This is the blog I wrote whilst traveling across the States at the end of 2013. It's mostly about how I accidentally offended American people.
Hello and Welcome
So it was that 2 British guys took a considerable chunk of time off work and set off for the land of free. On their journey they experienced whooping jocks, adorable rednecks and a tremendous amount of fried foods. They met and made friends along the way, and clocked up over 4,500 miles on the road and rail.
My name is Jonathan Hatch, a writer from London, and a cynical young adult. I documented our American road trip every step of the way, and here it is in chronological order.
I haven’t altered the posts at all from when I wrote them, so please ignore the odd spelling mistake and misuse of ‘there’ (oh, the shame!)
The Route (pronounced Rowt)
How d’you like them apples?
London, UK
Boston, MA
2nd-4th September 2013
Oh, those cheeky American Customs Officers. They sure know how to make you feel welcome, don’t they?
It’s easy to forget how paranoid the US is about people coming over to work illegally. Having just spent 9 hours on plane, 2 of which we weren’t even moving for, the last thing we needed was a ruddy interrogation full of loaded questions, misdirection and passive aggression.
Sadly, that is what both me and Mr. Mason received, and after failing to show them a return ticket to England we were thrown into a room to wait to be interrogated further. Robin got through pretty quickly, but they had other ideas for me. After a half hour wait and 35 full minutes of grilling about what I was doing in their country (including 5 minutes when nothing was said at all, presumably he though my British instincts would kick in, the awkward silence would become too much, and I’d admit I was there to peddle meth) with Robin waiting outside wondering whether the trip was going to happen my passport was stamped and I was off. I miss French passport control.
Admittedly this wasn’t the best start to our trip, but thankfully Boston has more than made up for it. The wonders of jet lag got us going early doors so we picked up a couple of fetching green rental bikes and cycled along the Charles River to Harvard. I was expecting Boston to be very industrialised and, generally, a bit dreary, but it’s actually very pretty and peaceful. A lot of the architecture (especially around Harvard) feels very European. The people are very friendly as well. Some guy seemed genuinely impressed that we were from London! “Wait for me to blow your mind,” I went on, “I was actually born in Swindon…” He just looked a little confused and cycled off.
Anyway, upon arrival in Harvard, Robin took up a job as a janitor. One of the professors had left a maths problem up on a blackboard for his students to try and solve. Even though he was just a janitor Robin solved it! He then met Minnie Driver, got therapy from Robin Williams and asked a guy “How do you like them apples?” It was quite the afternoon.
After that we grabbed some incredible burgers at some incredibly famous burger bar or another, and cycled back in to town. We then had a little walk through the park, to the first ever municipal library in the whole of the states, and got back to the hostel for 3.30. Thank you jet lag!
We’re going to head to the oldest pub in America this evening, before going to get all mouthy and patriotic whilst watching Andy Murray. We’re off to NYC tomorrow, but so far I can say Boston has definitely been the best place of the trip… Even if their Customs Officers are assholes.
No sleep ‘til Brooklyn
New York City, NY
4th-6th September 2013
Well the good news is that the jet lag has gone. It came at a cost, though. That cost being a day of treacherous hang over management and tiredness. It was totally worth it.
The USA’s oldest pub in Boston turned out to be a bit dull so we hit the hay early. After a long walk to Fenway park in the morning we hopped on the Am Track to New York City. It turns out the American’s know how to do trains. Am Track apparently needs millions of dollars in government subsidies to keep it afloat as nobody uses it. But they should. The Boston to New York route took in the beautiful and affluent Connecticut and the scraggy but charming Rhode Island along the way and it was incredibly chilled. I really should’ve made the most of it.
Having your first ever encounter with New York at Penn Station during rush hour is a little sketchy. We made it out to our hostel in an area of Brooklyn that looks like urban renewal was abandoned and the hipsters moved in to give it a bohemian makeover. After chucking our bags in the hostel we headed straight out to a dive bar in the lower east side.
Having met 2 friends from home what then proceeded was a little anarchic. Our evening took us to a filthy pizza place (one of only 267 pizza joints claiming to have “the best pizza in New York”) a roof terrace in the West Village, another couple of dive bars, a depressingly awful club with that dreary air of a place totally lacking identity so familiar to many clubs in the UK, and finally a super trendy club in Brooklyn where our friend got us on the guest list and I believe Q-Tip was on the decks, though I was in a heavily deteriorated state at that point and didn’t really notice. I sat up on the roof of the club smoking a cigarette looking out over Manhattan and thought what a tremendously cheeky minx she was. I’d only been there for 7 hours,
And so it was I stirred at 9.30 in a crippling amount of pain facing the prospect of my first proper day site-seeing in NYC. We actually got a lot done. We walked along the high line, took in the garishly capitalist Times Square, walked through Central Park and watched the sun set on the Hudson Pier. Considering the severity of the hang over I think we can be pleased with ourselves. We bravely tried to have a few beers and watch the NFL opener,but could only make it to half time before the all-encompassing tiredness took over.
But here I now am. Hangover and Jet lag free and facing another 2 and a bit days of NYC terrificness. As much as I enjoyed Boston’s pace and Irish charm, being here you can see exactly why it’s considered one of the best cities in the world.
Williamsburg, TriBeCa and a game at Yankee stadium are on today’s agenda. That’ll be worth it just to embarrass ourselves by pretending we know what’s going on.
Lets go Red Sox!
New York City, NY
6th-8th September
Well it’s official. I’m a Red Sox fan. Or, at least, I’m an “anybody but the Yankees” fan.
There is a general consensus that the Yankees are like the Manchester United of baseball, which would usually suggest that i should hate them, but I turned up to the beautiful Yankee stadium with an open mind on Friday evening. The atmosphere was very pleasant and I was starting to understand the game. I was a little perplexed when a Boston player hit a home run and he was greeted by boos. I wasn’t expecting appreciative applause, but I would have at least expected a stony silence akin to premier league football. Nevertheless the Yankees had a comfortable lead when the Yankee fans from hell turned up.
Imagine the worst kind of American, jock, loudmouthed douche bags that years of watching shit like the OC has given you the impression of. Multiply it by a number greater than infinity and you have the horrible little bastards sat behind us. They shouted loudly about why the Red Sox are a far inferior team, despite not seeming to know any of there names. They told stories about 38 year old mothers with “tits down to there knees” hitting on them. Whenever the one female member within their group offered her opinion the response was usually “no one cares what you think. Shut up!” And, as the game progressed, they just starting shouting… Shouting so goddamn loud it could be heard in space. Rather beautifully just before we left with the bases loaded the Red Sox hit a home run to tie the game. Finally they were silenced. Until the obligatory “Red Sox Suck” chant started. We hastily made our exit after 7(!) innings and were thrilled to see that the Red Sox had won the game when we got off the Metro in Brooklyn.
Before that we had been rather productive again. After walking through Brooklyn we walked over the Brooklyn bridge and on to Ground Zero. Although the freedom tower is up, it still has an air of great loss around there. I was a little disappointed to see street vendors trying to prophet off of tragedy by guilting tourists into buying commemorative books. I think once the park is built it will be a place of hope, not sadness, but its hard to tell. We carried on walking and got on the Staton Island ferry. I’d recommend this to anyone visiting NYC as you get some great views of Manhattan and the Statue of Liberty, and, most importantly, it’s free.
Yesterday we moved to a YMCA with bizarre plastic mattresses for one last day of site seeing. After having a bit of lunch on the corner of Central Park we swore profusely at Trump tower for a few minutes (pointless, but highly satisfying), checked out Grand Central station and had a walk around the Greenwich and Soho areas. We finished our stay off with a chipotle and the new Woody Allen movie. New Yorkers love Woody Allen. He’s like a New York Yoda or something. It was a fairly decent movie, with the biggest laughs from the audience coming from New York in jokes that baffled me and Rob.
We’re now on our way to Philadelphia, home of Rocky, the cheese steak and Will Smith. And cream cheese, I assume. New York most certainly lived up to the hype. And, although I found some New Yorkers rather difficult, would most definitely go back.
The whole cream cheese thing is a myth
Philadelphia, PA
8th-9th September 2013
“Ooh, someone’s got a birthday coming up!” said the overly enthusiastic hostel receptionist to an awkward looking Robin in a manor that you’d use with an ill 5-year-old.
It’s not that I’m adverse to a bit of enthusiasm and happy-clappy communal spirit, but sometimes the American’s can do it in such a way that dramatically clashes with the British sensibility of keeping yourself to yourself and holding back your emotions. Such was the case at the hostel we have just left in Philly. “I got here in May, and I never left. It’s just soon awesome.” Our handy guide told us twice, as the owner made little impressions of British people which included the obligatory “core blimey guv’na”, an irritating rendition of the “British national anthem” Wonderwall, and correcting our guide, informing her the living room was called a “parlour” in England. “It absolutely [fucking] isn’t” I informed him. The whole excruciating ordeal took almost an hour of our limited time in Philly.
In fairness, they were nice people who were just a little too over the top, and the hostel was very friendly and comfortable, but perhaps we are a little old, and feel we shouldn’t have to go through such nonsense.
We finally got out to Philly proper, and what a great city it is. It was very quiet after the madness of NYC, which was perfect for a sunny Sunday. We went down to the pier to watch some doo-wop groups (think Oz’s singing group in American Pie if you absolutely insist on having a cultural reference), saw the highly unimpressive Liberty Bell (literally just a bell), walked past the beautiful city hall and up the mall to the arts museum.
The Arts museum is actually more famous for being some steps in a movie, namely Rocky. There is a little statue by the side of the steps of Rocky, and some vendors sell rocky t-shirts while they are dressed as Rocky. Robin has never seen Rocky, so he was a little confused.
We finished the afternoon with a tour of East Penitentiary, the first of its kind. A handy audio tour from Steve Bucemi, the wood chipper guy from Fargo, took us around a genuinely interesting building with genuine history. Something which is in short supply in the US.
We went out in the evening for a legendary Philly Cheese Steak. It was basically obesity in a bun and was a little disappointing. I blame the fact that American cheese SUCKS SO MUCH COCK! Sorry for the outburst, but it really is awful. After a few beers, including a half decent pint of Guinness, we merrily headed home a little bit smitten with Philadelphia.
