Poisoned in the bushes an’ blown out on the trail,
Hunted like a crocodile, ravaged in the corn,
Come in, she said, I’ll give ya shelter from the storm.”---Bob Dylan
What now? Where do we go next if the nonecks prevail, ignorance wins the day and treason usurps the government? We barely escaped the claws of the Kraken a mere ten months ago when mindless hordes enveloped the Capitol and caused the announcement nobody wants to hear: “The government has left the building.” Now the Barbarian States are enacting laws to void elections which their Trumpist candidates do not win.
The United States is like a giant ocean liner bobbing around the high seas without an engine as the hurricane descends. Meanwhile, all the passengers argue about what they should be serving for dinner.
Texas has already morphed into Afghanistan without burkhas as women are relegated to fourth-class citizen status. The same fate may soon befall any state where the Mongol Party holds sway. Do we all move to California, New York or New England? Are there any cheap
apartments left in Seattle? Is it possible to rent a lean-to on the beach at Yachats? Or do we just say the hell with it and move to another country like the Irish did in 1798 when the English were “hangin’ men and women for the wearin’ of the green.”
And if we take the latter course, where do we go? Mexico and Central America are full of corrupt politicians, drug gangs and bad water. Brazil is rife with corrupt politicians, child bandits and people who speak Portuguese. China is packed with corrupt quasi-politicians, poison air and filthy laundromats. Japan is too crowded, Iceland is just plain boring and Switzerland has too many hills. Fortunately, however, all is not lost. The Flying Pie considers the possibilities.
Yo, Canada!
The folks in Montreal, Toronto and Vancouver are still standing on guard for Canada, and so might we if they’d just let us in. The True North has a lot to offer, from the cathedral-filled old-Europe feel of Montreal to the cutting-edge towers of ultra-modern Toronto to the glorious coastal beauty of Vancouver. Imagine a fairyland of No-Trumpers, where people don’t equate simple vaccinations with the Devil’s Work and shoppers aren’t regularly gunned down while wandering the aisles at Nordstrom’s. It’s a little chilly, sure, but most of Canada’s major cities are within 100 miles of the American border, so not much worse than Chicago, Minneapolis or Presque Isle. And did we mention, it’s very roomy.
Where else on the continent can you watch an NHL hockey game in the afternoon and take in the Northern Lights after dinner? Or eat cheese curds on top of fries and gravy? Or buy milk in bags? Or go to the doctor for free? Maybe you’re an Anglophile who likes to stick the letter “u” in as many words as possible, like “colour,” honour” and “vacuuum.” Go right ahead, say the Northlanders. Maybe you’d like to turn on TV and get the Humidex instead of the mere weather. Maybe you’re Will Thacker and you’d like to see the Narcisse Snake Dens in Manitoba, which have more serpents in a concentrated area than anywhere else in the world. Maybe you’d like to visit Dawson City in the Yukon and join the Sourtoe Cocktail Club. All you have to do to qualify is finish a drink of any liquid with an honestogod human toe at the bottom. Their motto is, “You can drink it fast, you can drink it slow, but the lips have gotta touch the toe.”
All well and good, Mr. Pie, but what if the Canadians don’t want us? What do we have to do to get in? Can we bring the dog? Do they accept people from Bogalusa? Good questions all. Let’s take a look.
The True North, Strong And Free
Canada has enough hosers already, they don’t need to add to the pile. That means you are not getting in with just a wink and a nod, no indeedy. The Northlanders will give you a smile, however, if you’re a skilled worker, a relative of a Canadian citizen or a high net worth individual who has owned or managed a business in another country. There is also a program called The Canadian Experience Class that allows people who have worked there for one year to immigrate permanently. Individuals can also make an asylum claim in Canada at any port of entry. Applicants must, of course, demonstrate why they can no longer live in their present country. Complaints about Donald Trump’s loud farting and Marjorie Taylor Greene’s pedophile-packed pizzeria may not be enough. Try telling them your great grandfather was a Montreal Canadiens season ticket-holder from 1940 to 1985, that may get you in. If not, modestly reveal that you are the current reincarnation of hockey god Maurice (the Rocket) Richard. Even if you don’t get accepted, several people will buy you drinks. Baby steps.
Some misinformed people think it’s easier to emigrate to provinces like Manitoba, Saskatchewan or Alberta because nobody lives there and the Canadians would like to fill the places up. This is wrong. You don’t want to move there anyway. There is nothing happening in any of these places except for the Calgary Stampede, a glorified ten-day rodeo which calls itself “The Greatest Outdoor Show On Earth,” which sounds a little like plagiary to us. Where you really don’t want to move to are places like the Northwest Territories or Nunavet, where people live in caves and eat dirt. We’d include the Yukon in this category but we don’t want to piss off Sergeant Preston. If you’ve ever wondered where The End of The Road is, you can see it for yourself in Yellow Knife, NT. It’s a little cold, but don’t worry, temperatures rarely dip below –41. The TV producers of Ice Road Truckers sent a crew up there to film a few episodes and none of them ever came back. Suddenly, Missoula isn’t looking so bad.
