THE DARKNESS SIDE OF THE MOON
What is the history of this book? Of this English version of a book published by me in 1994, at Tipomur Publishing House, at three years after my turning back from America.
We kept in touch with George. From time to time we wrote to each other. And, at least, George could come to me, coming from Moscow, where Rodale press started a bussines, editing a magazine for Russian farmers, “Novâi Fermer”. It was a Bob Rodale project for helping Russian agriculture to develop.
On his way back to America, George visited me. It was a marvelous meeting, in 1994, after lots of promises. Each of us had a lot of things to tell to each other.
For a few days, I tried to show him “the other side of Romania” to George. I think, I hope I succeeded it.
George came to me with a big surprise. He brought me an English version of my book, “America, the Unseen Side of the Moon”, translated by a Romannian living in Emmaus area. I don’t know his name. I don’t know anything about him, about his abilities in translating a book. But I accepted it with no significant interventions on the text. A few days ago, I discovered that translation and I decided to publish it. I don’t know exactly what for, I wonder who could be my readers? Romanians, Americans? But let’s call it at least an homage to the efforts of a Romanian who translated my book. For me it’s also a way to thank to whole that helped me to descover America, to descover me trough America’s eyes.
It wasn’t translated the whole book, and I don’t dare to do it. Now. May be later, even if I don’t know when.
I think its enough for the moment. We‘ll think, we’ll see!



Emmaus, June 8, late night
Today, I finally arrived at "Rodale Press" where I was friendly received by George DeVault, Chief Editor of "The New Farmer". Initially surprised to be directed towards farming, which I never was really fond of, I was to discover that "The New Farmer" was only a small part of "Rodale Press". There are 1 0 more magazines edited by "Rodale Press" as well as an impressive number of books in often dazzling number of copies. As to the editing conditions, I'd rather stay numb. The first "plunge" in their offices gave me serious head aches.
Their most recent pro ect is the publishing of a new magazine in collaboration with the Russian "Vne torgizdat" called "Novl'i Fermer" for the ... well, Russian "farmers" (in English in the original; in Europe, there are peasants, only American peasants are truly "farmers", hence the intended irony). I wonder if I could suggest a similar pro ect with Romania, but I think it is too early yet. I would like at least a quarterly with translations from "Rodale Press" publications, published and presented in truly "American" style. It might be at least very informative for what is supposed to become privatized agriculture in Romania, truly useful for the ... well, Romanian "farmers".
Feeling like a newly bred farmer, or cowboy, or something very similar, I moved from the Allnetown Hotel into a villa on the outskirts of Emmaus, close to the woods. My first feeling here was that of isolation. I was far from America's turmoil, in a place where neither sorrow, nor sadness ever seemed to have found their way, a place where your only partner for a chat was God.
I'm all alone and I think this is exactly what I missed so much lately: loneliness.
Though, here even loneliness is different - an American loneliness. It was Chuck McCullagh, the Vice President of "Rodale Press" who pulled me out of this loneliness with his invitation to one of those intimate, coquette restaurants of Emmaus.
*
Emmaus was to become my "General Head Quarters" in the US. A small, typical American town impressing not through its magnitude, or sky scrappers, but rather through its comforting modesty, surrounded by a lot of green, as if built by Rousseau's standards: an effort to keep the natural rather than re-model it by human standards of grandeur. A nice old town, still having constructions dating as far back as 1803, with a lot of new, modern buildings, but seldom having more than 4 floors. As a rule, Americans have much respect for their neighbors, but the ideal is to have one's house as far as possible from any neighbor. It may seem a paradox to us, but American cities, except for the big metropoles, expand rather in width than in height, what often generates the concern for the future of farm lands.

Emmaus is by no standards a big town, it only has about 20,000 inhabitants, 1100 of which work for "Rodale Press" whose 1 0 magazines alone are published in over 4 million copies and sold all over America.
Of the 12 churches in town, there is also a Ukrainian Orthodox Church, where I used to go every Sunday, together with some 50-60 members of that church. I was impressed by the important role the church is playing in keeping and developing interpersonal relations and the cohesion of the social micro structures. Emmaus is only 1 00 miles away from New York, and only 70 miles from Philadelphia, but the nature of human relations here is fully different. Though not so far from "the madding crowd", Emmaus did not allow those influences to affect its life. The 14 members of the local Police Force have no real big problems, though here too there are burglaries, thefts, accidents 8.s.o. but generally I was told that there is a certain respect for the Law and for the law enforcement people. Traffic police never stop you on the roads unless they have a reason. But if they ever do, you can be sure that you will need your check book. And here, nobody is trading with the police. (Note: in Romania, as in most East European countries, you always try to talk the police officer out of giving you a fine; and often you succeed).
*
I am in my room waiting for the TV set. I found out that you can live without it, but I will need it badly: the Soccer World Cup will start soon. I can't possibly miss that. I am surprised how little the Americans care about soccer, feeling so passionate for such odd sports like golf or baseball.
Lying here, alone, I feel like I would write another poem again, after such a long, long time.
Emmaus, June 9
I feel here like I'm in a resort: the woods, the old trees, and birds. Lots of birds, in an unimaginable variety.
Last night, I finally got to sleep for a few hours. Under the impression of my documentation about the "New Farmer", I have been dreaming a lot of things about agriculture. I wish we too could have a collaboration for a magazine in Romania, knowing now how efficient the American way of farming can be, and seeing the abundance on the market. What an irony: me in America, concerned with agricultural problems. Who could have thought that? I came prepared with a reporter's and writer's tools, and now I need a farmer's or a cowboy's tools.
One of the brochures I have tells me that in 1990, there were 11556 magazines in the US. Impressive, compared to the 1100 we have in Romania, and we think there are already too many while their number keeps growing all the time. I think it is ust a result of our spiritual liberation, so it should be excused.

