Laissez les bons temps rouler

On my final night in Nashville a few of us went back to the Wildhorse for some food and live music. Unfortunately Kathryn is under 21 and thus she was unable to follow the rest of us to the bars. She did write me down a list of country artists to check out though, so I guess everyone’s* a winner.

*I’m

After a couple of pitchers in Paradise Park (two for $6 on a Tuesday) and some more drinks and music at more bars it was time for an emotional last look at Broadway before we went back to the hostel. After a small gathering outside it was bedtime, with an early alarm set to be up in time for the Greyhound to Memphis in the morning.

In the morning I had breakfast, said some goodbyes and, fairly reluctantly, left for the Greyhound station one pair of shorts worse off on account of them being broken. Once there I was interrogated by a fairly colourful character as I waited to check my bag. I had a brief conversation with a German backpacker but he didn’t seem very talkative and I was tired so I gave up after a little while.

Before too long I’d boarded the bus and was settling in for the journey. I’ve never seen someone take such care over a fluorescent vest as the driver, who retrieved a coat-hanger from his bag and lined it up perfectly behind his seat. The journey was once again uneventful and before long I arrived in Memphis. I went for a walk and before long I was on Beale Street, almost by accident. I had a brilliant lunch accompanied by a singer/guitarist with a great hat. I was a little concerned to see the waitress had a fairly fist-shaped bruise on her face, but I suppose I am in the South.

From there I got a taxi to the hostel where I found that the code I had been sent for the door didn’t work. After a quick phone call I was checked and settled in. The hostel requires that people who stay there do a small chore every day, but at $15/day I wasn’t complaining.

After I’d unpacked I set off for a nearby convenience store to get some food but before I could get there I bumped into the German guy from the Greyhound station in Nashville. He’d just walked all the way from the station and was unsure exactly where the hostel was, so I led him back there. When he’d settled in we went to the convenience store. Back at the hostel I got chatting to a guy called Ezra who is into some fairly nerdy stuff and we traded some electronic comics.

After a while Jasper and I were fairly hungry so we walked to a nearby pub for food. Highlights included the waitress fishing for tips, a pub quiz (which we were too late to join) and, inexplicably, a man setting fire to his newspaper at the bar. After our food we went back to the hostel and checked out the library. There we found ourselves talking to a 73 year old lady from Baton Rouge who was reading John Grisham. She informed us that she doesn’t like staring at screens so she doesn’t watch TV. She’d rather watch a movie instead. Oh dear.

Later in the evening I noticed someone I recognised sitting at the table over from me and said hello. It was Frederick, the Danish fiddler who had played at the hostel in Nashville. We were discussing our plans for the next day and when it became clear that we both wanted to go to the Gibson factory and the Civil Rights Museum we decided to go together, which meant I could have a lift into town as well. Bonus.

After a good night’s sleep we did our chores, which for me consisted of the incredibly taxing ‘take out the paper recycling’, and then got in the car. Unfortunately there is no photography allowed inside the Gibson factory so I don’t have pictures of all the cool stuff which goes on there. Suffice it to say that a luthier sanding a neck into shape by hand with an error margin of 1/16th of an inch is a fairly impressive sight. Particularly when it takes him basically no time at all and looks as though he’s not even looking. Having said that, based on what I’ve heard about Gibson’s quality control, maybe he wasn’t. As for the guitars which don’t make the grade? Shredded into sawdust. It’s enough to make you cry.

After spending some time playing guitars in the shop (none as good as the Martin, by the way) we made for the Civil Rights Museum. We didn’t really have a plan for how long we would be there, but I don’t think either one of us intended to spend 5-6 hours trying to digest the overwhelming amount of information on offer. I was a little confused when a museum worker started asking if I was Texan, until I realised she meant ‘texting’ as I had my phone in hand and no photography is allowed in the museum. When we were outside taking photos of the balcony where Martin Luther King Jr was shot I was accosted by a man wondering if I was a member of the press as there was an event on in a few days. Quite why they were there so early for their own event, and indeed expected the press to be, is beyond me.

