Matlin's America: Life on a Small Stage in the Carolinas

It is a far, far better article that I write because it is almost devoid of national politics, whether American or British.

For more than 48 hours, I have been without internet access. This means I have had to rely on television or newspapers for national news, but with all due respect, CNN, Fox, local news channels and USA Today do not offer much.


I assume the UK General Election is producing its daily round of nonsense, but I can’t be sure. I know that US Republicans filibustered the new financial and banking laws, preventing a debate, but I gather that the Democrats' Senate Majority Leader, Harry Reid,will be able to re-introduce the bill next week. I can't say I understand the rules of the US Congress. However, as a practising lawyer for many years, I understand the value of a legislator who knows how to use process and the rules of the game, to defeat an opponent, even if the subject matter of the laws being debated deserve a hearing and a better fate.

My wife finally escaped the handcuffs of the Icelandic volcano so, for the past few days, we have been sampling the delights of the Carolinas and Georgia. We have now stayed in both Beauforts in North and South Carolina (“Bewferd” or “Bewfert”,depending on whether you are in the Northern or Southern version).

"Bewfert", South Carolina, is best known as a location for Forrest Gump, The Patriot, and many other films, and the site of the book and movie Prince of Tides. (More than one local was keen to tell us that Barbra Streisand, one of the stars of Prince of Tides, didn’t make much of an impression. “She sent a message to the local air force base not to fly over where she was staying because she needed to concentrate herself into her part. What a piece of work!”)

I have learned much from the Carolinians and Georgians. They are some of the most polite, charming people I have met. In Charleston, a city where one might have expected less patience as people went about their business, Southern charm was abundant. Likewise in Savannah, another jewel of this country, drivers didn’t hoot or complain as I managed to drive in wrong lanes with consummate consistency.

However, and sadly there has to be a “however”, there is an iron fist in a velvet Southern glove, namely sales tax. Food is taxed, albeit at only 2%. Hotel rooms are taxed more viciously, 13.75%. I didn’t look at the clothes bill (with a wife and two daughters, presents must be bought),– but I suspect tax was exacted. True, we Brits pay a hefty 17.5% value added tax but our vendors include it in the overall charge. Psychologically, it doesn’t seem to hurt so much.

Still, I take the view that even if these Southern states and cities doubled their taxes, the trip would be worth the price. Last night in Bewfert/Bewferd, the streets were closed off for a professional bicycle race. As a warm-up, local children were encouraged to race their bikes and tricycles approximately 400 yards along Main Street. Kids from 4 to 8 raced in age groups, to the delight of their friends and families. Nobody cared who won or finished last (except maybe those who came first or last). Most were rewarded with ice creams from the local parlour "Something Sweets". What a place!

I don’t want to appear as if I’ve converted to Norman Rockwellism. All too soon we will arrive in Miami Beach to meet up with our daughters, returning to “normality.” I will not encounter politeness and friendliness on Collins Avenue or Ocean Drive. Miami Beach may have its selling points --- if you are into art deco, you’ll have a ball --- but "charm" is not one of them. And I know I will re-engage with national politics all too soon.

Let it be noted, however, that I have enjoyed living life on a small stage.