On my first day here, I turned down an offer to drive a car, but I readily accepted a wonderful bike, which was supposed to keep me in form. "Rhodale Press" is also editing "Bicycling" making a true virtue of promoting the ideal of "Mens sana in corpore sano". I happily found out that this bike is not only keeping me in shape, but also offering me a wonderful opportunity to discover places around here, helping me to know better this place where I have more and more the feeling that, after a long, long time, I start rediscovering myself again.
*
I am surprised to find out that in America the interest for the written press is fairly high, even growing, in spite of the bitter competition of television. I want to understand this as a sign of hope for Romania too, in spite of the explosive expansion of papers and magazines in 1990. The never ending thirst of the readers, and an unprecedented enthusiasm of editors, in a wonderful complicity, have made our existence inconceivable without the written press. If American predictions are true, we can be reassured, that the boat of the written press will never sink, no matter how many more publications will come on board.
*
The owner of the house, a quiet, uncommunicative man, took me out for my first shopping. We went to a grocery, "Shoprite', a huge place, the size of a football field. As to the selection offered ... All I could think of, were the miserable times we all, at least my generation, went through, the rationed food, all that misery. Here, you could find all your heart might wish or your imagination might fancy.
*
The meeting with Chuck McCullagh, Vice President of "Rhoda Ie Press" was very agreeable and relaxing. He is a very distinguished person, highly cultivated, likes poetry (he even has a published volume, he promised to bring me). He has a daughter the age of my son (9 years) and a son who is 18. The dinner the three of us (with his daughter) had at Daniel's Inn was excessively rich. He told me about America, about his service in the Navy. I talked about Romania, the times before 1990 and the times after. I was surprised when he asked me if I had talked on the phone with my family back home, and delighted when he told me to call next Monday, to let them know I got here safely.
I mentioned my idea of a oined publication in Romania like "New Farmer" , He is less than enthusiastic about the way the collaboration with "Novii Farmer" is running, while I cannot promise that in our case he would do much more than charitable acts. What can we do, we still are so poor.
Emmaus June 10, 1990
This morning George will take me with his family to church. I told him I wished it were an Orthodox one, but basically I don't mind.

I spent the whole day with the DeVaults. At about 8, they came for me, all of them:
George, Melanie, and the two kids, Ruth and Don. We first went to a Lutheran Church in Emmaus, where I took part in the morning service led by the Rev. Darryl E. Dech. The ritual has nothing spectacular in it, but is very rigorous and definitely has a ... "sacred" discipline. A short sermon on ways of communication with God. The organist played Bach's "Herr Jesus Christ, Dich zu uns wend". At the end, the communion with bread and red wine. I was introduced to the minister, who seemed delighted to know me and let me sign in the guest book. The parishioners had all serious, grave but mild faces. You could feel how much they trust God, but also how much they trust their own power. The Americans seemed to me to be profoundly religious, what seems to give them more confidence in what they are doing.
The rest of the day we spent at George's house, in Santa Cruz (Note: I did not correct the original), a few miles from Emmaus. In front of the house, a mast with the flag fluttering in the wind. The pride of being American and the pride of showing it. The house is typical for this part of the country: a solid, wooden house with two floors, spacious rooms tastefully furnished, and showing all progress of modern technology. Electronics are everywhere, but mainly in the kitchen. The house is surrounded on three sides by forest. The over 100 acres property includes a cultivated part, for George the farmer, his work being not only for fun, but also for making an income, as well as providing the family with fresh vegetables. After all, it would be inconceivable that the editor of the "New Farmer" should not love agriculture and not do some farming, no matter how little.
George's wife, Melanie, an editor herself, also en oys gardening besides being an excellent cook. Getting ready for lunch is everybody's task. Each member of the family is bringing his contribution to setting the table. All food was wonderful, but I still have to get used to the new dishes here. And to this bread, so fresh and soft how I have never seen before. After the rich and wonderful lunch, the coffee - well, decaf. I couldn't help remembering how we, back home, make faces when we hear of decaf, but here, I found out that the Americans all seem to be willing to live at least 100 years, without cutting out any fun. Or at least living with the illusion of having fun. Mentioning "Cholesterol free" on labels seems to have a magic power, reassuring Americans. Anemia seems to be quite wide spread here, in my opinion precisely because the food is lacking ... the salt and pepper. As far as I'm concerned, this is one thing I couldn't care less about. On the other hand, remembering that wonderful breakfast, made up of strawberry salad, and bananas, and ...
After spending all that time with them, the life of the DeVaults seemed to me to be very self-restrained, leisurely, may be even too monotonous, lacking some excitement. I was also surprised by their rather isolated way of life. No wonder with their next door neighbors a few hundred yards away. The children are very polite, a little bit spoiled, not too much, showing though a very strict, what we would call "German", education. When playing, they do it all by themselves, not feeling the need of a whole "group". Most of their time is dedicated to their dog, Mark, excessively spoiled, often daring even to help himself out of the children's dishes, evidently with their tacit complicity.