After the museum it was more than time for food so we went back to the hostel and cooked. There we met Nicola, who is coming to the end of an 18 month world trip. After a quick rendition of a Danish folk song, Frederick drove us all into Beale Street for a couple of beers, and it was time for a let-down almost on par with the excavated Reflecting Pool. Unlike Broadway in Nashville, which felt authentic and current, Beale Street seemed tired and tacky. The ridiculously drunk people crawling all over the floor didn’t exactly help. Still, we found a bar with some live music and had a few drinks.

Frederick left early in the morning, and after we’d said goodbye, Jasper, Nicola and I got ready to go to Graceland. If I am to teach you only one thing through this blog, let it be this. If you want to get from 1000 South Cooper Street to Sun Studio, take a fucking cab. Otherwise you may well end up catching the wrong bus to the wrong place, inadvertently starting a minor race riot through no fault of your own, waiting at the wrong bus stop for another bus, finally catching the right bus, still having to walk for about half an hour after it’s dropped you off, and arriving at roughly the time you would have had you just walked from the hostel in the first place.

The tour of Sun Studio was semi-forced upon us as the free shuttle to Graceland would have required an hour’s wait anyway, but as it turns out it was probably more interesting than Graceland, and certainly better value for money. It was helped by the fact that the tour guide was quite clearly completely insane, which made a nice change from the generic drone I’ve often experienced.

After that tour we caught the shuttle out to Graceland. It was clear we were in for an experience as we passed the two planes along from the ticket area, which itself came complete with numerous shops full of tasteful, understated, and elegant tributes to Mr Presley.

It’s clear where their inspiration comes from. Graceland is a shrine to tasteful interior design, where mirrors which play with the light in a majestic way hang alongside colours which complement one another perfectly, and fabrics and carpets are used in wonderfully traditional ways. It’s hard to believe anyone who entered this house could ever have taken drugs.

Once we’d had our fill of hall after impressive hall of gold discs, we caught the shuttle back to Beale street and went for a beer. As Jasper is under 21 I ordered for him, but just as the barmaid was pouring them a fairly robust man to my left asked to see ID. I showed him mine in the hopes that he would ignore Jasper and he just looked back with a big grin on his face and told me he doesn’t even work there. Hilarious.

Still, we had our beers and went to take a seat on a patio where live music was playing. The joker from the bar was soon on the microphone as a guest singer on his 51st birthday. He was a big improvement on the woman whose party trick is leaving the microphone in her cleavage while she carries on singing. It would be fairly impressive if she didn’t weigh more than Lawrence Dallaglio. After two very generous helpings of beer for lunch at 7pm the smell of food drifting from nearby restaurants made us all hungry so we went for some food. If nothing else, Memphians know how to eat.

After a bit longer in town, where we noticed Andy Murray had crashed out of Wimbledon, we went back to the hostel via a takeaway where we procured $5 pizzas. Awesome.

The next morning Jasper left for Atlanta and Nicola and I scored a lift to town with a couple of English guys who are road-tripping. They were leaving for the hostel I am staying at in New Orleans so we said we’d probably meet up here. They are also hoping to catch up with a couple of girls from California who told them if they came to New Orleans too it didn’t mean they would definitely sleep with them. Charming.

Beale Street during the day is certainly preferable to Beale Street at night time, but it’s still very underwhelming. We whiled away some time looking in various quirky shops. Rows of candy next to what basically constitutes a medieval armoury with added tazers is particularly inspired. If I’d just been on holiday rather than a long trip I would have bought a serious amount of cool but ultimately useless shit. As it was, I was very restrained.

When we’d exhausted the shops on the street we went to the Museum of Rock and Soul which had a good mix of exhibits and audio clips, including the option of a virtual jukebox as you wander round. There was also an exhibit of previously unseen photos of The Beatles which only came to light when the photographer stumbled across the negatives in his house. That’s fairly careless if you ask me.

By the end of the museum, the air conditioning had us fairly certain our feet were frozen to the ground so we decided to sit out on a balcony for lunch. The sun was brilliant, but resting my arm on a black metal chair wasn’t a good idea. Nicola ordered a plate of BBQ pork nachos as a starter and it was absolutely huge so I was forced to finish the remnants of her wonderful food completely against my will. The waitress was really helpful, adding a gratuity to the bill without us even asking.

