America, Interpreted

Around 7 pm on July 4th — or maybe it was later, it’s hard to know for sure, it gets dark quite late in our alpine town — there was a blast of fireworks and firecrackers. It didn’t last long, 15 minutes, maybe 20. Then it was all over and I went back to reading my book. It wouldn’t have occurred to me to seek out other expats, temporary or otherwise, to acknowledge Independence Day, not here in this little town.

I don’t know the reason for the celebratory explosions that took place on July 4th, but there were more, around the same time, about two nights later, lasting for about as long. It may have been restless teenagers, though there’s a good possibility that the explosions were actually gunshots — there is hunting nearby, and yes, I’m such a soft suburbanite that I do not know the difference. I do know that in the moment, I remembered that it was an American holiday.

I remember eating grilled salmon last year and watching a very nice young man set a bucket of sparklers on fire, giving himself a nasty burn. It was a lovely party with excellent food and live music and good company and the sky all lit up with great flaming chrysanthemums and a drive home that took a little too long. I didn’t give a moment’s thought to the American-ness of the day, only to whether it would be terribly rude to have a third piece of fire grilled sweet corn.

I’m in Austria for this year’s American Independence Day. Local markets have been featuring a series of “American” products, perhaps coincidentally, in the run up to the 4th. I’ve been documenting these as I find them, to the bemusement and/or irritation of the other patrons behind me at checkout stands or in the snack food aisle — the teenager behind me while I snapped the “massive chili” bag of chips wore a smirk that made envy such facial dexterity.

I’ve seen a few of these things in my previous stints in Austria, but the Hofer, (a chain that most closely resembles Trader Joe’s in the US) just had an “American Week” that promoted a number of patriotically packaged junk foods that made me alternate between shame and hysteria. My favorite item remains one that’s available year round — it’s a sliced processed cheese emblazoned with Lady Liberty. Nothing embodies the American dream like processed cheese, right? Right.