We traveled together all across the map of America, finding Emmaus, telling stories about America and Romania, with that feeling reminding me of "look back in anger" (in English in the original) that I could not suppress. The worst of it was to be aware of the fact that my American friends could in no way understand what a Communist dictatorship really means.
Late, in the evening, I return home, accompanied by all members of the family. We follow a different road that takes us on top of a hill from where we could admire the Blue Mountains in all their splendor. And looking East, I feel for the fist time "home sick" (in English in the original). It is fully dark here, in Emmaus, so I am confident I can say "Good morning, Romania!"
Emmaus, June 11
It is Monday. What was it God did the first day?
This is the day when my scheduled program will start. Where am I supposed to begin?
*
I am placed in front of a computer, a tool everybody has here, at the "New Farmer".
It had always been my wish to know how to work on a computer. After the necessary help from a younger member of the "New Farmer" team, at noon I can say that I can handle the
basic functions. I am testing my acquired knowledge typing a text: a pro ect for editing a "New Farmer" in Romania, in cooperation with "Rodale Press". Could not make it get to Chuck McCullagh. Anyway, would he have time to consider such daring proposals coming from a very inexperienced, young ... would be farmer?
I also spent part of my time reading the "New Farmer", mainly George's articles. really wish to know him better.
A casual talk with Chuck's secretary last Friday, about my knowledge of foreign languages had fully unexpected consequences: since I said I knew some Russian, she asked me to translate an article from the "Izvestia" into English. Me, to translate from Russian into English. But there was no escape. With the help of a dictionary I set to work. One general remark, after finishing the translation: the Russians continue to cite Gorbachiov ust as it used to be in those bad, old times.
*
I finally got hold, for a few minutes, of my family back home. My son kept asking me skeptically "Daddy, are you really in America?"
Emmaus June 12
I spent the morning at "Rodale Press", and sat at lunch with a group of editors. hoped to find out more about America, but I ended up talking more about Romania.
I tried to spend the rest of the day in a more active manner. I walked allover Emmaus. This brought me to a baseball field, where two children teams were playing. There was an explosive atmosphere on the stadium. It is a game unknown in Europe, that I cannot understand. It seemed to me to be a game lacking passion, not to say it's boring. The more relaxed the players seem to be, the more frantically the stalls were cheering. My be I America wrong simply because I don't know the rules.
Many things are here different from what we are used to think. The America conception about work and rest is so different from ours, always ruled by that well known "Time is money". Even the way they look at life and death is different from that of the Romanians. I happened to walk by one of the cemeteries of the city. The older graves have tomb stones much like ours, in Europe, but those 50 years old or less have no crosses and no clearly marked place. All you can see are small, square stones engraved with the name, dates of birth and death, and possibly official titles.
It was a longer afternoon walk than intended. The flags fluttering all over the place, on official buildings, private houses, even in the cemetery remind me constantly that yes, I really am in America.
Emmaus June 13
A working day. I feel better now working with the computer, and I am really in love with the modern typewriter.
I got the tickets for New York and Pittsburgh.
I had another talk with Cuck McCullagh, who seems to me the most humane American I met so far. He seemed really impressed by the pictures I showed him of our revolution, taken in Timisoara and Tg Mures. He seems to have really understood the meaning of the events in Romania and he cares a lot about what will happen next. I gave him my proposal concerning a "New Farmer" for Romania, as well as the idea of
organizing a pro ect "A book for Romania", the opening of a private library in Tg Mures with books in English. What books in English we have now is incredibly poor, and the American Library in Bucharest is much too far away. I also offered him a few things from back home. They may not have meant too much for him, but he seemed to truly en oy them.
I had a meeting with Tom Gettings, the photographer of the "New Farmer". He showed me a lot of impressive pictures of his. The quality is perfect, and nothing is spared to obtain it. Technical conditions of all publications of the "Rhodale Press" are really great.
*
I walked home, though George offered to drive me. I en oyed the walk, the sight of the nice, coquette houses, the impeccably mown grass (there is a real obsession here with mowing grass), everything is friendly and nice. There is only one thing that terribly irritates me: small plastic or wooden animals, dwarfs or other "apparitions" showing an, at least doubtful taste ... or truly kitsch. Even the Allentown hotel had some grotesque figures in the hall, possibly funny for a few, but basically annoying any good taste.
*
I am getting ready to go to bed. Tomorrow is the day I will go to New York again.
Emmaus June 15
I arrived late in Pittsburgh, after missing the plain. Tom Gettings who has been waiting for me, is very upset, since T.J., his son, has lost his patience. We drive straight to Mansfield, Ohio. Talking to Tom about uncultivated agricultural fields, he admits that those could feed a whole country, but when you have America's lands, you don't really care about extensive, but rather about intensive cultures.
*
We take a detour to see "Malabar Farm", a museum under open sky, the farm of one of the pioneers of American farming, Louis Bromfield, the author, among others, of "Pleasant Valley". Bromfield seems to have envisioned the future - a world in search of a rural identity. This place is a small paradise - a place to dream American dreams and for American nostalgia. Tom Gettings reads me the preface of the book.
May be I will decide to translate this book for our farmers too.
*
We spent the night in a wonderfully elegant motel.
Mansfield, June 16
We are visiting Tom Culp's farm, not far from Cleveland. Tom tells me that the Culp farm is typical for America, therefore here you can draw general conclusions. I wonder, what does "typical" really mean?
First I am surprised by the loneliness of American farms.
The Culps have 80 acres, of which they cultivate 24, the rest is for rent. They don't want to sell because they do not want new neighbors too close, and they are fighting the new building pro ects getting closer and closer to their property.
Well, who are the two typical farmers? Tom Culp is a road construction engineer, and Marilyn is, well ... a housewife.

Tinesota, June 16
The Gulps are cultivating corn, wheat, soy beans and melons. They also have about 500 pigs they are selling all year round to different customers.
Tom Gulp is farmer after his hours at the construction company. He knows how to plow, to sow, to harvest mechanically and he can repair and service his machines all by himself. So, the "peasant", the American farmer has skills and capabilities much above the condition of a regular farmer.
Marilyn Gulp is a very hard working house wife and mother, with very strong principles concerning the education of their children: no horror movies, not too many hours watching TV, mandatory swimming.
On their farm, the Gulps use only natural fertilizers, no chemicals, one of the reasons "Rodale Press" shows so much interest for this particular farm.
The three hours spent with the Culps were an excellent introduction to a different way of life. I felt like I was discovering the whole American history, up to the present living standard and civilization. All those images I took for false, artificial, directed for a movie I now can find here, in true life in Lexington.
Emmaus, June 17
On our way back today from Mansfield, Akron and Tinesota, Tom made the drive more agreeable by telling me countless stories about the places and towns we were driving by. His stories were invigorated by the fact that this was the place where he had grown up, had spent most of his childhood. On the banks of the Allegheny he has a nice villa. The water here is silent and clear, reminding me too of my childhood creeks back home.
I started writing down the day's events at a table only feet away from the water, until close to midnight. Tom had given me a lamp, after I told him how we had to resort to this old-fashioned light when power used to be turned off only too often during those hard days. "So you can feel like home" he told me.
We spent a good part of the night talking in the dining room with other members of the family, who had come to celebrate here Father's Day. Like in most cases, here too all bedrooms are upstairs. With the numerous family, the house had to be extended to have 6 bedrooms. There is also a pool table, where everybody plays passionately, no matter sex or age. In autumn, they have here hunting parties for rabbits and deer.
What a long and wonderful day this was. Tom had deliberately chosen roads to show me why this state is called Penn - sylvania. We also saw a huge lake behind a dam and he told me the story of the Indian tribe that had to be moved in order to build the dam.

