The International Writers Magazine: My First Taco Experience

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First Encounters with Detroit • Erica Johansson "Mummy, I´m hungry. I want Mc Donald's." The young plump girl, maybe five or six years old, seems sleepy but her determined voice is enough to reach her mothers attention. "Yes sweetheart, I know you're hungry. Charlie, can you look for somewhere to stop please? Daddy will find a place soon sweaty." "I want Mc Donald's now. I want Mc Donald's now." The girl bounces up and down in the seat, repeating the four words endlessly.

Haven't they eaten yet? It was only a few minutes since we left the airport; it's not especially far to the Fowler Center from here.

The generous flight meal and the fact I had been awake since pre-dawn made sleep sound like a more pleasant option. My previous flight record was on three and a half hours to the Greek island Skiathos, quite a difference from nine hours in the plane during this trip. Before departure my dad worried Chicago O'Hare International Airport was too big and told me to be careful because I wouldn’t want to wander about and miss the scheduled flight to Detroit.

By remaining calm at O'Hare and trusting my intuition I resolutely followed the signs towards the right gate. It was easier than I thought. Even though the airport is huge, the part I needed to pass through was not even a fifth of its entirety. Consequently I reached my destination without any hassle.

The moment I caught sight on the sweater with "The Fowler Center" printed in capital letters on the shirt I knew it was him. He was squat, had black thick hair and wore small glasses.
"Hi. You must be Erica. I'm Charlie, one of the staff members from the Fowler Camp."

A handshake and some phrases of courtesy later we headed towards his car with my crammed backpack. His wife and daughter occupied the back seats but I didn’t mind taking the front.

"I'm hungry mummy."
"I know honey. Daddy will stop somewhere. Next exit is a Wendy's…how about that? And I know there's a Taco Bell within a few minutes."
The light voice was impatient.
"Mummy, I said I wanted Mc Donald's! I want Mc Donald's mum!"
A sudden silence hits the atmosphere. I rest my head against the window and stare at the dark flat landscape as we head north. The fast food chains rectangular neon signs are luminous along the highway. In a country where numerous people suffer of obesity I find it perplexing to see how the same people can indulge in Big Mac's, super sized sodas, fries and other obvious unhealthy meals.

A friend to my dad had a project for his company's client in Detroit a couple of months ago. He said he honestly found it difficult to eat healthy while he lived there. Once I was told that Michigan is the state with the most overweight people in America, but whether that is true or not I don’t know. Maybe the majority doesn’t have the right knowledge how to eat healthier, and the exploiting chains don’t exactly make things any better.

For a more comfortable position I lower the seat a bit and lose my eyes to rest. I imagine how my summer in Michigan will turn out. Graduating from high school and stay in Sweden over the summer as my classmates planned wasn’t an option. I wanted to see something new, preferably cross an ocean on the way. Europe felt too close. The interview for the au-pair job in Australia didn’t turn out as I had hoped, but the moment I caught sight of the British organisation Camp Americas brochure about working as a camp counsellor I knew what I wanted to do. Hence the Fowler Center, a camp for children, youths and adults with "special needs", situated outside the village Mayville in south-east Michigan, was my location for two summer months.

Charlie skids into the next exit and stops in front of a grand Mexican restaurant. His comatose daughter doesn’t say a word about Mc Donald's. Two plastic men with bushy eyebrows clad in gaudy costumes and showy sombreros welcome us next to the door. We sit down by a rounded table below a garish paper chain creation in the middle of the room. I count to four loud TVs, showing a football game between the Detroit Lions and the Chicago Beers

Even though I’m not especially hungry I order a vegetarian tortilla plate, thinking it’s probably just a filled tortilla with some salad on the side. Ten minutes later, the waiter serves me a meal enough for two grown-ups. Four filled tortillas, a big portion of rice covering a vegetarian mince, and melted cheese on top of everything. No salad. I manage to eat almost half of it until I’m full.

"Don't you want a doggy bag?"
The mother holds up one of the four boxes and highs a questioning eyebrow.
What does she mean? For what?
My puzzled look tells her I don’t get it.
"For your food, so you can eat it later." she says, as if it’s the most natural thing to bring your remaining food home in a take away box.
"No thank you," I say politely.

The waiter gives me a surprised look and removes my plate from the table. As the family tucks fat dripping minced meat sauce, portions of rice and half-eaten tortillas into the waiting doggy bags I realise there are probably more culture clashes to expect and get used to until the summer is over.
© Erica Johansson May 2006
erica.johan@gmail.com
Erica Johansson is a freelance writer from Sweden.

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