After a very laid back morning, mostly thanks to the hostel I so harshly lambasted earlier, we are now on our way to the place affectionately known locally as “Bodymore, Murderland.” Good good.
It’s all in the game… Of baseball
Baltimore, MD
9th-10th September 2013
I find myself stood on a roof overlooking an area that wouldn’t look out of place in The Wire trying to scrape some Internet service to call home whilst a bin full of old shellfish basks in the 36 degree heat. Meanwhile, Robin has popped out for some tinnies. The only place within walking distance to do so is one of those stores with bullet proof glass to protect the cashier from armed robbery… Welcome to the capital city of the USA, Washington DC
But I’ve jumped ahead of myself. Yesterday we arrived in Baltimore, the real home of The Wire, and I have to admit we somewhat played it safe. There was a ‘Wire Tour’, but it basically sounded like a bunch of middle class white guys sat on a bus looking at deprived, predominantly African-American areas and saying things like “Oooh that’s where Omar got arrested on suspicion of murdering the delivery lady!” Whilst real problems are going on in front of them. Not at all appetising, I’m sure you’ll agree.
So we spent the majority of the 24 hours or so we had in the inner harbour, an area still getting over the trauma of hosting a Keith Urban concert in aide of the NFL season opener (that wasn’t even in Baltimore). We discovered a few people still cowering in corners babbling things like “He’s just a poor man’s Bon Jovi” and “He’s just so offensively average.”
The inner harbour is pretty, if a little soulless. There are some handsome old boats, but they are moored next to the garishly painted tourist boats. It’s the same on the shore, with some lovely old harbour buildings sandwiched between plastic looking restaurants. And it was one of those plastic restaurants that we ate yesterday evening. Bubba Gump Shrimp is a cheerful chain that gained a new lease of life after the Forrest Gump film. My cynicism must be abating a little as I found the whole cheesy affair rather enjoyable. All the servers where called Forrest, the food had names like “Lieutenant Dan’s Drunken Shrimp” and it was actually pretty tasty, if a little expensive.
After a few beers at a standard Irish bar we hit the hay, only to be woken up by someone in our room’s alarm, which went off intermittently 14 times every 5 minutes at 6am. Now, anyone who has read this blog before will know I’m pretty precious about my sleep (and for those of you who haven’t should now be aware since I counted the number of times the alarm went off), but that just seemed beyond disrespectful when you’re sharing a room with 7 other people. He can be added to the douche bag list with the Yankees fans.
One man who certainly wasn’t a douche bag was our tour guide for a tour of the Oriole’s Ball Park (importantly, not a stadium) He was a wonderfully enthusiastic man, and the Ball Park (not stadium) was really a thing of beauty. If you’re in Baltimore I would recommend it, baseball fan or no. We then accidentally walked off without tipping, something which has made me feel very guilty for the rest of the day.
It was time for us to say goodbye to Baltimore… A little later than planned due to the fact they did not announce the platform of our train till after the train had left. After being hastily organised onto another one, we arrived in Washington. I will not lie to you, dear reader, our hostel is an utter shithole, but we’ll make do for A couple of nights. I just hope someone gets rid of the shellfish at some point in the next 2 days.
Land of the Free
Washington, DC
10th-12th September 2013
I’m sad to say the shellfish never got cleaned. As I left our questionable hostel for the last time earlier this afternoon there it was, still rotting in the heat.
And what heat it was. Heat like nothing I’ve experienced in years. That sort of heat that turns people into human water wells. It was still 34 degrees when we headed out on our first night in DC. We went to the original 5 Guys burger joint. The restaurant is famous as President Obama has claimed it’s his favourite fast food place, and it has even been host to a couple of his press conferences. This irked me. I imagined he was using it as a way of appearing to be a man of the people, in much the same way Cameron flops around in an Aston Villa shirt every now and then. You can see Cameron’s reasoning. He didn’t want to be a fan of anyone to obscure and too far down the leagues to make him seem lightweight, but equally he can’t support one of the successful teams, as fans would call him out as a glory supporter. Villa just suck enough to be perfect. Annoyingly, 5 guys was really nice. Obama may not have been bullshiting after all.
Speaking of Obama bullshiting, after 5 guys we headed to the White House, coincidently just before Obama gave his latest speech on Syria. There were a modest amount of anti-war protestors outside, who listened to the speech live through some speakers. It was an interesting moment. Most people listened, a few shouted over the top, and the whole thing was being filmed by several media outlets. When Obama announced he was postponing the vote to pursue joint diplomatic talks with Russia, there was only a small smatter of applause. When Obama finished his speech there were huge amount of boos and everyone started chanting “No war in Syria”, playing up to the media cameras as they did so.
This all seemed strange to me. I by no means think the USA should eat involved in Syria with military action, but at the same time I’m willing to listen to arguments for it. The diplomatic route is surely the best option, and Obama is going to try it, so isn’t that a small victory for the anti-war contingent? It seemed to me that they almost wanted Obama to announce the start of military action, so they could get angry and show all the media why Obama was wrong. This is the problem with the left some times, they are so unwilling to debate. It saddens me. But in other news, the Washington Monument looks like a massive cock, so that’s cool.
We woke up to yet another day of oppressive heat, 38 degrees this time. Thank god for the smithsonian. There are 19 different museums under the monicker, so if you’re in town for a week you’ll still probably not see them all. We managed 4 of these beautiful, air-conditioned buildings; Natural history, American history, air and space and the portrait gallery. They are absolutely fantastic and totally free (In New York the museums are upwards from 15 bucks a pop) Perfect for such a disgustingly hot couple of days.
The buildings are dotted all around the national mall, a 2 mile stretch of park with capital hill at one end, the Lincoln Memorial at the other, and the phallic Monument in the middle. Every few yards are those crazy kinds of Christians telling you you’re going to hell because you’re wearing shorts or something. We saw one guy dressed as Jesus carrying a cross. I pointed out that it was blasphemous to dress as Jesus, he told me I was going to hell. We agreed to disagree.
The Mall is nice, but the rest of DC is strange. I have never seen so many homeless people in such a small area, and this is just a few blocks from Capital Hill. It makes you feel very uneasy that the leaders of the most powerful country in the world only need to look out the window to see how bad their country treats its most vulnerable. The city is ridiculously segregated, as well. I know this is the case in most major American cities, but it seemed worse here. All in all, it wasn’t great. If you’re doing a trip similar to ours then you should stop in just for the smithsonian, but don’t go out of your way. Oh, by the way, there is also a tube stop called Soggy Bottom. HAHAHA.
This afternoon we finally hit the road. After tangling with a sour faced, horrible dragon lady from Alamo rent-a-car we climed aboard our Chevrolet Gasmuncher and immediately got lost. After driving round the DC burbs for a while we got back on track. Our route took us down the a bit of the Skyline Drive, a 100 mile mountain road, which takes you to breathtaking spots of natural beauty. Unfortunately we arrived just after the sun went down, so we didn’t see much of it. I’m sure it’s very lovely though. We’ve just arrived in Lexington Virginia and have already found 2 live crickets in our room. It’s going to be a long night.
Old Glory
Lexington, VA
Knoxville, TN
12th-14th September 2013
Oh the American flag. Is there a site that fills you with more fierce pride and patriotism than the Star-Spangled Banner?
If you’re not from the US then chances are the answer will be a resounding “no”. Most foreigners associate the flag in a similar way to the Union Jack. A symbol of colonialism and oppression. That’s still better than how sane Englishman view the flag of St. George; a sign of far right patriotism and totally misplaced pride, but its still not great.
Americans fucking love their flag, however. After having a little walk round the rather wonderful little town of Lexington we hit the road for the first time during daylight hours. The scenery was stunning. The Appalachian mountains remind me of the mountains in the Langedouc region of France, all beautiful and green. There is one glaring difference, however. Instead of crumbling old watch towers on the side of hills you get billboards. Loads and loads of bloody billboards. Here are a few of my favourites.
“I know everything.” - God
Hey sunshine, you ever try chikin for breakfast?
Bob’s liquor store; We got yer moonshine!
Along with this onslaught of commercialism and Christianity there are also dozens of flags along each highway. Not regular size flags, either, offensively large flags that, if they were to fly off their flagpoles, they’d probably cover the entire town they sit at the entrance of.
After a 4.5 hour car journey (including a 277 mile stretch on the same highway) we arrived on the outskirts of Knoxville, where our hotel was located. First thing I noticed was how absolutely amazing the accent is. It’s inadvertently camp and about as stereotypically southern as you can get. Imagine Zach Galifanakais in The Candidate, or the “oh nooo” character from Family Guy. The people were also incredibly friendly. All southern charm and “say hello to Will and Kate for us when you go home.” Ruddy adorable.
We got a taxi in to Knoxville, home of the Sunsphere for all you Simpsons experts out there. We had a quick bite in the main square, then headed to a very cool bar with live music. We started talking to a nice couple from town. They were really bright people, both of them engineers at a test nuclear reactor somewhere out of town. They were very switched on, seemed quite liberal for the area, and were very self-aware about America’s role in the world and how they are perceived. We were getting on brilliantly, until I bought up the flag…
All I stated was that I found it very strange that there was such love for what is essentially a patterned bit of cloth. That, in England, the national flag is reserved for the worst kind of biggots, and the Union Jack wasn’t quite as hated, but was still viewed with a certain amount of colonial guilt. And I just thought the idea of loving a symbol so much was a little weird.
“It’s late, I think we’re going to leave.” Came the frosty response.
They weren’t unkind, but it was clear I had touched a nerve. I’ve made a note not to bring up the flag with anyone else, adding it to the list along with guns, immigration, Islam and foreign policy.
Knoxville was great, though. We both headed back to the hotel suitably drunk and crashed out. This morning we got back in the car and drove another 3 hours to Nashville, taking in more billboards and huge fucking flags and crossing into another time zone in the process. Nashville is supposed to be one of the best live music cities in the states, and its Saturday night. Should be a good one.
(Awful) Music City
Nashville, TN
14th-17th September 2013
“And I will love you girl, forever and ever, Amen.”