We also visited other nice places like Emporium and Sterling Run, with its wonderful "Little Museum". This very short tour of the Appalachian Trail makes me aware of the huge dimensions here, in America. We drove these days over one thousand miles, but I am aware that alii saw is only a tiny little part of this incredible country.
Tomorrow I will travel again to New York, for another meeting with my colleagues at a seminar of the MPA.
Emmaus, June 19
After two very busy weeks, time has come for me to ease off a little bit. Today I spent less time in the office than I normally would. The schedule here is generally very relaxed for all editors, provided all articles are presented in time, according to a very severe and detailed program of publication.
Chuck McCullagh sent me today his volume of poems published in 1984. It was a real delight to plunge again into poetry, after being besieged by statistics, numbers, losses, profits, tactics a.s.o. I found it was not so easy to re-adapt my soul to the different rhythm of poetry again, after going through all that turmoil of the last years, after the revolution.
I wonder how our poetry will now develop, now that there is no more oppression to fight, no more dictatorship to condemn. We will have to find something new.
Emmaus, June 20
In today's "Morning Call" news about Romania. Only bad news. No representative of the American Embassy at the "crowning" of our new President. It will take us a long, long time before our image in the US will be improved.
At the "New Farmer", George DeVault has scheduled a meeting with Julia Tom Paxton from "East Penn Press", who started a real interrogation. After talking three hours I can only hope I gave her a fairly good image of Romania.
Today I saw the pictures taken by Tom Gettings at Tom Culp's farm. Several hundred pictures out of which only two will be selected for the issue due ... in ten months. That's what I call real planning. Anyway, the "capitalists" at "Rodale Press" are some real romantics. Chuck McCullagh sent me a poem called "Tirgu Mures" and George gave me Bromfield's book "Pleasant Valley". Knowing the mountains of books and magazines surrounding me, he insisted that I should read at least one chapter, "My Ninety Acres" - the story of a passionate life in the pioneer days of America's modern farming.
Emmaus, June 22
Turned off an offer by the MPA to spend my week ends in New York. No, thank you, after yesterday's experience.

Willing to help me, George arranged a meeting with Ed Courrier, technical editor of the "New Farmer" who showed me the printing techniques they use. Really impressive.
In the afternoon I met at "Rodale Press" Harry Aldoline and Ty Guthrie, editors of "Runner's World" and "Prevention". We talked about printing and distribution. They gave me the latest issues of their magazines, the ones for ... August. And they work already on the special Christmas edition. A lot of advance planning and printing.
In my search for "home", George helped me find the only Orthodox Church In Emmaus, "Saint Paul's". I intend to go to this church on Sundays.
Emmaus, June 23
I want to read Bromfield's "Pleasant Valley".
After the rain, I decided to walk to Allentown, on side roads. I was the only pedestrian around during those 4 hours of walking - evidently something unusual in this kingdom of the car.
In the evening I spent some more hours riding the bike through Emmaus.
Bad news from Romania. Political turmoil will not serve our cause here. All is adding to the campaign of lies and denigration, promoted here by Laslo Toekes and the whole Hungarian Diaspora.
Emmaus, June 24
Sunday today. I'll go to that Orthodox Church.
After the mass, the priest invites me to have lunch with his family.
*
Another visit in Vera Cruz. George shows me his property - 20 acres, out of which only 5% are cultivated. He considers expanding, getting some cows and building a green house. The way he talks makes me feel like I were a member of the family.
In the evening we went to a movie theater, something very similar to our cinema.
We saw "Jack Tracy", a movie with gangsters, detectives, and fantastic characters. Like in all American movies, all ends well, the good guys win, the bad guys get punished.
Emmaus, June 25
In the "Washington Post" again an article very unfavorable for Romania. Only bad news, only negative reporting. Nothing about the average, honest man. Someone must be trying to denigrate Romania.
I wonder who.

The American press is a fabulous creature, frightening you at first sight. "The Washington Post" has on Sunday over 200 pages, startling you with this huge volume for only $ 1.25, a very low price compared to the price of books. I wonder, is there anyone who really reads all this gazette? I'm scared. I'd rather have our so very thin papers, but read through and through, not only brushed over, as I suspect really happens with this paper.
*
I am working today on an article for the "New Farmer".
Emmaus, June 26
A meeting with Ron Bortz. We talk about the "sale of magazines". We are oined by Mark Johnson, the chief copy writer, to broaden my view on these problems.
In the afternoon, accompanied by my "guarding angel", George, to yet another department of "Rodale Press", where Jim Redcay shows me the latest in type setting.
Later in the day, a visit to "Kaufmann House" where I meet the "young ones" of "Rodale Press": a group of ten, all under 18 years of age, all wishing to become ournalists, though they hardly seem to know what that really means. I like the idea. I may form a similar group around my "Alpha" publication. It may work.
Emmaus, June 27
"East Penn Press" published today, on front page, the dialogue we had last week. It is a nice and well-written presentation, accompanied by a picture showing George and me at the "New Farmer" reading the ... "Novîi Fermer", and another picture, showing Timisoara during the Revolution.
*
The day started with a picnic, somewhere near Macungie, on a nice hill. It was an extravaganza that surprised not only me, but some Americans too. A picnic for about two thousand people, with all you can eat and drink for free - including wine and spirits. Even so, I do not remember having seen a single drunk person.
All best dishes you could imagine were there to have, deserts, ice creams, all in endless quantities. Truly Gargantuesque.
Shows, prizes for children, orchestras and a dancing ring. One of the guests called it a "Mediaeval Folly" - a present from the management of "Rodale Press" to all its employees for the good ob done during the last year.

Emmaus, June 28
A very interesting meeting with Thomas Wolf, Vice President and General Manager at "Rodale Press", concerning the place of "Rodale Press" in the present American publishing spectrum, as well as its chances for the future.
Emmaus, June 29
Yet another visit to New York, for a reception offered to our group of Eastern Europe by "Time - Life".
Emmaus, June 30
As asked persistently by Father Kahle, I have prepared a short speech on "Church and Faith in Romania". I find it a bit awkward to make a speech in church, but the Rector insisted so much.
Emmaus, July 1
Again in church today. I handed in my speech. Father Kahle invited me to lunch with his family in a small, nice restaurant in Macungie.
*
As if feeling that I was going through a crisis, George invited me today to go for a swim. The rain spoiled our plan, but it was soon readapted with a potato picnic offered by Frank Pollak at his farm "Rolling Hills". I find Frank one of the kindest editors at the "New Farmer". This was also a wonderful drive through yet another part of Eastern Pennsylvania. I en oyed meeting there a wide range of people, coming from the most different fields of life as well as different parts of Pennsylvania and New York. I liked so much Frank's farm, that I made him promise to give me the chance to see it again under "normal" circumstances.
Emmaus, July 2
A long working day. Wrote the article "Fall of the Socialist Agriculture". Gave an interview to a nice old lady, Ann Gerras. I wonder what she will get out of that tape after an hour's talk. I was not at all in good shape. I was repeating more or less the content of my "The Fall of. .. ". I will try to do better answering to the written questions of the same magazine - quite provocative questions.
On my walk to Allentown this afternoon, I was invited by a pretty journalist from "East Penn Press" to accept a ride. In spite of my wish to take a long walk, I couldn't refuse. She dropped me off at one of the most fashionable stores in town - Hess's. I strolled around the store for over an hour to see ... what Americans can see, and buy.

