“Full
Circle”
9/23/16, “A
Citizen of the World”
Aboard AC
725, En route LGA-YYZ
What does it
mean to be a citizen of the world? As UN
week in the city I have just left draws to a close, I believe this is an
appropriate question to ask. Is it someone
who travels to different cities around the world? Someone who has lived in different
countries? Or does it require something
even further? Hegel envisioned an ideal
type of civil society where this idea, the cosmopolitan citizen, would take a
more literal meaning. While Hegel saw
that as an end goal of human civilization, perhaps we should ask if that is
even a desirable outcome.
Are national
identities an outdated concept, and must we begin to except that we are all
members of the same planet? Or can we maintain a sense of national identity and assert, as Donald Trump does, "America
First!" Must we put American interests
aside in the name of this new global identity, as those on the left might
argue, or is it perfectly acceptable to claim our national identity and put our
own interests first? It is with that in
mind that I make my way to Toronto.
I
believe that my readers know how I will answer these questions. I will, of course, answer with a resounding
“America First!” and I will hope the citizens of Toronto will respond, “Canada
First!” The line gets fuzzier when we
move a little further east into Canada, as I will be doing this trip, and have
to contend with subnational identities.
I believe someone living in Quebec would respond to his western
neighbor’s claim of “Canada First!” with a cry of “Quebec First!” in a way you
would never hear “Ontario First!” in Toronto.
It is interesting to understand national and subnational politics, but I
believe both the citizens of Toronto and Quebec would understand the idea of
putting local interests ahead of global interests. In spite of the idea of a United Nations that
can unite the interests of all the nations of the world, I believe that to be
an ignoble goal, as it has a natural tendency to subvert national
identity. While I am sure I will find
some disagreement among my readers, especially those who might disagree with
the extreme to which Mr. Trump would take the idea of his “America First”
doctrine, I maintain with absolute conviction that the citizens of America are
just that, citizens of America, and not citizens of the world, and they have an
absolute right to proclaim, “America First!”, forever and always.
As for other interpretations of the phrase, I
perhaps I am a citizen of the world in that sense, visiting a new country
almost every month as part of this five-year mission, but I would never
identify myself as anything other than an American, a New Yorker, and a
descendant of the nation of Israel.
I
had an entirely different opening planned for this entry, but, sometimes
inspiration strikes at the most opportune moment. As I was posting my departure photo to social
media, I began to tag today as #AStressfulDeparture, which would have led to me
opening with a cold opening about all the departure stress that had occurred in
the four hours prior to my arriving at the gate. However, I deleted that phrase, since I had
caught a major break upon arriving at the airport, and I changed it to
#ACitizenOfTheWorld, which led to this opening. That is not to say the stress was not real. In fact, it was perhaps the most stressful
departure build-up to the airport arrival I have experienced in quite some
time. I have had more stressful airport
experiences, but, this time, once I cleared airport security, everything went
fine. Let us begin at the beginning,
though.
I finished packing late last
night, watching Season 3 of “The Blacklist” in an attempt to get caught up, as
Season 4 had just started. The Patriots
game had been a blowout, so I had lost all interest in that. I woke up and got ready, leaving my luggage
at my apartment, figuring I would get it later.
I lit up a Camacho and dropped it off at the cigar shop on my way to
work. I arranged to have a car pick me
up outside the cigar shop at 5:15 PM.
That would get me to the airport by 6 PM, in time to write my entry at
LGA before my 8:30 PM flight.
A coworker
and I headed out to lunch together, and we swung by the cigar shop to pick up
my cigar, so I introduced him to everyone.
We then walked to Subway to pick up sandwiches. I relit my cigar and biked up to Hunter,
leaving the cigar outside and bringing my sandwich to class. We had a great debate on the philosophy of
the mind, my personal philosophy being that the mind is just an illusion created
from the firing of neurons in the brain and that the brain functions much the
same way as an advanced computer program.
I had three other students on my side (not counting those who were in
silent agreement) by the end of the class, in no small part by using an
appropriate example of a self-driving car, which would “avoid” pedestrians much
the same way a human-driven car would “avoid” pedestrians.
After class, I retrieved my cigar, lit it up,
biked to my apartment, ditched the cigar outside, retrieved my luggage, broke a
Toscano in half, and walked to the office.
My mother had dropped off my new driver’s license at my boss’s house,
who was going to bring it in, my old license having expired. I asked him if he had it. He did not.
I will spare the next hour and a half of drama that ensued, but, to
summarize, his nanny had taken the delivery from my mother and had forgotten
about it when he asked her in the morning, only to remember right as I was
leaving. We explored all possible
options, but by that point, it was too late to get the new license to me before
I had to clear airport security, even though my boss had expressed willingness
to drive it to the airport. The timing
would not work. I had a temporary
license, along with my expired license, and the Hertz website said that that
would be acceptable.
Okay, then
what? At 5 PM, I headed to the cigar
shop with the other half of my Toscanao.
At this point, I realized that I had left my laptop charger at
home. Now, more drama. I would need to retrieve the charger from my
apartment before going to the airport.
The car could take me there, but it would add time. To make matters worse, I got a call that they
were running behind schedule and that the pickup would not be until 5:25
PM. I then got another call that they
were still running late and that it would be after 5:30 PM, and they could not
guarantee when. That complicated
things. I arranged for an Uber to pick
me up at my apartment in 15 minutes, but it would be more expensive. I hope to be able to get a compensatory
credit from the car service due to their screw up, though.