My word, country music sucks. I’m not talking about blue grass, blue grass is wonderful. I’m talking about that Keith Urban, singing the word heart as “huart”, every song exactly the same, all songs about love, god, pick ups and guns kind of country. Basically shit versions of Dolly Parton or Johnny Cash. It’s just unbearable.
Sadly, we’ve just spent the last few days unable to get away from it. Nashville is a very cool place with live music happening in every bar, club and restaurant all day everyday. The problem is, most of the music on offer is exactly what I described above.
The first place me and Rob went to has to be one of the worst places I’ve ever been (bare in mind I grew up near Swindon). We were absolutely starving, having only had some repugnant eggs from a Waffle House to eat all day. However, Nashville on a Saturday is crazy, so the first 3 restaurants we tried were too busy. We ended up in the Wild Horse Saloon.
Like most restaurants in the US, the Wild Horse Saloon is fucking massive. It has a bloody great stage at one end with a big space for dancing and tables everywhere else. First indicator that we should have ran away: This restaurant was host to Hanson just 3 days before. Secondly: There was a line dance lesson going on. Thirdly: they were dancing to the worst kind of country (the quote at the start of the blog was one I heard in there)
After being served some overpriced Tennessee BBQ on a plastic plate, which tasted like meat flavoured grease accompanied by more grease, me and Rob decided to avoid country music like the plague, which is rather difficult in Nashville. Luckily we found a New Orleans style Blues club. We were saved! The place had a really good vibe. The highlight of my evening was provided by some very drunk Norwegian businessmen, who danced around the place like they were the only white guys left alive. They stood behind us for a time, and when a singer dedicated a song to Norway, all 4 of them celebrated by lifting their arms in triumph and shouting “NORWAY!!!” Those crazy skandies. Anyway, after a few Southern Hurricanes, we stumbled home suitably merry.
Yesterday was our first properly chilled day on the trip. We slept in a bit, before going for a walk up to Capitol Hill (of Tennessee). Most of their state building are variations on the Parthenon, but with more crap quotes from Andrew Jackson on them ( they fucking love Andrew Jackson in Tennessee, to the point where pretty much every other street is named after him) We then spent the afternoon “Couchgating” which means we sat on a sofa watching American Football, not causing a scandal involving a sofa. After another rather shit meal we watched the 49ers get slaughtered at a bar, and I walked home in a huff without realising the barmaid had given me the wrong credit card.
Due to that mishap we had to spend most of the afternoon waiting for the bar to open before we could leave. Luckily it was this extra time that meant we got to visit Hatch Print Shop (no relation) It’s the first print shop in the USA, and in its storied history they have printed gig posters for the likes of B.B. King, Johnny Cash and Otis Redding. It’s a great place and I urge anyone visiting Nashville to check it out. Me and Rob even bought ourselves a print each.
After travelling another 3 hours across an increasingly flatter landscape we’ve now arrived in Memphis, just over the road from Graceland. I think they may like Elvis here, judging by the 6 pictures of Elvis on our hotel wall and the huge, guitar shaped pool out back. At least we’re finally away from country music… . Wait.
Ole Miss
Memphis, TN
Oxford, MS
17th-19th September
I’d heard absolutely horrific things about Mississippi. I’d heard it was the most backwards, redneck, politically incorrect, confederate loving state in the whole of the US. I’d heard that if we were to venture there we would inevitably be raped and murdered, a la Deliverance.
What me and Robin found in Oxford, named to try and add to the prestige of the university, was a delightful little town. Oxford University (AKA Ole Miss) is one of the top athletics Universities in the states, and has a 70,000 seater stadium casually nestled within the leafy college grounds. Me and Rob were throwing a ball around in the car park, minding our own business, when we got offered full academic scholarships. We said no, as we already had a budding career making low budget short movies. The coach was a little disappointed, but he did have the courtesy of pointing us towards the Courthouse Square.
The square was obviously designed to look like one of those affluent turn of the century American towns. The court house, complete with bell tower, sits in the middle, while all the buildings surrounding have big balconies and colourful, yet subtle, wooden cladding. The people seemed very nice, as well. Had the Mississippi detractors been wrong? Probably not. This was, after all, a prestigious college town, and they’re always a little more progressive than those that surround it.
Earlier in the day we had been in Memphis. We took a trip to Graceland (100 meters to the left of our hotel) and, though eye-wateringly expensive (about £30), it was actually rather enjoyable. It’s incredibly cringe, for example when you queue for the shuttle bus they take a photo of you posing in front of fake Graceland gates (Mine and Rob’s was brilliantly awkward, but it cost another $30 to buy them), but the whole thing is done with love and a little bit of tongue in cheek.
The grounds of Graceland proper are exactly how they were when the King was alive, complete with one room totally covered with green shag carpet, and a lovely brown basement bar. You know him and his buddies did nothing but snort cocaine and screw hookers there. His gravesite was a bit odd. One woman was crying! These people were the best thing about the tour. All boogying along with the music and elbowing their way to the front of the crowds to get the best photo. The car collection, as well, was very impressive. If you’re in Memphis, you might as well give Graceland a go.
We then went in to Memphis proper for a walk. The only problem was we both had Cher firmly lodged in our head. After some stupendously good ribs we realised the only way to get that fucking song out of our heads was to flee to Mississipi.
And we’ve come full circle. What a wonderful little writing device I just used.
We had a sketchy drive to Alabama today. The roads were pretty screwed, every other building was a church and most of the homes were either trailers or in disrepair. The journey was spent preying that we didn’t brake down or get pulled over. Happily, we didn’t, and arrived in Tuscaloosa, another college town, in one, non-sodomised, piece. We’ve already been out and explored, but I’ll save that for my Alabama special next time.
What’s the weather like over there?
Alabama Slammer
Tuscaloosa, Mobile and Dauphin Island, AL
19th-21st September 2013
Donald Trump is talking shit.
Not the most original of statements, but it’s true. In his utterly selfish pursuit of golfing perfection, Trump has already torn up a completely unique set of sand dunes, and, as your probably aware, he’s also suing whoever it is he needs to sue over a proposed off shore wind farm a stones throw away from his golf course. He claims it will be an eye saw. As me and Robin look out over the gulf coast on Dauphin Island we can see a dozen oil rigs looming in the distance. They are far uglier and 3 times as intimidating than the windmills. They make me feel uneasy.
We started our Alabama leg in Tuscaloosa. Due to a misleading web page our hotel was 6 miles out of town on a strip familiar with every interstate exit in America. Just a series of cheap hotels, fast food restaurants, the odd bank or dollar store and no fucking pavement. We went into Tuscaloosa and headed straight for the stadium, a 104,000 seater cathedral of College Football. It sells out every game, and has a waiting list as long as your arm for tickets. The University campus was very beautiful, with large areas of park and European looking buildings. I’m starting to see a theme with American Universities.
Since Rob fancied a beer in the evening we decided to walk to an O’Charley’s for a beer and a bite. Google maps told us it was only half a mile away. What google maps failed to tell us was that there were no cross walks, and the place was across 3 six lane highways.
It’s a fairly unique thing to America this need to drive everywhere. It just seems daft to me that you need to hop in a car to grab a McDonald’s from just down the road. Then again I don’t drive, so what the fuck do I know?
O’Charley’s turned out to be a shitty themed restaurant, but we at least nearly killed ourselves on the way home on a full stomach. In the morning we headed south to Mobile. We drove through Chikasaw National Park and it was a much nicer drive compared to Mississippi. Mobile is a port town, which was rather charming as well. We had a wonder in the afternoon and played wiffle ball in a park by the estuary (shit, yet fun, version of baseball) In the evening we pounded some brews with some bros in some sports bar, and laughed openly about how the Chip Kelly offence hasn’t really worked with the Eagles (no, me neither)
The next morning we headed down to Dauphin Island. It’s a strange little place. On the one hand it has some truly beautiful white sandy beaches, tainted by the aforementioned monstrously large oil rigs. On the other hand, the island was absolutely decimated by Katrina and Ivan, so it has a really unfinished feel to it, like it was put up hastily and to a budget, which it probably was. We had a swim in the delightfully warm sea and headed for New Orleans to collect our friend Jack from the airport and spend 3 days in the Big Easy.
We drove along a road that was impressive and frustrating in equal measures. On the one one hand, it runs right by the coast through ‘Bama, Mississippi and, ultimately, Louisiana, and takes you over some mind bogglingly long bridges and some great views. On the other, there seemed to be traffic lights every 40 feet, so about halfway through we abandoned it and got on the interstate instead.
We’ve already had one ridiculous night in New Orleans, but I think I’ll save it for next time, because I’ve got a cracking hang over and quite want a shower and some pancakes. Until then, dear readers, stay safe.
Who Dat Sain Dey Gon Beat Dem Saints?
New Orleans, LA
21st-24th September 2013
Okay, so they may be a little bit syllabicly challenged, but, my word, the people of New Orleans have a wonderful city. As the character Davis says at the end of the first season of New Orleans based show Treme “There are just so many moments here.”
Lets get the ugly part out the way. Bourbon Street is not so great. The main strip in the French quarter hums to the sound of Frat Boys whooping, bad dance music blaring and Louis Armstrong turning in his grave. It is here that we found ourselves on our first night, completely sober with Jack having already been up for 22 hours.
It was all a little much for our sober selves. We had a distinctly average burger and a few beers before heading to another bar just off the main strip with the intention of having one more before calling it a night. On our walk home we came across what appeared to be an old shack with a single man taking requests as he sat at the piano. Well, we had to check this place out. Several beers later Robin insisted we head back to Bourbon street for a night cap, and after watching the end of a seriously good live jazz set whilst drinking gaudy coloured cocktails, we sited a mechanical bull. This is when the night got a little hazy. Jack decided to buy a round of 32oz Long Island Ice Teas (roughly a litre, and $10 a piece) A round of mechanical bulling later and we were stumbling back home, Jack having been awake for 28 hours. One way to get rid of the jet lag.
That was the last bad meal we had in New Orleans. The food is tremendously good as a rule, and our lunch was no exception. Stanley’s does and amazing brunch, so if you’re in the big easy, give it a go. We spent the afternoon wondering around the French Quarter trying to shake off an ungodly hangover. We came across an obscure little bar right on the edge with the best kind of blues being played live to half a dozen people.