Emmaus, July 3
My American existence is again planned to the last minute by George, who tells me at what time I will be picked up at home (well, I wish it were my home!) to go to New York.
Same detailed planning for the week end with "the McManamon Clan" in Clarks Summit.
*
Hard working day at the "New Farmer". I am carefully considering ways of cooperation for the publication of a similar magazine in Romania. Shortly I will have to submit Chuck McCullagh a list of proposals. He is now in Moscow, for the "Novli Fermer".
Also time for a long, long letter home, typed without our specific characters: 3.1 al ~I 11 t• Well, see? Even in America you cannot really have everything.
Emmaus, July 4
Getting ready for New York. Independence Day is expected to be a very sunny day.
Emmaus, July 5
After a long 4th of July in New York, into the morning hours, returned to Emmaus.
Alii really want is a good rest.
Emmaus, July 6
I am working on more details on the possibility to publish in Romania a magazine in cooperation with "Rodale Press". May be some books too. All payments to "Rodale Press" in Romanian currency. Can they accept that? All this has a chance only if our laws of privatization clear up soon, otherwise ...
Bad news from home. Problems in my "Alpha" publishing team. I'll have to rethink all the organization of my team. No more compromises based on friendship or other considerations.
My host was very nice today, even invited me to a movie and a stroll through the
mall.
*
Today I met Robert Rodale, the main character behind all this organization. A quiet, calm person, with what seems to be a sound, farmer's logic, a mild face and reserved attitude. As if it isn't he who decides the fate of a thousand souls and numerous nationwide publications. Recently returned from China, he is depressed by what he saw, but still having some hope.
He is a true humanist of the 20th Century. An admirable person I liked on first sight.

Clarks Summit, July 7
The promised days with the McManamon Clan.
Emmaus, July 9
George wants my article on "The fall of Socialist Agriculture" to be replaced with one about the Culp's farm. I'll have to write another "story" (in English in the original).
George kindly invited me again to dine with his family. I have a funny idea: after being so long shown and driven all over America, why not try to show and talk about Romania? They seem to like the idea. I hope it will work out well.
Emmaus, July 10
Working on my story for the "New Farmer".
Father Kahle wants me to make my speech next Sunday.
*
A small party offered by three "Rodale Press" employees, who are leaving for California. California still seems to have for all Americans the resonance of the promised land. The party was very short. No tears, no feelings.
*
I received a surprising phone call - in Romanian! Another "Nicky", whose father came from Romania. Nicky never visited Romania, but his father insisted that he should learn the language. My whole admiration for his father. Nicky promised to meet me in person, soon.
Emmaus, July 11
The meeting with Cuck McCullagh was good and with immediate results. He told me he is seriously considering editing a magazine in Romania. As a first step for our cooperation he suggested that I should edit here alone a magazine on 8 pages in Romanian. The title: "The New Land", I really am impressed and appreciate this generosity. What a sweet burden for me, making me feel like home. This could lead to translations into Romanian of books published by "Rodale Press". If all this turns into real results, it may ultimately give my visit to America a superior, more significant meaning.
*
Chuck McCullagh is back from Moscow and his experience there was not really good. He has a poor opinion about the Russians, but he is determined not to give up on
the pro ect with "Novli Fermer". The company will only have serious losses in dollars and irrelevant "gains" in rubles. Most people advise him to give up the "deal with the Russians" and invest instead in Czechoslovakia and Hungary. I was asked if our currency, the leu, will be soon convertible. I told him that, if I had the right answer to this question, I would be the greatest foreteller for the Romanian economy.
*
A group picture with people of "Rodale Press", where I met a few young people who seem to know quite well about what is going on in Eastern Europe.
*
Chuck made me two promises: to find me some magazines from Romania, and a possible trip to California. I'm so excited, I can hardly write.
Emmaus, July 12
I was excused to write the article on the Culps, ust when I was close to finish it. It was considered that the pro ect on "The New Land" is not so simple after all. I'll have to do it all by myself. I feel like I rediscovered my true me again, like home, working real hard for "Alpha", "Vatra" and "Star". I wrote the leading article "Columbus's Egg", I translated 8 pages of "My Ninety Acres", made the summary of "Words from Home" (the story of Nicolae ~erban, the unknown Romanian that found me), a presentation of Emmaus, two interviews with Chuck McCullagh and George DeVault, fragments from Robert Rodale's "Our Next Frontier", a page "Romania in the American Press", a publicity page with magazines and books edited by "Rodale Press". All as an initial attempt.
May God help me!
Emmaus, July 13
Teri McManamon tells me, he can't imagine working in the printing business without a PC. No doubt he is right. I can appreciate it now, that I got to be quite skilled with it myself. The text can flow smoothly along the screen, with any imaginable additions, changes and deletions without making "the manuscript" look like a mess ... Teri asked me when I was going to have my own PC - what a bitter oke.
Emmaus, July 14
Spent all day at home, reading "Our Next Frontier", trying to know better Robert Rodale. I'm not so sure that in Romania, this book could find readers who would be able to understand its meanings. But, on the other hand, who could express today opinions on the present taste of the Romanian reader?
*
No more news on Romania in the local press. Now mostly about Albania.
*
Incredible what an effect the "Sales" have on the average American; "Save" signs all over the place. A "Special Sale" week at Shoprite - what a show!
*
All those rainy days are over. What a wonderful sunshine again! *
In church today, more or less feces I know. Humidity was so high that even the air conditioners couldn't handle all of it. Next week I'll have to read my speech.
On my way home, I saw the oldest cemetery of Emmaus, closed in 1830. What a notice on the gate: "No golfing or other games".
*
I'm at George's house, making plans for a rout in places across America - what a dazzling thought! Nothing is yet definite. I'm still skeptical: it's too good to be true. I keep telling George that even if nothing becomes of it, this will have been a wonderful dream.
George takes me again around, to show me new places - wonderful acres, old woods, nice meadows. Seeing a house for sale, I told him I wish I could buy it. He says it would be no problem - working for the "New Farmer". Sounds really tempting.
*
After dinner, a belated family celebration of Independence Day - beer and fireworks.
Looking at the flag fluttering on the mast in front of the house, I think I start understanding; America - and the Americans, what it really means.
George's family were yesterday to Paul McCartney's show in Philadelphia, with tickets bought three months ahead of time! So, we are spending all evening listening to "The Beatles".
I wonder again how Melanie, of Hungarian origin, knows no Hungarian and does not know anything about relatives in Hungary. Though her grand father, who came over from there, died only in 1956, he let no clues about his origins. George doesn't really care about it at all - Melanie is simply an American girl from Ohio.
Emmaus, July 16
Worked through half the night translating from "Our Next Frontier" and one of Chuck McCullagh's poems.
*
Before going to bed, took a walk and fed the owner's ground hogs. *

