture - is pretty much identical to the right-hand side, which you can just make out.)


With that and apologies for the long delay in getting this post out, I'll leave you all.

Chicken Sandwich

I just had a chicken sandwich for dinner. That's right: chicken, a sandwich. Nothing more, nothing less.

This somewhat meagre dinner resulted from a combination of factors. First, my knowledge of English isn't quite perfect. It took me at least a year to figure out that "jalapeños" are the small, hot, green peppers. (Please don't get me started on the meaning of the word "peppers"!) Second, I know nearly as much about cooking as I do about pension funds - no need to ask me what the difference is between cooking, baking, frying, steaming, roasting or grilling. (Though I have a hunch about "steaming".) Third, either cooks are really bad in the US, or every single American is an outstanding cook.

The fact is that there is almost no (generally take-away) joint where they won't have you (the customer that is, not the cook) decide on everything about your meal - down to the finest details. Most of you might have experienced this at Subway: what type of bread would you like - what kind of meat would you like - cheese - toasted? - vegetables - sauce - salt? pepper? Drink? Cookie? In Sweden, the only give-away that I didn't know Swedish as well as I should, used to be my blank stare when they asked me if I wanted to take it home or eat it at the joint. At Subway (and now just about anywhere), this single blank stare inflated into a concatenation of blank stares, requests to repeat what they just asked and a total and utter indecision when faced with the choice between Swiss and Ceddar cheese. (I honestly have no clue what the difference is. All I know is that the Swiss cheese most definitely does not come from Switzerland.)

So I learned to say "A bit of everything, thanks" and subsequently, as my vocabulary and culinary knowledge grew: "A bit of everything, except jalapeños and olives, please". Last week, when ordering a hot-dog for lunch, this technique aparently didn't do. The chef (this was actually a real chef-looking guy, believe it or not) looked at me in disbelief. I started wondering how difficult this could be: just how many things could one possibly combine with a hot-dog? After a few moments of consternation, the guy luckily made his mind up and helped me out by doing what any cook in Europe would have done in the first place: following his own recipe.

Back to this evening. Originally I planned to give in to the easy and unhealthy option Burger King provides around the world: Double whopper please. No drink. Pay. Thanks. Get away. No choices, no dilemmas, no lack of information on what combinations arouse suspicion and what combinations are normal. However, Burger King being what it is, I changed plans at the very last moment and picked the unknown, more healthy-looking joint next to it. That in itself wasn't the big mistake. Replying "no" when the lady asked what more I wanted - that was the mistake. I saw her eyes widen and look at me as if I was a straightout weirdo. It may have been my general astronomer/nerd look that did it, or maybe my dishevelled hair, dripping recycled raindrops onto her counter, either way I must have made an impression that correlated with the peculiar order because she didn't ask again.

And so I ended up with a handful of lettuce and a piece of chicken in a bun. I wouldn't say it was a feast to my tastebuds, but at least it must have been more healthy than Burger King.

A walk through Star City

Giving in to popular demand once again (I'm starting to wonder where this might lead me eventually), I am, as of this week, the (proud?) owner of a digital camera. Now I am really badly trained (and minimally gifted) at taking pictures but you've asked for it (well, some of you have, anyway). I have no illusions as to capturing the West Virginian or Appalachian spirit in a series of 2D representations, but let's see what we can do. As a warm-up, I'll guide you on a walk to the "local" shop. ("Local" being defined as the closest one reachable on foot. This doesn't mean it's nearby.)

This first picture shows our living room and kitchen. You're currently standing with your back to my room and on the far side you can just see the front door. Notice the collection of empty bottles - notwithstanding my housemates being either just 21 or still younger, they've already made their parents proud...


Next we have the outside view of the complex. My room is on the far corner of the second building, top floor. In the background you can just see some hilltops which are quite representative for this region. On the right edge of the image you can see one of the greatest things about Morgantown: the trail. It's this trail which brings me straight to uni - without any encounters with cars or anything like that. In fact, things I did encounter so far include loads of runners (yes, I'll start training soon), even more birds and a single raccoon (if that's what it was, but I'm pretty sure.) No really, it's a pretty trail and I hope to get you some stunnig pictures once spring colours everything nicely green.