I walked back to my apartment, taking my
suitcase all the way back down Park Avenue with the other half of the Toscano I
had previously smoked as I wheeled the suitcase up Park Avenue. The Uber was waiting for me when I
arrived. I put my luggage in the car and
went upstairs to get my charger. We were
at the airport at 6:20 PM, and I was shocked to see the renovations there for
the first time now. I cleared security and headed to my gate.
We are now making our decent,
so I will wrap up. I picked up some food
at Auntie Anne’s and headed to the Air Canada counter, where I saw that there
was an earlier flight, a 7:25 PM flight, which they put me on. I scarfed down my food as boarding began and
then got on the plane. As soon as we
took off, I proceeded to write this entry, which I will now close, as we are
about to land.
Toronto,
Ontario
Oh,
Canada! I left my apartment less than
six hours ago. This has to be some kind
of a record. I can’t remember any trip
where I wrote my hotel entry for Day 0 within six hours of leaving my apartment
or office. Even road trips, I don’t
think I’ve ever been at the hotel in such a short time. I was in my nightclothes within five hours
of leaving my apartment. Definitely has
to be a record. How did this all
happen? Well, in my previous entry,
which I closed within three hours of leaving my apartment, I explained how I
was on an airplane within two hours of leaving the apartment, and the flight
was only an hour. So, what then happened
in the two hours between landing at Pearson and arriving at my hotel and
changing into my nightclothes? How did
that process only take two hours?
It is
now 11:30 PM as of writing this entry, and I expected to just be walking up to
the Hertz counter now to get my car and not be at my hotel and in my
nightclothes for another hour after that and probably not writing this entry
until at least 1 AM. The two hours that
I saved may seem insignificant, but they make all the difference in the
world. It is the difference between
getting to sleep past 2 AM versus around midnight, which, when I have to wake
up at 8 AM, is the difference between getting eight hours of sleep and six
hours. When you have been running all
week on less than six hours of sleep a night, those extra two hours of sleep is
a huge deal, especially when tomorrow will entail a brutal, 10-hour drive across
Eastern Canada.
We landed soon after I
closed, and I steeled myself for the all-too-familiar border control
process. This was an odd trip, and I
knew it would raise a lot of questions during my interview with
border control. I didn’t think they
would deny me entry, but the way this trip was designed was sure to
raise additional suspicions. I had
nothing illegal on me and nothing to hide, so it was just an issue of being
hassled in the process.
When I
got to border control, I saw that they had transitioned to electronic kiosks,
very similar to the Global Entry kiosks I use at home. I had to scan my passport and declaration
form. They gave me a printed receipt in
exchange, which I would have to show to the border control officer, who was
checking them at the exit.
I should note here that
I always use the terms customs and border control extremely precisely, though
they are often colloquially used interchangeably. Border control technically can be on exit or
entrance, but I am only discussing entrance.
It consists of two parts, an immigration checkpoint and the customs
checkpoint. The immigration checkpoint
is to ascertain what you are doing here, while the customs checkpoint is to
ascertain what you are bringing. In
other words, immigration is to check people, customs is to check goods. Together, they form border control, which is
called the CBSA in Canada and the US CPB back home. The declaration contained information that
pertained both to immigration and customs.
The officer here was serving in an
immigration capacity, asking questions about the purpose of our stay. I told him I was here for Tourism. Where was I staying? In Toronto.
What hotel? The Delta. Okay, go ahead. I proceeded to the customs
checkpoint, and I took my receipt without further question. That was it.
It has been almost four years since I set foot in Ontario, and that was
before I started this Travelogue. Other
than airport entries, this is the first Ontario dateline I have ever
written. It is the first time I have had
a “Toronto, Ontario” dateline, despite this being my third visit to this
city. I made my way to Hertz, and now I
had another hurdle to overcome. Would she
accept my temporary driver’s license?
I
showed her first my old license, and she said it was expired. I then handed her the temporary one. She was extremely confused, and she spent a
lot of time looking it over, but, eventually, she handed them both back to me
and told me where to find my car. Well,
that was good. It was now four hours
since I left my apartment, and I was in front of my rental car. I expected to still be in the air at that
point. I put in the GPS for my hotel in
Toronto and got on the road.
Almost
immediately, I saw a call from my friend Raymond. That was odd.
He almost never calls me on the phone.
I picked up. He had good
news. He got a new job, a much better
paying one. He was thrilled about
it. We talked a little about that,
joking that we were both in the construction industry now, and we said we’d see
each other Monday for the debate. I almost
want to keep this Travelogue open until Monday night so that I can write about
the debate, rather than closing it Monday morning as is my tradition. I was soon at my hotel, and I noted that the
streets were awfully crowded. I realized
that a Blue Jays games must have just let out.
My hotel was right across from the CN Tower, and it was a great
location. I parked in the lot under the
building and checked in.
She put me on
the 35th Floor with a phenomenal view of the cityscape. I changed into my nightclothes, it now being
less than five hours since I left my apartment.
I was starving at this point. I
ordered a flatbread pizza from room service and relaxed for a bit until it
arrived, neutralizing the smoke detector during that time period as well.
The pizza came as I was about to rub out my
pipe tobacco. It was spicy, delicious,
and filling. After the pizza, I grabbed
my pipe, sat down in view of the cityscape, lit up my Ardor, and proceeded to
write this entry, which I will now close so that I can publish and get to sleep
for my big day tomorrow. As of writing
this sentence, it is now exactly one minute before midnight. I did not even expect to be at my hotel
before midnight.
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