Sylvia Bonyak insists that I should spend my week end in New York. But on Sunday I'll have my speech in church. And next Tuesday to California, with George and Tom.
Emmaus, July 17
A full day on the PC, working on the articles for "The New Land" , cooperating with Jim Redcay.
*
Faxed to USIA a partial report on my visit and work at "Rodale Press". Received details of my further schedule.
*
An invitation from the Landers and Estee Lauder to a reception in New York. No time for it.
Emmaus, July 18
A day with 90° F! But it is time for harvesting. I visited the Rodale Research Center. The Latin names of flowers in the botanical section sound so very familiar.
Emmaus, July 19
An effort to synthesize information about Romania in the local press. The computer refuses to accept my Romanian characters 3., a, ~, I, 1 though I put them in by supposedly accepted numeric codes.
*
In today' news - an airplane crash. I can't help thinking of the risks involved in all my travels crisscrossing America. To die far away from home, from my family, so young? But could anyone bend Destiny's hand?
Emmaus, July 20
A visit to the World Financial Center on invitation from "American Express". Their next goal: Eastern Europe, Czechoslovakia, Russia, Hungary. Not a single word about Romania.
What a breath taking view from the room on the 40th floor. How small the world can look from here. The city looks like an architectural museum of the 20th Century.
A visit to China Town. A long walk through New York, may be my last one. My driver, initially very upset about my late return and the inevitable approach of the Friday after noon rush hour, became very relaxed after a "normal" drive out of New York, and we had a wonderful time on our way back.

Emmaus, July 22
Judging by the reaction of the about 60 parishioners, my speech in church today was well received. I was happy to find out that people accepted my basic conclusion: those who have lived all their lives in freedom and prosperity cannot really imagine what Communism meant for the peoples of Eastern Europe.
I really wonder about the effect of my visit here: will I return home cured from Communist pain (which is good), or will I return infected by the bug of democracy and freedom (which might be very painful)?
I try to guess the feelings of those who found exile here, in a fully free world, but not having the simple freedom of returning to their own country. (Note: until 1990, legal or illegal emigrants from Romania were generally not allowed by the Communist regime to return to the country even for short visits). Many came home after the Revolution, but few stayed. Some of the emigrants got used with the idea that they will never see their home again, and stick to it. Most of them probably don't think of it as home any more, or accept the new place as home, or even feel like they were doomed never to have a home ...
Emmaus, July 23
A not very happy news: my host is moving out and a young family will take the whole house. I will have to move too. What a pity, right now, after I started to feel so comfortable and secure here. George is incredibly kind and invites me to move to his place, to know the life of an American family from the inside.
Tomorrow I leave for California. George gave me a magazine on California to help me get acquainted with the West Coast which, as he tells me, is a very different America.
*
George gave me the answers to my written questions. A typical American destiny, a biography that is ideal for ... well, an American movie.
All I have learned so far since I have been here consolidates my opinion that there is a definite American identity, a specific American mark that seems very strange to many Europeans, and mainly to those in the East.
The author gives at this point the detailed questions and answers.
*
Father Kahle called me again to thank me for my speech yesterday, in church, and to ask me if he can do something, anything to help me in any way. I pretended not to understand what he means, so he let it come out directly: the parishioners want to give me a gift, so I am supposed to tell him what I want from America. What a hard question! I initially intended to refuse and tell him the simple truth that he and the members of his parish gave my stay here a very special touch. But I did not want to offend them.
What is it really I want from the USA? I read last night a few chapters of the American Constitution. I wish I could get a similar constitution for Romania.


A Different America?



Pittsburgh, July 24
A better flight from Allentown, than I had last time. In Pittsburgh, all three of us, George, Tom and I, "the three set to scare the West", quickly got on the plane to San Francisco, each eager to continue his reading.
It has been an exhausting day. The schedule was so dense, that I didn't find the necessary time to make my daily notes in spite of the three hours difference in time zone. I can hardly walk to my bed in this nice hotel in Pataluma.
Pataluma, CA July 25
It is very early, still dark. I woke up by Eastern Time, back in Pennsylvania. I will try to put on paper yesterday's tour, before George and Tom get up.
What I saw at first sight of San Francisco seemed to be much more friendly than New York. In a wonderful white Buick driven by George, we went to a small farm in Jamestown.
From the top of a hill we took a fist look at San Francisco. Impressive town, spreading as far as your eyes could see. And all this huge town grew in only 85 years, after the big quake in 1906. The mirage of California brought here people from all over the place to work, to live, to prosper, to die. What they did is like a Paradise on earth, still attracting all sorts of people in search for their luck.
Visiting farms, I found out that work on those farms is mainly done by Mexicans, who see this as a start in their new life here. Many of them do not speak English. Michael Norton, the owner of a farm, whose parents were originally from Romania, doesn't speak any Romanian at all. We drove on to Pataluma, while I, in spite of the fatigue, kept admiring this new emerging America.
A new day. I feel again that it will be so full, that my note book will have no place to comprise it all.