After a few cocktails at the amazing Tonique Bar we went looking for Willie Mae’s Chicken Shop. We walked through one of the dodgiest, and most Katrina affected areas of the city only to find it closed. It was interesting to see the area, if a little intimidating. The roads are totally fucked and the houses all seem to be falling down. It’s amazing that this neighbourhood exists just the other side of a park from the French Quarter. You’re suddenly reminded of how down on its luck this city has been, and evidently still is in certain neighbourhoods. When we told some people at a bar that we did that the next night they looked genuinely shocked. “Willie Mae’s is amazing, but its only open at lunch, and you always always get a taxi there.”
We walked back to Frenchmen Street, which is easily my favourite area that we visited. The music here is superb. It’s a mixture of blues and jazz, and most of the venues are charming dive bars, not the mega bars they have on Bourbon. We ate a tasty, if a little unfulfilling, meal of New Orleans style tapas, before stopping off at a very trendy, yet understated bar for a few pints before bed. We were, after all, still hung over to shit, and we had a big day ahead of us.
We went to a butchers/sandwich shop in the morning where Robin and Jack had something called a Pig Mac. Whatever you’re thinking, it’s that. It was an hour till kick-off so we got a wriggle on to make it to the Superdome for kick-off.
The Superdome story is well known around the world. It was a place of refuge during Katrina, where the conditions were said to be atrocious. The structure was almost irreparably damaged, but just 3 years later they opened it up again after a complete revamp and it’s now one of the most stunning stadiums in the world. It’s completely undercover, all air conditioned, and holds about 75,000.
We arrived shortly after kick off for the NO Saints vs Arizona. It was terrific, but the first half was slightly tainted by a fierce old lady on the end of our row getting very shirty with us every time we went to the toilet or got a drink. The Saints started to pull away before half time and we cheered along with the other Saints fans. The lady pulled Robin aside at half time. “Who’re you supporting?” She asked. “The Saints of course.” Robin replied. Her face broke into a smile. “I’m sorry for giving you a hard time. I thought you were Arizona fans, and I like to give the away fans a hard time.” What a brilliant lady.
Saints walked it in the end and we went on our merry way a little tipsy and with a new found respect for the Saints after we learnt their fan chant (the title of the blog). After making a pit stop at home, we had a few more cocktails at Tonique and went to Coops to eat.
Coops was probably the best meal I’ve had since I’ve been out here. We ordered some gumbo, fried chicken, rabbit and alligator jambalaya, fried crab claws and cray fish and a side of fries. It was all utterly insane, and served in a totally unpretentious dive bar. If you’re ever in New Orleans, I insist you go there.
We returned to Frenchmen for our final few drinks. A brass band played on a street corner and we had a little groove. Having grown up on the nice middle class jazz of Marlborough Jazz Festival I couldn’t help but think they totally missed the point. This was infinitely better than anything I’ve seen at MJF in the last 10 years or so. There was another little bar where they were playing jazz. Everyone there was a tremendous dancer, and they kept swapping partners. It was really cool to watch and just appreciate. We hit a few more music bars before calling time on New Orleans night life. It made me a little sad.
We went for one last breakfast at Stanley’s before driving out to the bayou to go on a swamp tour. I’ll leave that for next time. One more thing on New Orleans, though. There is a real soul to the place, compared to a lot of the places I’ve been, which includes New York. It just feels special and all of us were totally in love with it. I will go back in a heart beat if I can.
You can go to hell, I’m going to Texas
Lake Charles, LA
Austin, TX
24th-25th September 2013
6 wheeler pick-up trucks, Harley Drivers with no helmets, flags the size of Birmingham, pointless toll roads and BBQ sold by the pound. Welcome to Texas, where nature is a little pussy that needs to be tamed.
First off; where we left you last. I’ve got to be honest, I was a little disappointed that we didn’t go on a swamp tour on a fan boat. But it was about 60 dollars cheaper to go on a normal boat, plus our tour guide (Captain Bishop Stingley. I kid you not) told us that fan boats aren’t aloud in most swamp areas due to health and safety.
He was awesome. Slightly nuts, but he knew his swamps. We saw at least a dozen Gators, some snapping turtles and some raccoons, and the whole thing was a bargain at 25 for 2 hours. It’s definitely worth doing if you pass through Louisiana or south-east Texas. Gators are weirdly cute when they’re little. When they’re big you know they want to eat you and everyone else on the boat.
For our stop for that night we’d basically picked the town in the middle of Austin and New Orleans. Wikipedia says Lake Charles’s main features are its burgeoning night life, tourism and explained it as a cultural hub. Which was weird, because it appeared to be a totally deserted shit hole.
We walked for 25 minutes to the from our garishly yellow hotel to the place we blindly decided to eat at. In that time we saw 2 pedestrians. It was surreal, as the town appeared to be pretty big. We wondered whether a plague of flesh eating locusts were on the loose, and the townsfolk had been warned to stay inside, but no. We made it to the pub, only to find the kitchen closed. There were 2 people sat in this massive bar that must have seated 200+. The lady behind the bar helpfully pointed us towards “historic” Ryan Street, its historic status seemingly coming from the fact it was built some time in the past. We found a semi decent place to eat, and then went to an Irish bar. The Kronenbeurg I was served had bits in it. “Yeah that sometimes happens with Kronenbourg.” “No it doesn’t, mate.” Awkward pause. “Do y’all still wanna drink it?” We went to one more bar as it had people(!) in it. As the acoustic guitar man played horrible Nickelback style covers of Radiohead and Jack forgot which way round a 4 should be written whilst playing darts, I realised just how lucky I was. My life may not be perfect, but at least I don’t live in Lake fucking Charles.
We made a hasty exit in the morning and fled for the border. Texas greeted us with a reminder of how big it was. “El Paso - 872 Miles.” They might as well have had a sign saying “Our cock is much bigger than yours”… Actually, that should be the state motto. We drove past Houston, which was mightily impressive to look at, but undesirable to stop in, and finally got off the I-10, having been on and off it since Dauphin Island. We stopped off at Kreus’s BBQ in Lockhart. It. Was. Incredible. Just brilliant. The place is huge, with a gigantic smoke house. It was also only $9 for a pound of brisket. The meat was too good. It’s only 40 minutes outside of Austin, for gods sake, go there!
We made it to Austin significantly fuller. We had a few beers in Soco, before going to watch 750,000 bats flying out from under a bridge to go hunting. It was impressive, but it goes on for 45 minutes, and you do get bored after a while. After another beer or 2 we had dinner at Diner 24, which was also pretty good. The food really has improved hastily since Alabama. We decided to stop in for 1 or 2 more before bed. This is when our plan unravelled.
We walked in to a completely somewhere empty, save for one guy at the bar.
“One of you answer quick, who’s your favourite EPL (English premier league) team?”
Being the only football fan I decided to answer. “Aston Villa.” The man didn’t look to impressed he asked us how we felt about Arsenal, and Jack informed him we were really more rugby guys. “Awesome, my parents are Scottish. Lets get you guys some Texas style shots!”
The guy was fascinating. On the one hand, he was an intelligent, well travelled business owner, who seemed to know a lot about the world. On the other, he was a totally psychopathic Texan. “I’ve got these bullets that split in to six little bullets, kinda like a shotgun. So, if I’m lying in bed and someone breaks in it doesn’t matter whether I hit him in the face, the chest, the knees, it doesn’t matter. He’s dead. He’ll bleed out.” Long silence. “So, where would you recommend to eat in Austin?” Jacks says, wonderfully breaking the tension.
We ended up having 4 massive shots and several beers with the guy, none of which we paid for despite trying our best. He was a brilliant introduction to Texas. Absolutely bonkers, but thriving and successful, and ultimately very friendly and accommodating. We left feeling a little bit scared of what this stupidly big state was going to throw at us.
Friday Night Lights
Austin, TX
Midland, TX
25th-27th September 2013
Well, Austin broke us.
We left you on a hang over strewn morning after weird Texan man, who I forgot to mention looked an awful like Walter White sans glasses, had got us a little ruined. As the weather was 40 degrees we decided to go to for a swim. Barton Springs is great. About 200x20 meters of natural spring squared off to pool shape. I finally got some exercise in, which after weeks of eating filth was crucial.
We met my cousin and her family, who live in a little town north of Austin, for a bite at Chuy’s, a tex mex place near the springs. After a delightful meal and a good catch up we parted ways, and me and the boys headed to Rainey Street.
Rainey Street is one of my favourite places we’ve been on the trip. It’s an old residential street very near downtown where the houses have been gutted out and turned in to bars. The music was sublime in all of the places and it had a nice placid atmosphere. We had several cocktails here and met some cool people, including a New Yorker called Jagger and her horrifically drunk Mum, who was bloody hilarious. “Sorry, are you guys from Austin?” She asked for the 4th time while trying to focus on us. “Nope. Still England.” We got a lift home from a strange man, contrary to everything my mum ever taught me about getting in to cars with strangers. He was very kind and didn’t try to kill us once.
The next day was Robin’s birthday, so drinking was the general theme. I met the other 2 after doing some laundry at a bar on 6th. After some ill advised table tennis in 38 degree heat, we went for another few at a bar on Rainey called Bangers. It was a very confused place. It’s name came from the English slang for sausages, the beer garden and music made it feel like a barn dance, yet all the servers were dressed like it was Oktoberfest.
For dinner that evening we went to a place called moonshine. We had a tremendous steak, but on the side was something better… . Vegetables! And they weren’t even fried or covered in cheese or anything! It was heavenly. Afterwards we headed to what is affectionately known locally as “The Dirty Sixth”
I can only clearly remember the first bit. The road was ridiculously busy, with an average age of about 19. Sort of like a Deep South Magaluf, but with much less sun burnt British people. We went to a bar called Duelling Pianos. It was a cheesy, but fun, place where 2 pianists take requests for tips. We got a large ginger guy with tiny eyes to play Little Respect, and also had jelly shots from hypodermic needle shaped fluid dispensers. Then the evening became a little unhinged.
