Europeans sometimes forget that things they’re at are considered normal in their home countries can get them into trouble here in the good ol’ USA.
I was reminded of this about twenty years ago, when I was starting my gender affirmation process. Michéle (whom I’ve mentioned in my posts about my Paris visits) came to town with Jeanine, who has since passed away and Marie Jeanne.
It wasn’t the first trip to New York for any of them. They therefore weren’t interested in the usual tourist spots. Instead, they liked to see unique and unusual sites.
So, that day, we took the D train to Brighton Beach. a.k.a. Little Odessa by the Sea. We, of course, did some shopping and bought, among other things, bread, sausages, cheese and pickled vegetables for a picnic on the beach.
It was a warm summer day, so they all decided they wanted to go swimming. I would have liked to, I explained, but I didn’t have a bathing suit with me. If I recall correctly, I was wearing a ruffled top and flowy skirt.
“Aucun problème,” intoned Jeanine. She, it turned out, packed a swimsuit. At first I didn’t think it would fit: She was about eight inches shorter than I am, though a bit wider in the hips than most French women. (Her grandparents were Russian and Azerbaijani.)
She motioned for me to change. “Je pourrais être arretée pour ça!” I cautioned.
They shook their heads. “Ici n’est pas France,” I protruded. They all gave me that, “come on, there’s nothing to worry about,” expression that I believe the French have patented. Marie-Jeanne, the only one of the three anywhere my height, held up a beach towel to my right. Michéle, who is only slightly taller than Jeanine, held up a blanket to my left. Thinking, “I’ve done riskier and stupider things,” and seeing no cops, I changed. Much to my surprise, I fit—though barely—into the swimsuit: It was made of Lycra or some other stretchy material.
(Turns out, Michéle, Jeanine and Marie Jeanne were wearing swimsuits under their clothing. Jeanine explained that they heard “Beach” and so prepared themselves—and that she always packed an extra swimsuit.)
Michéle and I laugh about that now. But Laurens ten Dam and Thomas Dekker weren’t so lucky. The Dutch former professional road cyclists went to Kansas for this year’s edition of Unbound Gravel. After a training ride, they drove to a supermarket and department store in Marietta where, after previous rides, they’d gone to change out of their cycling clothes and freshen up before a meal.
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| Laurens ten Adam |
But a tornado destroyed both the supermarket and department store. There were other options for meals, including the Mexican restaurant they chose. But where to change out of their sweaty cycling kit and wash up?
They came up with an idea that reminded me of my day with Michéle, Jeanine and Marie Jeanne at the beach. They opened the doors on one side of their car. Between them, the cyclists took off their bike gear and poured water over themselves for a makeshift “shower.”
Well, if they weren’t cognizant of a cultural difference between the US and a European country that is, arguably, even more liberal than France, it’s understandable that they wouldn’t know that there is almost as much difference between different parts of the US—like, say, Marietta, Kansas and my hometown of New York.
As they “showered,” ten Dem recalled, “I heard a man screaming.” The next thing they knew, he and Dekker were in handcuffs and clad in a way they’d never anticipated: all in orange, but not that of the Dutch national football team. Oh, and they were fingerprinted.
They spent the night as Inmates ten Dam and Inmate Dekker in a Kansas jail cell under “inappropriate behavior in public spaces” legislation.
After spending the night in un-anticipated accommodations and paying a $185 bail fee, they continued their preparations for the Unbound Gravel race, where ten Dam finished 42nd and Dekker 50th.
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