London Bridge Is Looking Good
Maybe some of us can return to the Motherland. After all, our ancestors got the ball rolling over here, that should count for something. Oh sure, there was that nasty business with King George III, but even the English will admit he was a bit of a twisted crumpet. And we did show up when Angry Adolf started strafing the geraniums at Kew Gardens. We even made up a song (My Country, ‘Tis of Thee) with the exact same music as ‘God Save the Queen.’ Several of those internet sites which rank everything from donuts to Duesenbergs have recently called London the Greatest City in the World, so it’s obviously not as boring and foggy as we thought. You just have to suck it up and learn how to tolerate soccer.
Americans hoping to move to England have a bit of a sticky wicket. To become a permanent resident of the UK, you must have the hallowed “Right of Abode,” which allows you to live and work without restriction. All British citizens have Right of Abode. You may be eligible for British citizenship if you (1) were born in England, as Siobhan was; (2) have already moved to England; (3) are married to or in partnership with a British citizen; or (4) have indefinite leave to remain.
To qualify for Indefinite Leave, etc., you must complete 5 years of continuous residence in the UK and adhere to certain income requirements like not being a beach bum, a pickpocket or a pimp for Prince Andrew. Also, no wonkers, please. We don’t know what exactly a wonker is but the English do and they’ll let you know. If it turns out you are a wonker, you will have to got to Australia for reindoctrination classes, during which you will live in a pithouse in the outback for six weeks. Knocks the wonker right out of your genes.
Good luck to the lot of you. See you in Piccadilly Square.
From Paris With Love
Since we’ve probably seen every movie Woody Allen ever made, we already know about Paris. On the Allen Index, Paris and New York are easily the two best cities in the world, hands down. We’ve been fascinated with the place ever since we heard the sad tale of Lucy Jordan, who at the age of 37 realized she’d never ride through Paris in a sports car with the warm wind in her hair. We certainly didn’t want that to happen to us, but apparently it has. No worries, though, there’s still time and this may be it. Does Enterprise still rent Alfa Romeo convertibles?
Apparently, Paris is not to hard to get into because they let our old pal Gilbert Shelton live there despite his sordid past. Even more shocking, licentious cartoonist Robert Crumb is a resident and we know what he’s got on his mind. Perhaps this is all because of the well-known French fondness for art and deviant behavior or a misplaced step on the aesthetic ladder. After all, Jerry Lewis was once the unchallenged king of comedy in La Republique. Yeah, that Jerry Lewis.
While Canada and England have their issues, at least everyone speaks some version of American. In Paris, we’re alarmed to discover, they speak French. Don’t get us wrong, French is a very pretty language and the girls really like it but there’s this thing where they don’t pronounce all the letters, like in coup d’etat. You look at a new word and it’s impossible to know which letters to pronounce and which ones to leave out. You also have to pass a wine test to get into France. They have, like, 3000 different wines over there and you have to know the names of all of them, and get this…. when to use them. Perish forbid that instead of using a proper dessert wine with your creme brulee, you foul up and bring out a pre-picnic wine or worse, a post-soccer game wine. They’ll exile you to Bitscherland, or maybe Niort, which is worse even than Detroit. And don’t think you can play it safe and just abstain from wine, they have asylums for people like that.
Do Not Pass Goa.
If you’re still an old hippie at heart---and we know you are---have we got some places for you. Goa, India is at the top of the list, and for good reason. The Hippie Trail started in Goa in the early 1960s as westerners arrived in flocks, creating a counterculture eden. The new arrivals joyfully burned their passports and lived naked in caves and the highly amused locals left them alone. Some of the original hippies still remain, conducting enlightenment classes, partying and messing with psychotropic drugs. Sounds like Berkeley East. Bring your sitar and a silly grin.
Panajachel, Guatemala is another ‘60s hippie hotspot that evolved into the Central American love-in capital. After a brief regression, it rose up again in the 1990s with New Age hippies, meditation centers and yoga enthusiasts moving in. Nearby San Marcos is Backpacker Central.
Once a hippie mecca, Kathmandu, Nepal still draws its share of them. Many get together to help build one another’s homes, swap stories of the good old days and practice reiki healing. Glastonbury, England, in the heart of the ‘Isle of Avalon,’ is a gathering-of-the-tribes community with an annual five-day festival celebrating contemporary music, dance, comedy, theater, circus, cabaret and altered states. Open a tie-dye booth, you’ll clean up.
If you decide to stay home after all, there’s always Eugene, Oregon, the happiest hippie town in America. This is where the present-day runaways go instead of San Francisco, and why wouldn’t they? Many services are free, the city government aids and abets free spirits and there are more healing crystals per block than any town in America. Say ‘Om.’
Addenda:
Our roving reporter Shelly Bianchi Snyder is sure to check in with advice on moving to Italy (she resides in lovely Siena) as soon as she organizes her coffee and biscotti tray. If you need a little emotional assistance after you arrive there, Shelly will meet you at the train with sympathy and advice. Unlike the old days, however, you will not be able to crash at Sherry’s pad for three weeks while you get your shit together. Some things have changed for the better.
That’s all, folks….