I won’t go in to too much detail, but we basically went to a few massive bars with shit music, did a lot more shots and I ended up having to carry Jack the mile and a half home (it didn’t occur to me to get a cab for some reason)
Yesterday was a struggle. A 6 hour drive through the heart of Texas while suffering from one of the all time great hangovers was not ideal. We made it through, though, and enjoyed the scrubby wastelands and mini oil drills as well as the offensively straight roads and our endless supply of Cheetos.
All 3 of us are huge fans of Friday Night Lights, so since we were heading through obscure Texas on a Friday it seemed only right that we check out a game. We organised it to watch the Odessa Panthers, the team that the book, film and show are based on, play their local rivals Midland (a mere 35 miles up the road).
It was absolutely mental. It wasn’t quite full, but there was easily 13,000 people in attendance to watch 16-18 year olds throw a pig skin around. There were marching bands of 200+ kids, dozens of cheerleaders, teams of 15 “crew” who’s job it was to run up and down with the school flags. There was a homecoming queen pageant and the home team ran on to the pitch out of the mouth of a giant inflatable bulldog. The football was actually pretty decent, as well, with Midland holding off a late Panthers comeback to win. The whole thing was wonderfully American. No Lyla, Saracen or Riggins, though, which was upsetting.
We got back to the hotel with a Wendy’s, which was pretty hideous, and finally got a non drunken night’s sleep. As I write this we are winding our way around the bottom of the Rocky Mountains in New Mexico doing our longest drive of the trip. We’ve gone from perfectly flat Texas scrub land to breathtaking scenery. I’ll tell you more about it next time. Rest assured we’re keeping an eye out for mobile meth labs and a Poulos Hermanos.
The Longest Drive
Santa Fe, NM
Flagstaff, AZ
28th-30th September 2013
After the debauchery of Austin, we have spent the last 4 days driving over 1,500 miles across changeable landscapes to visit a weird array of landmarks across 4 states and 3 time zones. I say we, Robin and Jack did all the driving. I was a good back seat mascot, however, and by not driving I am now able to describe it to you in a vague and incomprehensible manner.
As mentioned in the last blog, we started off traveling through North West Texas, a flat and oily place. Gradually, though, the terrain started to get a little more bumpy, and then we saw one of the rarest things a man can see… . A wind farm in Texas! I couldn’t believe my eyes: The state built on oil and greed splashing out on a huge renewable energy project. It was quite brilliant. Driving down a long straight road (we’ve driven down a lot of straight roads) Jack’s phone clicked over to Mountain time, and the landscape shot up accordingly.
We took the Billy the Kid trail to Santa Fe, a beautiful road wound us round an epic mountain range. We were beeped for the first time all trip, though not by a car. Jack got a little too close to a freight train going rather fast and the driver clearly wasn’t happy about it. We threw the pig skin around on a totally deserted road, and ultimately made it to the red stoned buildings of Santa Fe as the sun was setting.
We had heard that the Mexican food in Santa Fe was the best in the states, so we hungrily jumped in a taxi and went to a Lonely Planet recommended restaurant, only to find it shut (not the first time that has happened) We had a deeply unsatisfactory Mexican somewhere else that was around 79% cheese, went for a few pints at a little dive bar that was playing The Get Up Kids and had Doctor Who based graffiti on the walls, before heading home. Santa Fe seemed like a nice affluent town with the feel of a ski resort, though that may have been because it dropped to 8 degrees in the evening. It’s certainly a good stop off point if you’re doing a similar trip to us, and I would have liked to spend some more time there.
The next day we went in search of the Very Large Array; or 27 twenty-five feet wide satellites in the middle of a massive deserted plain. It was the number 1 thing Jack wanted to do on the trip. He’s a strange lad. Most of the morning was spent going through more mountains and passing fewer and fewer towns, before the landscape suddenly flattened and we saw the satellites about 5 miles ahead. 20 miles later (your depth perception sort of goes in a desert) we were stood in front of one of the beasts whilst thousands of fucking locusts (literally) jumped around us. It was quite a surreal moment. The sight was incredibly Alien and wonderful. It was beautiful in a very weird way. Or as Jack eloquently put it: “This shits on Stonehenge!”
We shortly passed over in to Arizona and the landscape changed again. First to rolling green hills, then the rocky nothingness, then to a beautiful mountain range covered in forest. Again Jack’s phone took us to a different timezone, which theoretically shouldn’t have happened until Nevada. Google was consulted, and it turned out Arizona just fucking hates farmers, and certain areas refuse to abide to the rules of daylight savings. Greedy farmers dictating our time. You’re not God, y’know! Anyway, we arrived in Flagstaff as the sun went down, and I was struck by De Ja Vu. This is the first place that I’ve been on the trip that I’ve been to before, and I recognised the smell and the air. Very strange.
We had a very uneventful evening on the outskirts of Flagstaff as we still had one more mammoth drive to go. First thing in the morning, after scraping frost off our car, we drove the hour north to the Grand Canyon. I don’t really know how to describe it to you as everyone has either been there or has seen it on the TV or whatever. The big GC (as the native Americans called it) is just amazing. It occasionally tested my mild vertigo, but I loved it. Again, I wish I could have spent a bit more time there to do some hiking and maybe walk to the bottom, but we had somewhere to be.
Next stop was the Hoover Dam, about a 3.5 hour drive from the Big GC. This marvelous feat of engineering was completed 78 years ago, with over 90 people losing their lives in the construction. It’s amazing how it harnesses the power of nature for the benefit of man, and it was pretty breathtaking. It did give my vertigo a bit of a twinge as well. By this point it was just past 2 and the temperature was up to 35 so we got on our way. We had somewhere to be.
And here we are. Vegas! After a slightly stressful drive in, and an even more stressful check in we are here on the 57th floor of the Encore hotel. I can’t get too close to the window without my feet tingling, but the suite is amazing. I believe the next blog may be a little different from this one.
Cheer and Loathing in Las Vegas
Las Vegas, NV
30th September - 2nd October 2013
I’m not really sure where to start.
On the one hand, Las Vegas is pretty great. The food is good, the hotel we stayed at, The Encore, was incredibly cheap for a huge luxury suite, and if you spend your time chilling by the pool or hitting the spa it is blissful.
On the other hand it is a bad-smelling hellscape that is uniquely designed to take every penny you have in the world whilst casually thrusting its grotesque neon hips at the rest of the world in a gesture suggesting if they could fuck every single human being on the planet they would, and they’d leave them feeling used, violated and disgusted with itself. I hate it! I hate everything about it! Then I love it. Then I hate it…..
We left our hotel on Monday and started walking towards Downtown Vegas, the original casino district. We stopped off at Circus, home of the cheapest bets in the city. Rows and rows of depressed or bored looking people sit at machines I can scarcely understand. Individuals sit in silence at tables where haggered looking dealers facilitate them. The margaritas are sold in 44oz novelty cups and the place smells dusty. Naturally, we had a few games of black jack ($20 dollars down), before heading up town to eat. The croupier recommended a place called Heart Attack Grill.
We are greeted by a lady in a slutty nurses outfit informing us that if we don’t finish our food we get spanked and everyone has to wear hospital gowns. The biggest burger in the menu is called the Octuplet and is roughly 2.5 pounds of meat and cheese, and for an additional 7 bucks you can add 40 rashers of bacon. They only serve full fat coke, they only sell filterless cigarettes, and they only sell massive cans of full strength lager, and if you weigh over 350 pounds you eat for free. Yes. This place actually exists. Needless to say me, robin and new recruit Justin didn’t finish and got aggressively paddled by a lady who enjoyed it a little too much, with an audience of 100 people or so. God Bless America.
After a little gambling at the golden nugget ($45 dollars down) we grabbed a taxi back to our hotel. The taxi driver decided to drive an outrageously long route home, clearly ripping us off. We questioned him on it and he assured us it was the shortest way. A quick conversation with the guys in the other taxi revealed otherwise. The fucker took us for an extra $10. Wasn’t the first time a taxi driver tried it, either. The following night Jack and Hayley ended up calling security on one for trying to take them for a ride again. The American Dream.
We returned back to the safety of our hotel, but that wasn’t safe either. Prostitutes were everywhere, and they were looking for a bit of the Vegas dollar. After politely declining we had a few more games ($85 dollars down) and a few more cocktails before calling it a night.
The next day we hit up a rather average buffet in the hotel, before I parted ways with the others. They went on a helicopter ride through the Grand Canyon, which was pricey, but a very cool experience by the sounds of things. Weirdly, that was the only way anyone could see the Grand Canyon yesterday due to Ted Cruz’s band of morons.
I had a spectacular day lazing by the pool, before returning to my room for a nice bath and a chill on the sofa. It was very much needed after the intensity of the last month. I met up with the guys again with a new found affinity with Vegas. Then we went down the strip.
It’s an absolute assault on the senses. You can see why so many people lose their way. We had a really strong meal at Bobby Flay’s Mesa Grill in Caesers palace. It was comparatively expensive, but needed after the pure filth consumed the previous evening. Then it was off the New York, New York.
I’ll confess, the only reason I wanted to go was for the roller coaster. That was a highlight. It’s pretty bloody massive and flings you up over the bright lights of the strip. Again, it was a little expensive, but worth it. The casino itself is another dank, miserable place that could depress Jedward. After a few games ($65 down) The mood was slowly dying. Time to go back to the hotel.
We found a table where all of us could finally bet together. The dealer was absolutely lovely and the mood lifted considerably, despite the fact that every single one of us lost money ($120 down). What can I say, she hit a hot streak. As Jack said “She was so lovely I would have tipped her if she hadn’t just taken all of my money.” We did get some free beers out of it, so it wasn’t all doom and gloom.
A few of the guys went to bed, the rest of us decided to have one more beer and a few more cheeky flutters ($90 down final). I was in quite a content mood, until I saw a beautiful 20 something straddling a 300 pound 60-year-old with a walrus moustache and stains on his shirt. Vegas’s quirks are just too much for me. Bed time.
