You know you’re on a Foreign Exchange to America When... You Get Stared At Because You’d Rather Walk

America is in love. Its citizenry has had a major crush for nigh on a century. This object of desire informs their dreams, their aspirations, their entire culture. In fact, for some, it’s what makes their lives livable.

Americans love their country but they love their cars more.

In Britain, if you see a driveway with more than one car an involuntary ‘Oooh, get them!’ passes your lips. Here that’s every third house, the rest have three…or four…or…. And all of them are huge! It’s as if the hatchback was never invented. When I arrived in Chicago this summer my friend had bought a new ride. When I met him last year, we used to cruise Lake Shore Drive in a minivan but that’s nowhere near big enough for a 21 year old student who lives within walking distance of his University. This time, when he managed to find me in the maze of downtown despite the few scant details I gave of my whereabouts (“I’m next to a Starbucks?” “I know where you are”), he pulled up in a truck.

The mighty automobile forms a large part of American culture. Films and music have celebrated its existence right from the beginning. The car chase has been a highlight of cinematic exploits from the Keystone Cops to Gone in 60 Seconds. We have seen their sinister side in Duel and Christine, their cuddly side in Herbie and they are even a co-star in successful action TV shows, though we all know Kit acted the socks of the Hof. They have inspired their own form of music and I truly pity anyone who has not driven at high speed down the 101 pumping out a bit of Heart or Bon Jovi (including myself). In literature most journeys are taken by car. Whether it’s the magical Raoul Duke and his Samoan lawyer braving ‘bat country’ to experience some Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas or Jack Kerouac adventuring the country on some sort of Beat Generation spirit walk, the road has become the operative analogy for finding the American soul.

In most other countries driving is a passion or a chore; here it is a state of mind. Another friend of mine finally managed to get his supped up Volkswagen Beetle going after it died a few months ago. He described how when the engine finally turned over it felt like a piece of him had also been repaired. He was so aroused by the experience he had to go play jazz drums for 40 minutes in an attempt to calm himself down. When that didn’t work, Jack Daniels was the only answer.

However, in such a car orientated culture problems do arise. The further west you go the more people refuse to leave their tin boxes and so less money goes towards public transport. Hence, in Chicago and New York you can get pretty much anywhere by train or bus even at three in the morning. In California’s state capital, I have to be tucked up in bed by midnight having gambled my life on the Light Rail. The only other option is trusting your mortal coil to that friend you’ve been drinking with for the past four hours and has who only just got his license back after his latest wet and reckless.

American’s will always put car first, everything else second. Astronomical gas prices, the death of Detroit and global warming don’t scare them enough to give up such an integral part of their being. It would be like us Brits giving up tea. The car defines America. It is space, affluence, freedom and power all wrapped up in a shiny boat with tail fins. Americans think auto therefore they are.