Williams, July 25
The day's pace was again very fast. When we got back to our hotel, at night, I was fully exhausted. I still en oyed greatly the supper we started at midnight till 4 a.m. We visited two other farms, the Jack London Park, and drove around the huge Clear Lake.
Sacramento, July 26
From a farm I took yesterday a few fresh, ripe coffee beans. I always wanted to have my own coffee tree, now I feel that I am a little closer to my dream.
Met a funny farmer in Sonoma Valley, with his own, strange philosophy on farming.
Didn't really like him or his theory, but George tells me that the results on the farm, without any chemical fertilizers, are remarkable.
The other farm, in Potter Valley was like in a dream, and the farmer a very likable person.
*
Jack London Memorial House offers the true image of an American thirsty for adventure.
*
Two more farms in Pleasant Grove, very different from all the others. As a matter of fact, the only thing I think they have in common is that they too re ect the use of chemicals.
Sacramento is a very attractive town. We spend here the night. I retreat to my room unusually early. Today's drive was again very long. I feel I'm getting tired, so tired that I wouldn't even keep writing in this book. I must admit that I don't feel quite well.
San Francisco, July 27
George seems to feel a bit tired too, so he decides no more visits to farms for the next two days, but "days off', as tourists.
First to the "Muir Woods" National Park, only miles away from the all too well known Golden Gate Bridge. Here you can find he oldest trees known in the world, the sequoias. One is estimated to be over one thousand years old, and the tallest is 367.8 feet. Here, in this park I had my first encounter, the first touch of the Pacific Ocean, looking under the cloudy skies, really ... pacified. I was there closer to Japan than to home, now three thousand miles away.
The Golden Gate Bridge is really impressive with all the world records it is holding.
It looked even more fascinating with the tops of the pillars in the low fog of the golf.
In San Francisco the architecture seems less oppressive than in most cities of America, the highest building is only 52 stories - may be also because of the frequent earth quakes they have here.

Tonight, to the fist baseball game of my life. Everything was so new and unusual to me, starting with the many parties taking place on the parking lots outside the stadium long before the mach, to the passionate oy or heart breaking suffering of the fans, sometimes getting close to the ridicule. I often had the feeling that with this sport, what is really important is not so much what is happening on the field, but in the stalls. The only more or less "reasonable" stalls are those reserved for families with children, the rest - at God's mercy. Finally, the Giants won.
When we returned to our hotel, at midnight, we were all exhausted.
We also made an unforgettable visit to the Museum of the Legion of Honor. I remained speechless in presence of all those beauties, masterpieces and wonders of world art.
San Francisco, July 28
A visit to a fascinating farmers' market, in search of old friends of the "New Farmer".
An overwhelming variety of products, colors, farmers and customers. Then, long and highly interesting strolls through the streets of San Francisco followed by a short trip with a boat on the waters of the golf. Back on shore, a short incursion into the history of WW II on board the USS Pampanito - a submarine.
San Francisco, July 29
Our time gets more and more contracted - I have less and less time for myself and my note book. San Francisco will only too soon be history.
Emmaus, July 30
With Jim Redcay, I started working on the page setting of "The New Land". He explains me in detail every step of the way and I try to be a good student. After all those 15 years inhaling the lead smell and fumes, setting a page on the computer is fast, is easy, and is a lot of fun. It took Jim considerably longer because he tries to do it in slow motion, to let me see how. We are pressed by time. My stay in the USA comes to a close in only 18 days, out of which only 12 will be in Emmaus, the rest in Washington. But I was reassured that I will return home with "The New Land" in my hand.
New York, July 31
Another change in my schedule. I couldn't even en oy my new place at the DeVaults, where George invited me to stay now. Yet another visit to New York, this time to meet the editors of "New York Style".

Vera Cruz, August 1
Yesterday, in New York, Cristian Teodoresu gave me a lot of news about Romania he could get from Romanian news papers, easy to find in this big city. That same day we visited "R. R. Donnaly & Sons" in Lancaster, Pennsylvania.
Now I am back in Vera Cruz. Will this be again a different America?
Vera Cruz, August 2
For the last two days, since I have the news papers from Romania I brought with me from New York, I feel much closer to home, though the news are not the best.
*
In Emmaus I keep setting the pages of "The New Land". Jim is very thorough,
wants to know exactly what all my graphs stand for and how they relate to the text.
*
With George and Melanie we pay a visit to Tom Gettings' place. I confess, I'm surprised that in spite of working so many years together, this is the first time George is in Tom's house. I wonder whether my presence had the effect of bringing the two families closer together. All of them seem to en oy the idea of staying in close touch, and even make plans for the future. We even went so far as to make plans for Tom's daughter to come and study theatrical art in Romania.
Vera Cruz, August 3
Computers are very tricky if you don't know how to handle them. Whatever I did, I don't know what, but I deleted from the diskette the interview with George. All I can do is start all over again. Another head ache is "teaching" the computer to write our characters. Some are there, but you have to press simultaneously alt+shift and a three digit number for each of them, like a+s+140 for I, or a+s+131 for a. But some of them, like ~ and tJ are beyond the computer's understanding. In the afternoon we went on with the page making to "The New Land". Doesn't look bad at all.
Tom showed us today the best slides made in California. I admire his talent of easily finding the most expressive part of a very vast visual information. He seems always to find the detail that is defining for the whole. The colors are simply exceptional.
Vera Cruz, August 4
American history can also be found in the history of the automobile. I traveled today through a century of American history in only three hours spent in a place in Macungie. Incredible love for these gods of the American roads. They have every year a "Festival of Old Cars".

Vera Cruz, August 5
My last day in St. Paul's Church and I feel already sorry for having to part with these wonderful people who seem to have made the effort of making me feel as being part of their community. I also met a teenage girl, of Romanian origin, who came here with her family over 11 years ago and feels here like home. She does not want to return, not even for a visit. Her father on the other hand seems to suffer terribly of home sickness. A truly sensitive soul.
My repeated efforts to call home were in vain. I'll have to try again tomorrow.
Vera Cruz, August 6
Today, a really hard working day - inserting in the pages of "The New Land" all those 1 and a the computer did not want to accept.
At home, at George's, went through some books and magazines with a diminished enthusiasm - it is a rainy day, as if it were early autumn.
Vera Cruz, August 7
The heavy rain last night made me fall asleep late, my thoughts back home, with the family. So much so, that when George called me next morning to breakfast, I couldn't believe I'm not at home.
Another busy day, with making corrections on the final text and pages, and the OK for the printing. "The New Land" seems to rise on the horizon.
Finally succeeded to talk with my family, to the relief of all of us. *
A surprising afternoon spent in the garden of George's neighbor, something that seems to happen very seldom here, where people, always concerned with their own problems, have no time for neighbors. May my presence have again made this happen? We have been talking a lot, long into the night, one possible reason being that they have European roots, in Russia and Poland.
Vera Cruz, August 8
My last official day at the "New Farmer". "The New Land" is ready to go to print and I was told that it will be out in a matter of days. I also read the final form of some pages for the September-October issue of the "New Farmer", where George has an article about my visit, and I have another about "After 45 Years of Socialist Agriculture".
I took a farewell stroll on my favorite routes in Emmaus and Allentown.
Robert Rodale's son surprised me when he showed up with two pretty girls from the "New Farmer" telling me he wants to take some pictures. I evidently refused initially - I