After we’d eaten we walked back to the hostel via a convenience store where I received a complete re-education regarding the similarities and differences between American and English confectionary. After two hours walking in 105 degree heat it was more than time for a shower, which was followed by a trip to the cinema to see the new Transformers film.

‘What?!’ I hear you cry, ‘a film on a Saturday night when you could have been out in Memphis?’ That’s right. Having seen people queuing to get onto Beale Street the night before, complete with compulsory frisking and the general drunkenness on display we didn’t really fancy it with a long bus journey ahead of us the next day. With a taxi booked for 7.30am it was soon time for sleep.

Having been woken in the night by two guys checking in at about 2.30, I went back to sleep secure in the knowledge that my alarm would give me sweet revenge. I was seriously disappointed when I awoke to see neither of them had so much as stirred. Nicola made poached eggs for breakfast before we caught the taxi to the Greyhound station to say goodbye to a city so crazy it has a giant pyramid and ducks which live in the fountain of a hotel lobby.

We’d made sure to get there in good time as we’d anticipated there would be a lot of demand for buses to New Orleans the day before Independence Day, so my heart sank when I saw an absolutely huge queue had formed under door 3 to New Orleans. We were more concerned when they started boarding well before the scheduled time but we went to get our bags tagged for checking and hoped for the best.

Luckily enough we were told to go to gate 4 which had a much more modest queue, although it took me a little while to pronounce New Orleans close enough to ‘N’awlins’ that the woman on the counter knew what I was talking about. Whoever designed these stations needs a talking to though. Let’s have queues form across each other and confuse non English-speakers with words like bend, shall we? Great idea! I’m also unsure about the lime green t-shirt and armed handgun combo sported by the overweight female security guards in the station. I think they could do more damage by shouting at people to be honest.

While we were queuing, Dan from Nashville came over to say hello and we had a quick chat before he rejoined his queue. He’d had an interesting experience couch surfing; his host had passed out shortly after he arrived and he had then fallen asleep himself. When he awoke he needed the toilet and had to go through his host’s room to get there. He wasn’t really prepared for the sight of his host sleeping in another guy’s lap, who he hadn’t seen enter, and who was stroking his head.

Before long boarding was called and we got on the bus. I was a little concerned when the driver acted as though he’d never seen a piece of paper before when I passed him my ticket but I decided to give him the benefit of the doubt. There was plenty of leg room on the bus which was nice with the length of journey ahead of me, but it took me a while to get completely comfortable because we left half an hour late leaving me concerned that I wouldn’t make my transfer to New Orleans.

This journey was far preferable to my last long-distance one due in large part to the fact I had good company until we reached Baton Rouge, where Nicola left for Lafayette and Dan and I transferred for New Orleans. Playing ‘Spot the Dollar General store’ certainly helped to pass the time too. Sadly the bus was too busy for me to sit near Dan on the final leg, but in spite of the delays and the driver’s apparent desire to add stops at random, we had all made it in time for our transfers.

A quick taxi ride later and I arrived at the hostel where, much to my dismay, I was given a room key. Codes are much easier, and one less thing to worry about losing. I took a short walk to get some food, chatted to some people who were watching TV and wrote this blog post. Now it’s time for bed before the 4th of July.

Save a horse, ride a cowboy!

After a little while waiting it was time to board the Greyhound. If I’d been going back to New York, I’d have had free WIFI, more room for my legs, and power supplies. As it was, I had an acceptable seat and no one sitting next to me. Within a few minutes it became fairly clear that three of my fellow passengers were Christian ministers who had met purely by chance on the bus and proceeded to spend a very long time discussing passages of The Bible and such like. On the plus side they didn’t try to evangelise me. I’m a little surprised that an unattended bag holds a person’s place in the queue in a Greyhound station considering the taboo on unattended belongings in any other transport centre.

As I spent quite a lot of the journey asleep or trying to be, there isn’t really a great deal to say about it. When we stopped in Knoxville for cleaning I had to stay awake for an hour so as to ensure I didn’t miss the reboarding call, which was made easier by the small group of fairly primitive locals complaining that they had been waiting for twelve hours and had been unable to get on their buses because they had been full. I hope that doesn’t happen to me.