After a nice swim in the morning we’re now on the road to LA. Last thoughts on Vegas: If you can control yourself and not gamble, it could be a great, even cheap, little break. It could still win me over yet. If you want to sin, this is your place, though I don’t think it’s as naughty as it pretends it is. It’s naughty in that loudmouthed, rich person, show-off manner, or that sleazy old man alone in a strip club at 10am way. There are better party towns. Go to them instead.
City of Angels
Los Angeles, CA
2nd-4th October 2013
Everyone told us not to bother with Los Angeles. The British people who’ve been there, the American people we’ve seen along the way, everyone has said it’s a shithole with no soul.
First thing to say is that LA is fucking huge. The greater Los Angeles area is something like 4,000sq miles, and you start reaching the outskirts in conjunction with the sat nav saying there is still 2 hours left of your journey. Secondly, it’s really difficult to know where to stay. We stayed on Hollywood Boulevard, which you’d assume would be nice. It wasn’t.
Upon arrival we decided to head up to a place called Ye Olde Rustic Inn, which looked very close on the map, but was actually 2 miles away. Morale was pretty low when we arrived, but inside we found a charming little bar with both “the best wings” and “the best potato salad” in all of LA. There was also free bingo and the music was great, even if the potato salad didn’t quite live up to the hype. We hit up another bar before getting a taxi back. When there, we decided we wanted another drink. We found a bar right next to the hotel that was super trendy. The vibes were good and the music was 50’s. After a little boogie we went back to the hotel and collapsed. LA wasn’t so bad after all.
The problem with only being in LA for one full day is deciding what the hell to do. We opted to go to Venice beach, only a short 50 minute drive from our hotel. Venice beach is weird. We saw a rollerblading Rasta playing heavy metal guitar, a man dressed as a Native American, despite not being one, seriously getting down to Annie Lennox, pop up doctors surgeries offering diagnosis to weed smokers so they have permission to acquire medical maruana, and a dog in a bikini. After a sit down and a wonder we decided to find some lunch.
Consulting the Lonely Planet, Jack took us to Abbot Kinney Street. It was fantastic. We had a healthy meal for the first time in a long time, and the shops were just brilliant. It was high end, without being about brands. There were little galleries, as well, which were of a high standard. I’d recommend doing lunch there if you’re ever in the area. It’s a seriously cool place.
After that we went back to the beach to run some routes (it’s a football term. You wouldn’t understand) and have a swim in the pacific. We then rushed back across town to get up to an observatory near our hotel to watch the sunset. It was an amazing spot to see it, even if the smog somewhat skews the view. All in all it had been a very good day.
We had a prompt turnaround and hopped in a taxi for the short 35 minute drive to the downtown area. Luckily, the taxis in LA are very cheap. I would be utterly screwed living in LA and not driving. The place just goes on and on, and the public transport is pretty shocking. We arrived at The Standard, a hotel with a rooftop bar. It was really lovely, and surprisingly cheap. The food wasn’t great, but, again, the vibe was really good. We had a few substandard cocktails, before going back to the bar near our hotel for “one last LA drink.”
Me and Jack perhaps drunk a little too many one last drinks and found ourselves wanting a night cap as the bar shut. One of the door guys said to head six blocks up, go to a residential house and knock on the door, tell the person who opens it Ryan sent you, and go in. I thought that this could be an uber trendy secret club where movie stars hang out. Sadly, it turned out to be a drug den. I freaked out and we left pretty promptly. All in all, though, what we’d seen in LA had been great. I can see why it gets a bad rep, but it does have many redeeming features.
We awoke the next morning 15 minutes before we had to check out in a slight panic. We made it out in 20, and had a quick Jamba Juice, before parting ways. Jack was flying home, Robin and Hayley were off to Malibu, Justin and Charlie Phoenix, and I was off to sit in a train station for 3 hours with a horrendous hang over, waiting to board my train to Santa Barbara. I also had to say goodbye to the trusty Chevy Captiva, 4,000+ miles later. It was emotional. I’ve actually already had a night in SB, but I’ll save that for next time. In the meantime, good night, god bless, safe journey home.
Going it Alone (sort of)
Santa Barbara, CA
4th-6th October 2013
The train is a double decker one! I’m so excited I can hardly contain myself. Sadly, this excitement makes me forget to sit on the left hand side of the train, meaning I can barely see any of the beautiful views of the Pacific Ocean that this particular train route is famous for. Never mind, hey. It’s going to Santa Barbara, and Santa Barbara is ruddy beautiful.
I get in in the early evening and locate my hostel. It’s situated just 3 minutes walk from the beach and about 10 from the downtown area, but its a little cramped. 12 beds crammed into an 8x4 meter room is a little too prisonly. Plus, i think some German guys in my room are making fun of me. I went for a little walk into town and was amazed by the place. It’s clearly a very affluent town, and it does have a college as well, but not only was it beautiful, it was actually a party town.
Having had a minor bout of home sickness earlier in the day I decided to go for some traditional British fish & chips. They weren’t great, the kind you might get from a school cafeteria, but God bless them for trying. After that I decided to go for a quiet pint, as I was still feeling the effects of Los Angeles from the night before. The Old Kings Road seemed suitably quiet. I got chatting to a guy, who knew more about football (proper) than me, due to a big group of English guys walking in, ordering multiple double vodka red bulls and asking a guy at the bar “where’s the fanny at?” The guy and barmaid looked suitably unimpressed, so I apologised on my fellow countrymen’s behalf.
After chatting about football for a bit, he recommended another bar up the road owned by an English couple, so I went too check it out. The Press Room is a very fun bar indeed. I plonked myself at the bar and soon had several conversations going at once. I chatted to a guy who got beaten up by Thom Yorke’s security for trying to hug him, A man who was born in Belfast, but grew up in Mississippi, who had an impossible to understand southern drawl with a slight Irish infliction, and the landlady, who is from Cowes, Isle of Wight, and has lived here for 20 years. The music was brilliant too. I barely bought a drink all night, and I only went home because the lack of sleep I’d got the night before was catching up with me. After having a long chat with my girlfriend, I went to bed feeling cramped, but very taken with Santa Barbara.
The next morning I had a little lie in and wrote the blog, before heading to town for lunch. While sat in California Pasta Kitchen, nudging around some stringy mozzarella and pretending to the watching staff and chefs I was enjoying it, I got a text from Robin saying he was at the beach with Hayley. It transpired that they were staying in a Streamline caravan up in the Malibu hills during the worst winds for 7 years the night before. The owner had cheerily told them that this was like Christmas for arsonists. Neither of them slept very well, and they decided to leave a little earlier for Santa Barbara. We had a nice relaxing day on the beautiful beach. After a swim the guys went off to find a place to stay and I went back to the hostel.
I sat chatting to a Belgian guy for a couple of hours, mostly about rugby, outside the hostel feeling overtly relaxed. Robin and Hayley had checked in to a beachside hotel, so I made plans to see the Belgian guy and his buddies at the Press Club later. We had a few beers as the light got low over the bay. I started to feel very at home in Santa Barbara. I went off on my own again to go to Wahoo’s Fish Tacos. They were bloody amazing and I really want one right now, thinking about it. I wonder if Santa Cruz has a place similar? Anyway, I digress. After a few pints at another bar I went and met Hayley and Robin at the Press Club.
Saturday seemed a lot quieter than Friday. This was, the lovely barmaid explained, because there were a couple of other events going on, including an Oktoberfest, and everyone had got so drunk during the day they hadn’t made it out for the evening. No matter. We chatted to a very interesting guy, who had Scottish parents and had travelled all over the world hiking and cycling. The Belgian guys turned up a little later, and we all had a few more drinks and a great turn, but I had to duck out early. Glastonbury tickets were about to go on sale.
I had an absolute ‘mare. First of all, the wifi wasn’t working in the hostel and there were no members of staff around. I started wondering aimlessly around with my iPad like some crazed idiot desperately looking for some wifi and getting more and more stressed. I found a cafe which was just shutting. The guy said I could use the wifi, so I sat outside. One of the chefs came and started talking to me about Jesus. Specifically that he was a believer because Jesus had made him not Gay, and had given his son’s memorable birthdays, all the while I’m desperately refreshing my iPad and wishing he’d SHUT THE FUCK UP! By the end I had an audience curiously watching this Brit swearing at an inanimate object at 2.30am, and all for nothing. I went to bed thoroughly annoyed.
I had another lazy start on Sunday. I sat outside and chatted with the Belgian guys and a group of English guys who had just arrived. We talked about the government shut down, and agreed that as much as our governments annoy us, they would never be this stupid. I had a walk in to town and got a Thai massage (not a naughty one) This put me in an even more relaxed mood, as you can imagine. I walked around for the rest of the day like a 27-year-old non-fictional Luna Lovegood. After some lunch and walk down the pier (or boardwalk or whatever) It was time for me to catch my bus.
I’m not sure what I was expecting from the Greyhound, but perhaps it was a little more than this. It was a seriously ragged vehicle that squeaked horribly every time it had to brake and a load of the chairs were ripped. Luckily, the views of the Pacific were incredible and we had an absolutely immense sunset. I arrived in to Santa Cruz at 10.30 yesterday evening and managed to find my way to the b&b. it’s a little like a hippy commune, but it’ll do the trick. I’m going to miss Santa Barbara, though, I’m very keen to head back there one day.
The Shark Tank
Santa Cruz, CA
San Jose, CA
7th-9th October 2013
I’d been instructed by the landlady of my B&B to go round the back when I arrived, making sure to shut the red gate. I had to take my shoes off on the decking, making sure the red gate was shut, before going in the 2nd door DID YOU SHUT THE FUCKING GATE? It turns out her chickens were a little flighty (pun intended) and the red gate (which was more mauve) was a source of great anxiety to her. It was a weird little compound, where all overspill in the sink had to be captured and put in a bucket and pisses were to remain unflushed. But the bed was comfortable and it was relatively quiet, save for the docile clucking of chickens yearning for freedom.
Santa Cruz is a scuzzier, hipper version of Santa Barbara. Instead of a yacht club it has a pleasure beach, instead of the upmarket shops it has surf and record stores, and instead of the millions of bars there were millions of juice bars and coffee shops. I wondered down to the wharf to get some lunch. Woodies looked suitably regional so I ordered some clam chowder and sat looking out at the sea. The clam chowder, in the words of the late-great food critic Egon Ronay, was absolutely fucking sensational. It was served in a bowl made out of bread. A bowl you can eat, my friends. I loved it so much I had it the next day as well.