Next one... yeah, see what I mean about me taking pictures? I never even noticed that yellow bar running right across everything, I honestly only notice that now. Anyway, I guess you'll have to live with it.

So this picture shows you a couple of things again. Firstly, on the right, a bank. Pretty fancy, though I wonder about their credit rating. On the left is another typical American thing which I - being born and raised in densely crowded Flanders - cannot get my head around. It's a drive-in ATM. Now there are a couple of reasons I cannot figure this one out. Partly it's probably because I haven't got a car myself, but beyond that, there's the simple fact that cash doesn't seem to be of too much relevance in American society since pretty much everything can be payed for electronically. And even if you do use cash occasionally, any supermarket gives you the option to get cash out as you pay your groceries. Besides, there are walk-up ATMs at pretty much every shop anyway. Finally, I don't see why one would put all the money into building this drive-in thing and sacrifice the land - surely you're not gaining quite as much as it costs, or are you?

After half an hour's walk, we have arrived! (As with any of the pictures, click the image to get a larger view.) "Kroger" is the supermarket I'm headed for - the only complete supermarket that I can reach by bike and/or foot. (There's a smaller one in town, but they don't even sell fruit.) Right above Kroger, a green-roofed building pokes out - this is the university's sports centre. Sadly, membership costs way too much to be useful (unless you're student in which case it's free), so I won't go there. Don't get carried away by the "book exchange" - it only deals in second hand books that are on the curriculum lists. Anything else (even if it's on the same subject) doesn't seem to be present. Do notice the advertisement on the left end of the picture, though: "Get Free Incoming Calls". Apparently that's something worth advertising. Initially I though this was about some quite obscure top-level sort of service - like some blackberry carriable internet or whatever. Turns out I was wrong. In the land of the free, you pay for receiving calls. You apparently even pay for receiving sms's. Call me crazy, but I would never have thought of that.

This picture, I'll admit, doesn't really show much of interest. However, it has a huge pole with loudspeakers. This is the town's warning system. Whenever there is a storm, a fire, a cat caught up a tree, it sounds. To be perfectly honest, I don't know why it sounds, I only know that it does so, often. At least once a week and sometimes several times a day, raising the average to probably close to daily. And it's loud. I can easily hear it through the television (windows closed) even though it must be about a kilometer -if not more- away. I personally don't see the point, unless this invention dates back to pre-telephone days, when the fire brigade needed to be called to duty without current technological gadgets. However, this is the 21^st century. I would imagine they would have done away with it by now.

The second thing the picture shows (if you know what you're looking at), is the cleared hiltop across the river, on top of which the actual closest shops lie. They're probably about half as far as Kroger, as the bird flies. However, since I cannot fly, I cannot reach them. Well, not within an hour and without using a bus or a taxi, that is.

We're nearly back home, so let me close off with a quite typical view. Again, the hills in the background - do you notice the swath of treas that are cleared for a power line? Coal - and, consequently, electricity - are the main business of WV. It should therefore not be too surprising that the WV senators and representatives in DC are amongst the foremost people to oppose any anti-coal plans any administration might have. The first time I saw a number plate saying something like "we love coal", I thought I had misread. Sadly, it's a reality...

A final thing to notice, before I leave you and get dinner, is the front yards we're looking at: there are no divides. Of course, in some streets there are divides - keeping dogs and little children inside - but surprisingly few of these divides are at shoulder height or higher: they tend to be at a height that you can see your neighbour and could even have a chat. Totally unlike Belgium, that is. (Dare I say "Europe"? It probably holds for large parts if not all of Australia as well, I think.) To me, that is an interesting and slightly puzzling idea to come from the land that has pioneered individualism and capitalism for more than 60 years now. Clearly there are still plenty of sides to the American psychology that I haven't figured out - yet?

Some random news-picks

I cannot help myself but provide you with a few links of interest:

First, something about the fascinating American habit of tipping, which I'm still trying to come to terms with.

And next an odd news story from the state of Illinois (that's right: Obama-land) - reinstating Pluto as a planet. (Take that, IAU.)

