In the last four days, I have travelled almost 900 kilometres, 450 of
which I drove myself. Which isn't much, considering my previous expolits in the great American emptiness, but significant nevertheless.
And at each end of the journey, waits a different life, with people with a different idea of who I am, holding on to radically incompatible symbols that represent the idea of who I am for them. And whats more, holding out the unreasonably intransigent expectation that I yield unquestionably to their stupid prejudices. More than the driving, its the patience that has to be shown with childish incomprehension that is more tiresome.
I think I know now how kindergarten teachers feel :).