After lunch I wondered to the end of the wharf to look at the hundreds of sea lions, all surly and sleepy, resting underneath the boardwalk. I decided to take a closer look so opted for a bit of kayaking. After suiting up in a sleeveless wetsuit, I paddled out to the point, where I saw a couple of sea otters lying on their backs, a little island covered in seals and a forest of kelp. It was really rather excellent. I also saw some crazy surfers riding waves mere feet from the cliffs whilst their buddies filmed them. They yelled at me for coming too close. “Hey, I’m just here to see some Sea Otters, buddy!” Came my harsh response. They ignored me and I carried on my merry way.
Then, about 75 meters to the right of me I saw two huge fountains of spray. I stopped and watched as a couple of gargantuan humpbacks swam side by side, really quite close to the shore. It was absolutely amazing. I bid them ‘good afternoon’, they didn’t respond. After a short while they swam back out to sea. After that, the sea lions weren’t quite as cool.
Santa Cruz was pretty dead in the evening, what with it being a Monday. I had a tremendous prawn burrito and watched the football and baseball, the latter of which I realised gets slightly less excruciatingly painfully boring in the post season, before catching an early night. I spent the next day wondering around the cliffs of Santa Cruz looking for my buddies, the whales, again, but to no avail. After a cop yelled at me for smoking in the wrong area (he took pity on me for being a dumb foreigner) I got on the Greyhound for the short trip up to San Jose.
San Jose is actually a place I’ve been before, as I have family here that I sadly couldn’t visit as they were out of town. It’s a nice, if a little plain city. The reason for my impromptu stop was to watch some hockey. Hockey is amazing as it seems to have been designed by a 6 year old thinking about the most dangerous scenarios and turning them into a sport. “Everyone should have sticks, and you should be able to shove each other in to a wall. And you should hit a heavy bit of plastic around. Oh, and it should be on ice! And if anyone has a full on fist fight, don’t ban them or anything. Just give ‘em a 5 minute time out.” This sport has a guy, nicknamed the goon, whose job it is to start fights and ruffle feathers. This is a man sport.
It was tremendously fun. The atmosphere was electric, helped by the fact the Sharks absolutely decimated the New York Rangers. The Rangers appeared to have only one good player, the goaltender Blomqvist, who, for reasons unknown to a novice like me, was taken out of the game half way through with the Sharks only 3-1 ahead. They ended up winning 9-2.
The highlight of the evening was watching Tomas Hertl play. I looked him up afterwards and he is a 19-year-old Czech in his first season in the NHL. He scored 4 goals this particular evening, including one where he pushed it back through his legs and flicked it in from behind his back. Even for someone who doesn’t know a lot, it was beautiful. When he scored his Hat-trick hundreds of caps were thrown on to the ice, which I assume is tradition and not a weird spontaneous hat sacrifice to the new God of hockey. I noticed when I left that, unsurprisingly after only 3 games in his career, not many people were wearing Hertl jerseys. I can imagine that is going to change over the coming months.
After one last beer and some Colbert before bed, I arose early this morning, setting out for my final destination (unless you count the 12 hour layover in Boston that I’m trying not to think about) San Francisco. My bus was cancelled, so I was instructed to get the CalTrain, which was a million times quicker, cheaper and easier anyway. I’m staying at my friend Caitlin’s house up near the top of Mission Street as she has gone to Europe. It seems like a very nice area. I’m now just 4 nights away from starting my journey home, so I better make the most of this.
Drink it up, it always goes down smooth
San Francisco, CA
9th-11th October 2013
Yes, yes, I know that quote is actually referring to San Diego, but screw you. I’m tired and running short of creativity.
Caitlin and her house mates were kind enough to write a list of non-touristy things I should do whilst in San Fran, which was handy considering the number one attraction is fucking shut. Yes, Alcatraz is sadly a government run building, so no running around. Pretending to be Sean Connery for me.
I’ll be honest, I was absolutely shattered on day one, so I decided to stay local and leave the public transport till the next day. I went up to a little dog park, sat outside a cafe, read the New York Times and ate a vegan wrap. 76 minutes in and I already felt like a proper San Franciscite (made that up). After lunch I decided to stretch my legs and have a walk down Valencia Street.
Valencia Street is a lot like Abbot Kinney in LA, except a little more ramshackle. There was an antiques store where I had to try my hardest not to buy a $300 lamp that would almost certainly smash to pieces the moment I attempted to shove it in my bag, and a taxidermist that had everything from Lion’s head, to pressed butterflies to a sea otter (that one made me feel a little sad) Again, I had to stop myself buying everything in the store. It would have been fun explaining to customs why I had a hyena head in my bag, though. I made do with a couple of modestly sized souvenirs and walked back up to the flat.
In the evening I joined Caitlin’s friends Kat and Alexa in a local cocktail bar called The Royal Cuckoo. It was incredibly cool, with an organist and harmonicaist (again, made that up) providing the ambience. I had a piña colada whilst the girls had whiskey based cocktails, which made me feel pretty goddamn manly. Afterwards I popped across the road to eat some pork tacos from a dodgy looking place. They had a kick, I’ll give them that. I then proceeded home to Caitlin’s offensively comfortable bed for an early night.
Having accidentally overslept, I quickly showered and changed the next morning and ran out the door without my usual militant itinerary for the day. I grabbed an underwhelming tuna melt from a cafe, and left having no idea how to get to Golden Gate Park. I decided to get a tram in the general direction, and low and behold, a mere 2 hours and several changes later, I was in the park.
The park, as you’d expect, is lovely. I decided to wonder round the botanical gardens, only half worried that I’d turned in to a 60-year-old bore, a worry that was exacerbated later when I had a real hankering to listen to Vivaldi’s Four Seasons. The gardens were beautiful, however, so it was worth it. I sat on a bench with a newly acquired map surrounded by plants and trees from New Zealand and figured out what to do next.
Having worked out exactly what bus I needed, I went out in search of the Golden Gate Bridge, which was a deceptively long way away from its park namesake. It was worth it, though, as it really is breathtaking. In a similar manner to how I felt about the Hoover Dam, I was amazed by the architecture and the way the wild landscape it was situated in was tamed. All the awe I felt dissipated, however, when I looked out across the bay to Alcatraz and I realised that the scene where Magneto moves the Golden Gate Bridge in X-Men 3 was BULLSHIT! The Golden Gate (or Double-G B as the Mayans call it) is huge, but there is no way it would reach Alcatraz. Fucking Brett Ratner!
After a quick pit stop at the flat, I headed downtown to meet Robin and Hayley, who had just arrived. We went for a Vietnamese at a tiny little restaurant near Chinatown. It only served 5 things, and looked like it may fail a health inspector visit, but it was delicious. Robin and Hayley hadn’t eaten all day as they’d decided to one-up me and go whale watching earlier (Not everyone’s out to get you, Hatch) yet all 3 of us couldn’t finish, despite the hunger. And all for $28 between us. My kind of place.
We had a few Blueberry Mojitos at a bar down the road (or at least I did. Manly) before calling it a night. With me now being prolific with the public transport I got home relatively quickly. I’ve had a lazy start to the day today, deciding to call home and write this blog and generally waste my precious time with faffing. Just 2.5 days left here before the journey home begins. I’ve just been told it is 7 degrees and pissing down at home. Good. At least England are beating the mighty Montenegro, though.
Who got it better than us?
San Francisco, CA
11th-14th October 2013
So here we go, the penultimate blog of the trip, and I must warn you, due to an overnight flight with very little sleep from San Fran to Boston I am not on my A-game. I will valiantly plough on, nevertheless. I just hope you do the same.
After I left you last, I decided to check out Haight and Ashbury. This was the ground zero for the hippie movement of the late 60’s and early 70’s, and also the location of Ben & Jerry’s ice cream’s first ever store. It was a cool place, with an abundance of thrift stores and vintage t-shirt shops that only seemed to sell tees adorned with The Grateful Dead logo. As you’d expect, after 40 years of uninterrupted capitalism, the place doesn’t feel like the birthplace of free love anymore, but it is definitely worth a visit.
After a little wonder around the surrounding areas, I went back up to 30th & mission to meet the girls I was staying with. They took me to Rosamunde, a gourmet sausage joint just down the road. The sausage was okay, but if I’m honest you can get better Tesco’s finest, and far superior German bratwurst, which they were trying to replicate. Afterwards they took me to a bar called El Rio. It was hipster central, but the beer was cheap and the music was cheesy, so we had a great time. I was politely informed by one lady that pretty much everywhere I’d been in every city on my trip was wrong. I asked her where she went when she came to London. She said Clapham. “You can’t get more wrong than Clapham.” I informed her, with a triumphant smile.
I forgot to mention in the last blog, I accidentally set fire to a bin. It was outside a pharmacy and some lit ash from the cigarette I was putting out went in the bin, igniting something or other inside. I didn’t realise this till I was in the store and someone came rushing in to inform the manager. I played dumb as someone on the street poured water on it. Thought you ought to know.
So, anyway, the next afternoon I took a very tedious bus ride down to Tony’s Pizza in North Beach. It had been recommended to me as the best pizza outside of New York. It was delicious, though one of my slices was ruined by a pigeon. There are millions of pigeons in San Fran, and they are smarter, cockier and more organised compare to those in Britain. After that, I met Robin and Hayley, who had had a rather disastrous morning trying to get to the Golden Gate, down at Pier 39.
Pier 39 is a gaudy, Disneyland-esque boardwalk that made me feel sad, lonely and depressed. Thankfully, Rob and Hayley had bought champagne and wine. After a couple of glasses they went off for a second attempt at getting to the golden gate and I went off to the Ferry Building. It’s a beautiful 110 year old harbour side establishment that has been renovated recently. I’d already had the excess of Tony, though, so the farmers market inside was a little lost on me. I walked the stupid distance back to Rob and Hayley’s hotel, had a few beers and went to Farmer Browns.