Television

Television is a most important aspect of American life - or so I have always been told. Partly I can see how that would be caused by the mindboggling number of channels available - wherever I've lived so far, the default answer to "what's on television tonight" was "nothing interesting, don't even bother". But when there is a seemingly infinite supply of channels to pick from, things do change. (I've zapped through everything from 1 to 54 and gave up there. A random check showed there was still life at 102, but that might have been a duplicate.) Of course it is fundamentally a chicken-and-egg question which came first: the addiction to television or the exorbitant number of channels.

The fact is, everyone has a television. In the house I'm sharing, there's one big television in the living room - and four more, one per bedroom. That makes five televisions for four people which, on the positive side, means there is no need to fight over which channel to pick but on the negative side implies a privacy that kills most random human interaction.

Thinking back about the shared houses I've lived in over the past years, there have been two areas of the house most conducive to socialising: the kitchen and the television. Simply put, if the only television is in a common area, then anyone watching it will be open for a chat - if not during the show itself, then at least during the commercial break. Down here, these dynamics are entirely different - between the unlimited broadband internet and the private possession of a TV-set, people lock themselves in their rooms and only make fleeting appearances outside that cave.

It should therefore not be surprising that the longest event of 'sitting-around-and-chatting' we've had so far, was during a two-hour blackout a few weeks ago. Collecting the few candles we had lying around, we just managed to light the living room enough to all sit around without needing to be in the dark. We didn't quite make it to playing cards just yet, but without internet and television, we had an interesting social experiment all the same...

Public Transport (II)

I've given it one more try - to catch the bus. This time I attempted to take it in the centre of campus, where there can be no mistake about its route and where it's bound to stop anyway - if it weren't to pick up people, then at least to avoid running into the crowd of students that is always present at this location. In order to make sure I wouldn't miss an early bus, I came ten to fifteen minutes early - allowing me a thorough inspection of the wide variety of buses that do pass through: purple, gold, ... several colours came by, especially those not part of the rainbow; the red bus, however, didn't.

After waiting about 20 minutes past the bus's due time, my main problem with the system became obvious: I'd rather walk for an hour than to risk waiting 30 minutes for a 15 minute ride. Simply put: if buses aren't any more reliable than this (which they cannot really help because, unlike trains and trams, they do get stuck in traffic), then I don't see the point in taking them.

On a positive note, Morgantown has an extraordinary alternative form of transport: the PRT (or Personal Rapid Transit). These are nice little carriages that - in theory - get you to select where you want to go; and then take you there. (While awaiting my next technological advancement, you'll have to do with this for a picture.)

Like just about anything of value in Morgantown, the PRT belongs to the University (notice the WV logo on the carriages - this isn't the state logo but actually the -registered trademark- university logo). A child of its time, the PRT was first proposed in the late 1960s - and during the first year of its term, gained national financing from the Nixon administration. After six years and heaps more money than predicted, it was ready to start operations in 1975.


As if having a Republican-funded mode of public transport in the United States (not to mention WV) isn't surprising enough in its own right, the PRT further exceeds expectations by actually working. While service isn't instantaneous (the software behind the system clearly attempts to optimise something, though I haven't totally figured out what), so far I have always had a car leaving well within 15 minutes - often after no more than 5 minutes. With their own set of tracks and viaducts, these carriages are unaffected by traffic lights or competing traffic and can simply amble along at speeds up to 48 km/h (according to Wikipedia) - which makes them clearly faster than the cars stuck on the crowded roads. What's more, even after functioning in a University town for more than 30 years now, the PRT still looks good: the carriages look like they're newly painted, they have carpeting on the inside (which isn't stuffed with chewing gum and the like but is actually neat) and the windows have not (or hardly) got graffiti scratched in or painted on them. Either the students here are incredibly well-behaved, or the cameras in the stations do an incredibly good job, or the system is maintained superbly. (Probably a combination of the latter two.) Finally, using the PRT is free (for staff and students but I doubt there's anyone in this town who isn't either). The only real downside is that there are only 5 stations and about 13 km of track - so it doesn't get you everywhere.


