I don’t know anything about cars. I can barely tell a convertible from a Hummer and I tend to forget where I park in the parking lot—I wish our car was painted yellow or pink because it would be easier to spot.
Yet I can’t resist a good photo opportunity.
During the Civic Holiday weekend, we drove to the U.S. We usually stop after crossing the border to put our passports away and grab a cold drink. This time, as soon as we exited the International Bridge, we spotted a strange gathering of classic cars. “Let’s go!” I begged Feng.
Regular cars were parked all around the lawn, most sporting a bunch of bumper stickers: “Impeach Obama,” “Welcome to America: Speaking English or Get the Fuck Out,” “Capitalism Built This Country, The Democrats Want to Destroy It With Socialism,” “Deport All Illegal Immigrants,” “Don’t Trust the Liberal Media,” “Politicians Prefer Unarmed Subjects” etc.
“Great, a Tea Party gathering,” I said, lowering my voice so that I wouldn’t get shot.
For a minute, I hesitated. A Chinese born under Mao and a French with a big camera… not sure we were exactly fitting in. We parked our old Toyota Corolla—ahem, a Japanese car, another big faux pas—and paid $2 to enter.
Yes, people stared at us. Well, really, it was mutual.
Yet it was really cool to see all these classic American cars here, parked on the lawn. Polished Ford or Chevrolet radiator caps, funny vanity plates and quirky dashboard—and sometimes, Betty Boop or the Pink Panther behind the wheel.
I could almost hear Don McLean’s American Pie playing in the background:
So bye-bye, miss american pie.
Drove my chevy to the levee,
But the levee was dry.
And them good old boys were drinkin’ whiskey and rye