Farmer Browns is a bar/restaurant that sells incredibly good New Orleans style food, as well as potent cocktails. We had a very enjoyable evening eating gumbo and fried chicken and drinking out of mason jars. A homeless man won 5 dollars off me because I couldn’t solve the riddle “What sits on the water, but doesn’t get wet?” Answers on a post card folks.
And so our final day in San Fran dawned, and it was time to see my beloved 49ers. The team are moving to Santa Clara, 20 miles out of the city, next season, so it was great to see them at Candlestick. The atmosphere was absolutely amazing, and the tailgate was infinitely more impressive then at the Saints (though that was mostly to do with the size of the car park) Despite playing quite terribly, the 49ers prevailed. I had an amazing time. The rest of the sport I’ve seen has been great (except maybe the baseball) but this was the first time I watched a team I genuinely root for, so I got in to it a lot more. That, and I’d had a few beers.
Afterwards we went back to the girls house, where we picked up our bags and I deposited 2 litres of whiskey to say thanks, and made our way to the airport. We had a dodgy burger, before taking off for a 5 hour flight that would take us forward in time 3 hours, as well as dumping us off for a 12 hour layover. It was a horrible flight where it felt like someone was trying to crush my skull as we landed. We’re now off to find somewhere to swim/sleep/eat in Boston.
I’ll be doing one more blog as a sort of summary in a day or 2, so stay tuned for that. In the meantime I’m going to go dip my head in an ice bucket to wake myself up.
The USA
Boston, MA
London, UK
October 14th-15th 2013
So as Michael Jackson once said before his premature death from exhaustion, “This is it.” The final blog of my travels to the United States of America, written at 4am due to my body having absolutely no idea what time it should be. Lets hope for a 4am miracle.
First off, let’s return to where I left you last. Robin and I had caught an overnight flight to Boston and I was sat contemplating just what the hell we were going to do on our layover. Thankfully, Robin had the inspired idea of visiting a hotel pool, in order to get some sleep on the loungers. That is exactly what we did at the divine Intercontinental hotel. It was actually a wonderful day where I slept, swam, went out for clam chowder, slept some more, swam some more, went home. Those first 3 things are among my most loved things in the world, and, against all the odds, I left Boston feeling quite fresh.
Speaking of things I love, Boston is one of them. I’m actually glad we went back as it reaffirmed that fact. From the accent, to its architecture via its strength as a city in the face of recent tragedy, Boston is fucking brilliant. Granted, I haven’t been there during one of the horrific winters, and their border patrol are assholes, but if I was to move to the states I believe Boston would be the place I’d want to be.
I had a rather brutal flight back to England, managing half an hours sleep due to the man behind me complaining when I put my seat back. I swear he was the only fucker on the flight not trying to sleep through it. It feels weird to be back, mostly due to the lack of sleep and the horribly persistent greyness of the clouds, a weather system that I haven’t seen for 6 weeks and I forgot how much I loathed.
I got asked by my friends what has been the best and worst places I went. Well, aside from the aforementioned Boston, I loved Santa Barbara. If I was to take a regular beach holiday, a time to relax, chill out and take stock, as well as have a few drinks in the evening, Santa Barbara would be the place. If I wanted to go party, it has to be New Orleans. It has a really special vibe about it, as well as a litre of Long Island ice tea for $10. As one bar lady put it when talking about the NO Saints, “You’ve got to cheer for New Orleans. Not cheering for us is like not cheering for Rocky.”
As for the worst places, well Lake Charles will always hold a place in my gut, but who the hell has heard of Lake Charles? Las Vegas annoyed me a lot more than it pleased me, and DC really bothered me. I think it was due to the fact that, as mentioned before, there was a real poverty and homelessness problem, and it didn’t sit right that elected politicians couldn’t just look at the window and see one of the biggest problems their country has.
And the homeless problem is a huge one. I have been genuinely shocked with how many homeless people I’ve seen. Even in the more affluent towns there is a real epidemic, and I think that it is utterly disgraceful. A lot of those that I’ve seen, as well, clearly have unchecked mental health issues, which is obviously a danger in a country where there are more guns than people. A lot of these people were really young, making you think that they probably had problems when they were children, were pumped full a Ritalin or something of that ilk, and eventually ran away. Either that, or they are uncared for veterans of one of America’s many foreign wars. They fricking love their troops, until they get hurt or fall on hard times. You only have to look at the USA’s performance and coverage of the Paralympics (4 hours of broadcast throughout the full 10 days) to show how little people seem to care about disability.
I believe in there lies the problem with the states. Their appears to be an engrained selfishness within the nation, not on a social level, but a governmental and capitalist level. People reject the Affordable Care Act because they feel they shouldn’t have to pay for their neighbours back surgery. They get told their taxes will rise and they immediately get angry. Yet, when we were talking to Jagger and her family in Austin, all Obama voters, but with a real chip on their shoulder about the ACA, they argued the “why should we have to pay for it?” point and asked us what we thought about the NHS. We love it, because no matter who you are or what you’ve done, if you’re sick they will take care of you, and if your country can afford it then it should be a basic human right. Hell, it should be a basic human right across the world. We changed their minds in about 5 minutes, because they’d never looked at it that way, they’d just looked at the taxes going up and rejected it straight away.
I do not believe that doctors should be salesman. Every time I saw an advert for prescribed medicine on television it made me feel very uneasy. These were alternatives to the established treatments. Competitors to things like insulin, ventalin inhalers and antihistamines. The doctor should never be put in a position to push anything except the right treatment on a patient. That is not fair on either of them. I believe this is what happens when you let capitalism run wild and unchecked for so long. It’s almost like after the Cold War was “won” capitalism became seen in America as a conquering army to be celebrated, when it really should have been seen as a slightly more feasible economic model to communism. There is 1 minute of advert to every 2 minutes of programming on American television. One of the most depressing things I’ve seen is professional athletes waiting patiently on the field of play for a 5 minute add break to finish. When did advertising become more important then the game itself?
There were two adverts that stuck with us. One was for an E-Cigarette on the radio. Instead of talking about the fact that the product can help you cut down and stop smoking, it had a rather aggressive man saying something along the lines of “You can’t smoke anywhere these days. Not the bar, not the restaurant, not in your car, and sometimes not even in your own home. But, hey! This is America! You should be able to smoke wherever you want! That’s why the E-Cigarette is amazing.” They might as well have had a disclaimer saying “any cutting down of actual cigarettes this causes is purely coincidental.” This advert just shows the muscle the tobacco lobby still has in America.
The other advert was for a new television, where two teenagers are sat at a young child’s party. All the young children are sat around a new television, which can be viewed outside in the garden. The teenagers are totally bummed out because they never had an outdoor TV at their birthday parties. It made me feel more than a little sad. Buy this television to watch this show so we can sell you more televisions that will convince you to buy drugs that will calm you down so you can watch more television. Las Vegas was like the capitalist heaven. Every inch of it was designed to take your money, all of it. It’s a shrine to that attitude of greed is good. Despite being in Nevada, every kilowatt of power generated by the Hoover dam is fed to Los Angeles, who have a green power mandate. Las Vegas doesn’t, cos why the fuck should it? And everything in Las Vegas has to be plugged in. It is a cathedral of excess.
The difference between the states is overwhelming, and again this is where the selfishness comes in. Their are many states that don’t really care about others, and there are those that actively dislike other states. I’m not just talking about the south here, either. There seemed to be such casual disdain for the rest of the country in New York, and an apparent superiority complex in California, as if to say “there is no point trying to civilise the people in Central and Mountain time.”
But why not? Driving through some of the poorer or more conservative states there were hardly any people who weren’t absolutely lovely, and not in that Labrador kind of dumb way. We met nuclear scientists, owners of PR management firms and Marine Biologists. The way the coasts sometimes act, these people are all related and don’t have a college degree between them. No wonder there is such division. As Matt Perry’s character said in the show Studio 60 about the culture wars “You hate us because you think we think you’re stupid, and we hate you because we think you’re stupid.”
This isn’t helped by the way the electorate is talked down to by so many politicians. The Tea Party are a crazy faction belonging to an increasingly divided political party, the more intelligent of which are finally realising that the American people aren’t as stupid as they are being treated. However, as comedian Demetri Martin said, “shouting is the next best thing to being right.” Sadly this tiny gang of nut jobs, who are all okay with 800k people having to take unpaid leave from their jobs as long as they got their way, are fully supported by most newspapers in the red states, most of the higher powered business leaders such as the Koch brothers and, most damagingly of all, the most watched news channel in the world. Fox News. And, much like The Sun here in the UK, Fox News treats its audience like a bunch of fucking idiots, and the American people deserve better than what they get from both television and politicians.
No wonder the country is so polarised. The television in America bombards people with right-wing propaganda interspersed with adverts trying to sell you the American Dream, a dream that can easily be interpreted as “go it alone. Why should you need anyone else?” That is part of the problem. No one wants to work together to build a better place. There is this absurd notion of America being the greatest country in the world by most of its population, but none of them can agree on what makes it great in the first place.
What makes it great is its national parks, its stunning beauty, its innovative technology, its kind and welcoming people, its sheer vastness, and the fact that the pioneers looked at a totally wild landscape and thought “we can tame it.” It’s cities, with all there different identities and types of people. Its love of sports, culture and food, even if a lot of what they eat should be kept in check (bloated capitalism again). The fact that you can go and sit in a bar on your own as a stranger and be treated like a local pretty much everywhere you go. These all suggest that it’s a country built on community, which it was. They just got blinded by self-interest sparked, which in turn was sparked by money and greed.
I love the USA and I had the most amazing trip, but I worry for it. If it becomes any more polarised we could see the calls for successions from the union again, and I don’t think that is wise. The nation just needs a better and more rational dialogue, as well as to be treated like adults, not children being spoon fed toy adverts. And for God’s sake get those goddamn National Parks open again.
So that’s it. After 6 weeks, 18 states and one very long rant my journey has come to an end. I’m going to take some time off the blog for a while whilst I work on the follow-up to Camelot, so thank you so much for all who have read and stuck with this blog over the weeks. Think of it this way, you no longer have to feel inclined to ask me how the trip was when I next see you.