Having said all that, I doubt I'll be seeing too much more of the PRT in days to come, since I've bought a bike on Saturday - reducing my total travel time to a third of what it used to be. (There's nothing like bicycles for commuting, is there?)

Stimulating the economy

Last week, President Obama signed the much-debated economic stimulus package into law. There's little I need to write about the specifics of it, because it's pretty likely you're all totally bored with the details you've been bombarded with over the last several months. Nevertheless, let's quickly summarise that the aim of this $787 billion deal is to get the economy going again: to encourage lending, to start and/or keep jobs, to get people to spend. (Notice 787 billion is more than three quarters of a trillion. Scientifically, it is 0.787x10¹² - that's right: ten to the twelfth power)

Anyway, now that we've spent a second in shock, let me declare that (although I'm a big fan of the New Deal and this even Newer Deal) I won't - make that I can't - participate.

There are a couple of reasons for my seemingly blatant lack of interest in the American economy but I plead innocent to all charges: as I hope you'll see, it's not my fault I'm not spending my money.

First of all, there's the West Virginia state's habit of the delayed payroll. I'm not quite sure who it applies to, though it seems to be pretty widespread amongst state-employees (possibly affecting all of them). The principle is as follows: you work two weeks, then you wait two weeks, then you get paid. I'm not quite sure where the idea originated and why on Earth people would put up with it, but hey, it's how it's done, so we roll with it.
It does mean, though, that for no less than 31 days, I had to get by on whatever I took from home - and whatever I could get off my Belgian credit card. The consequence is, of course, that I'm living cheaply. Very cheaply. No economic recovery will result from my migrating, that's for sure.

Next, there's the pension fund. This one is a bit tricky because in itself it doesn't sound bad. 6% of my wage gets placed in a fund which I cannot access until I retire (the good news is the university will double that up, effectively giving me a pension-bonus of 6%). However, I won't retire in the States - or at least, I don't think I will. So instead of staying there for the coming few decades, I'll get the accumulated funds when I leave America next year - together with the last month of (delayed) pay. In other words, the day I finish my job - the day I leave the US and go back to Europe, I'll get just about 20% of the yearly salary I signed up for - don't spend that here, go spend it in Europe.

Thirdly and finally, after living cheaply for a month, there's really no point to getting a car: I've found my way on foot, I can continue like that. Besides, if I'm only here for a relatively short while, there's really no point in getting a car once you've settled down and furnished a room and the like. Not getting a car doesn't stimulate the economy, of course: I don't pay money for a car or fuel or registration or maintentance. But there's another catch to this: without a car, I cannot reach the big shops. I've tried walking to the mall, because it's really not that far: when I walk home in the evening, I can see the lit parkings on the next hilltop. The problem, though, is that there simply isn't a sidewalk to get there - not even half a metre of dirt to separate me from the crazed stream of traffic. There is a bus, but that takes a huge detour and gets me there in an hour - no less; and there's only one bus per hour, so you end up stuck there on the freezing parking lot in the cold, wanting to go home.

The consequence is that the only good bookshop I can easily access is Amazon.com. I wouldn't have a clue where to buy CDs or shoes - or a good rain jacket by the way; luckily I did find a great umbrella. Long story short: I'm not complaining - hell no, I'll be rich by the time I leave here - but I don't get it either. I would think an obvious thing to stimulate the economy would be to make sure people can get to the shops - and to make sure they have the money they've worked for, so they can spend it. I would think it would be a lot easier to get the money where it is (or should be) than to dig astronomical holes in the federal budget. (By the way - the distance to PSR J0437-4715 is just about 5x10¹⁵ km - which is only a factor of fifty larger than the rounded-up stimulus cost in cents. So these truly are astronomical numbers.)


On the bright side, I have managed to find a copy of the New York Times. It wasn't displayed at the entrance next to all the other papers, but was standing on its own on the other side of the aisle - at the end of it, turned around the corner so no one but very attentive shoppers who happen to leave through that particular exit would notice it. Sadly for the American economy, though, I had already subscribed to the British Guardian Weekly by then.