don't like the posture of a star. But he convinced me, and I accepted. Though so young, Rodale Jr. proved to be very skilled a photographer and psychologist, knowing how to make you relax, laugh and think of different things by asking questions that made you forget for a minute his intentions. He would take pictures unexpectedly, finding moments
when his sub ects are in a fully natural, detatched posture.
What came next was even more astonishing: a party given by Robert Rodale for me. A truly American party, with abundant good humor. Only now, when ready to go, I realize how much attached I became to these people at "Rodale Press", how much they have done for me during all these nine weeks, so this time didn't seem to me like and age of loneliness.
Vera Cruz, August 9
My last trip to New York, with George, this time by bus. A nice long walk through the city, to the Rockefeller Center, with pictures taken. Visit to the imposing 8t. Patrick's Cathedral.
A last conference at the MPA, with many tired faces, like those of runners at the end of the track. After the conference, a far well dinner and a chat with the president of the MPA.
*
Back in Vera Cruz, with George, we try to make an evaluation of the MPA program, watching occasionally the western on the screen.
Next, a documentary about Hussein and the invasion of Kuwait. The film makes a parallel between the two dictators: Hussein and Ceau~escu, with some images of the December Revolution in Bucharest. I am distressed by this association.
The invasion of Kuwait and the American intervention to stop it has created here, in the states, a veritable turmoil.
Vera Cruz, August 10
The event of the day: the release of "The New Land". Looks great. But not excellent. Not because we couldn't have done it, but because at a certain point the demand was one, and the supply was different. Working on the articles, I soon realized that what I had available was for 16 pages, not eight. Hence, the fight with the need to abandon some of the materials. Remarkable quality of the paper "The New Land" has been printed on. Reproductions of pictures look even better than the originals. It's a true delight to look at this issue.
What will the next step be, back home? What will I be able to do until running a permanent collaboration into a oined venture? God only knows.
*
I also received Chuck McCullagh's written answers to the questions I gave him some time ago.
The author gives at this point the detailed questions and answers.
Washington, August 11
I left today Vera Cruz and Emmaus. Was I sad? Was I happy? Anyway, after all those weeks, a change is welcome. I was running the risk of getting used to people and places, I started having the feeling of being an insider. I even started to give up the desire for "adventure", in the most innocent sense of the word - stopped feeling the need for something new, something different. I do not mean to say that either people or places had no more secrets for me to discover, but all of them had offered me enough to make me understand them, to understand, I hope, the way of a certain category of Americans - the journalists. This including the editors too, of course. I also think I started understanding the managerial mechanisms of American editors and publishers. I hope I am now in the possession of the key to open doors for a democratic and free press in Romania.
*
At noon I started the jburney to Washington through Pennsylvania, Maryland and Virginia, accompanied by George and Melanie in a Jeep, at the speed of hurrying tourists.
George drove us into Washington through a very special place, intimately associated with the Capital City of the USA: Arlington National Cemetery.
In spite of the incessant buzzing coming from the planes above, I have the feeling of an overwhelming silence embracing this place - all those who are here for ever: good or bad, celebrated heroes or unknowns who died at home or far away for the ideals America stands. The place has a military rigor and solemnity. From whichever angle you look, all crosses show a strict geometry of death.
It is weird to say about a cemetery that it is beautiful. Death and all images related to it cannot be associated with beauty. Nevertheless, this place is beautiful.
After a short tour of the city, we went to the Washington Hotel, less than one hundred yards away from the White House. Later, a rich farewell dinner with a delicious menu, a walk and a tour around the White House.
Washington, August 12
Early in the morning I have to part from George and Melanie who have so kindly and warmly done their "mission" to drop me here. We part with a mutual promise to keep in touch and try to materialize at least some of the many products we have been talking about.
At 11 I meet the other members of the East European group who came from New York. We are going to have a very dense and strictly planned schedule in Washington for the next five days, with many, many places to see.

*
America is drawing shortly to an end. Mixed feelings of fatigue, impatience, and home sickness, they all define our busy preparations for the return to Europe.
The big farewell party will take place in Alexandria, Virginia.
*
Suit cases are too small, books, magazines and other printed information are all much too heavy. But no book can stay behind. Soon, all that will have left are the memories, and every book is a dear memory.
Well, this has been America. Once upon a time, there was a place ...
Washington August 16
Washington International Airport, boarding a plane, looking back without any anger.
Good-bye, America.


America After America.
Home again. Arrived a few days ago. After the American experience, I feel no longer that the "liberation" we got recently has really liberated us. Certainly not from poverty, chaos, concerns, and mainly from pre-conceived ideas. Romania is still far from what I hoped it would become in eight months after the December shake-off.
As for America, I must admit I'm still dizzy, could not bring my ideas and memories in order. It's all still too close. It was too short a time for what I would have liked to see. Those ten weeks were a trip in time, an experience of 214 years of democracy.
For me, this was actually a triple experience: me, the "ordinary" man, the tourist, me, the ournalist and writer, and me, the founder of one of the first private magazines in new Romania.
I also wish I had time to write down all my experience. In my effort not to miss the essential and to see alii could see, I often missed precisely the essential.
The undeniable gains of such an experience are the bridges we build, a hope that we can really achieve something.
I now can say that America turned out to be more than I had expected - and certainly was not disappointed. I can only describe it as a miracle that must be lived.
America accepts you easily. It is easy to learn to live with it. It is hard to learn to live without it any more. America is very subtle, turning you into an American before you know it, without having to give up anything of what is your true self, your true identity. I liked the ostentatious way the Americans show their national pride, the depth of this feeling, never false or hypocritical.
My first hand notes may show too much enthusiasm for my "discoveries", but I hate to put some make-up now. Even if this enthusiasm were filtered out, there still would remain enough of "my America" to look true, credible. And I haven't seen it all.
This is only a ournal, not a book about America. May be, at a later time, a true book, with all those notes, data, and statistics.
For most Europeans, simply the word "America" has the effect of a drug. After you take it, you cannot stay away from it any more. Once you know America, you only can love her, you can never part.
But America cannot be summarized, nor can it be told. You have to "live" America.
Therefore, all I can say now, is "Good-bye America, where ever you are"!