I managed to get quite a lot of sleep but as we were going past the Smoky Mountains we were treated to a truly terrifying natural display with monstrous thunder and lightning illuminating the whole sky as torrential rain tested the skills of whoever built the bus. Very cool, but hard to sleep.

It was just a short walk to my new hostel from the station. It’s a little different to the other ones I’ve stayed in so far because rather than being one large building with lots of rooms, it’s divided into lots of smaller buildings with a shared garden and a communal kitchen. I thought I might not be able to check in when I arrived because it was only about half nine in the morning, but luckily for me the room was empty from the night before so not only could I check in, I also had the pick of the beds. As I was still fairly tired I went to bed for an hour and awoke to find that two very considerate people had moved in and been quiet enough that I didn’t wake up.

I needed to buy a few things so I set off for a nearby convenience store. One of the problems with America is that you’re not really supposed to walk anywhere, so I had to improvise a way across the road through five lanes of traffic because of a distinct lack of crossings in either direction. Ten minutes later, I’d made it to the other side and was able to browse Walgreens at my leisure. That done, I returned to the hostel and labeled my food to prevent theft.

Back in the room, I was shortly joined by a Dutch guy called Roderick. We went to the kitchen where we met Camille who is doing a solo road-trip. She was very excited to learn that we shared the same souvenir-collecting idea. In the evening she planned to go to the Grand Ole Opry show with a couple of other people and we said we’d go along. Roderick was tired after his flight so he had a quick snooze. I went back to the room just before he woke up and and not too long after that we were joined by John and Dee who are over here from Ireland as a reward for finishing a doctorate and masters respectively.

It was soon time to head downtown for some food and entertainment. There was no sign of Camille so we left thinking that perhaps we’d bump into her out there. When it came to choosing a place to eat there were quite a few options so we just chose almost at random and ended up in the Wild Horse Saloon. It was not exactly what we’d expected.

We thought we’d be in a bar with a few people. In actual fact, in addition to the stage and dance floor surrounded by people sat at tables were another two floors of seating almost in the style of a theater. I’d just like to reiterate the point that everything in America is vast. On top of all this, there were free line-dancing lessons going on before the live music started, but we didn’t take part because we were too busy enjoying our very tasty 1/2lb burgers.

With our stomachs full we began the ten mile journey out to Music Valley at the bus stop. There’s no surprise that public transport hasn’t really taken off here, because they’re not very good at it. Even at the bus depot in the centre of town it’s almost impossible to figure out how to get where you want to go; there are lots of numbered bays, but no way of knowing which bus leaves from which bay. Quite by chance I looked up to see the number 34 flash briefly on a screen and we were over the first hurdle.

Forty-five minutes later, we may as well have been in a different city. In fact, I think we pretty much were. Highlights on the trip included a level-crossing which, oddly enough, American bus drivers stop for even if there isn’t a train coming, and a motel which charges $23 for three hours but has free adult films. I’d like to think they burn the sheets when people check out.

When we arrived at the Opry, we were greeted by a closed box office, but through the shop we were able to find out that we could pay full price for half an hour of the show. We agreed it would be better to come back the next day instead so we caught the next bus back to Broadway.

The first bar we entered, Whiskey Bent, had live music and a lot of batchelorette parties. Unfortunately the singer was, to quote Roderick, ‘a total douchebag’ so before too long we moved on to another bar. On the way we saw a rapping drummer who was improvising lyrics related to the crowd around him in a very humorous manner. I have a feeling he’s a robot, because he didn’t stop.

As we were both tired from travelling, we planned to have a couple of drinks and head home. $6 pitchers and a fantastic live band, complete with a great atmosphere soon put paid to that. As much as I don’t like the smell of smoke, cigarettes in a bar certainly add to the ambience. I’m not too sure about the carpeted floor though. Highlights included Space Cowboy, a Weezer medley, Champagne Supernova, and a lot of awesome music I was too ignorant to know. After an absolutely fantastic time, we tried another bar for one last drink and then started to walk home. The wrong way.

At a crossing we met a guy who was carrying a bottle of liquor in one hand, and a jug of something in his other. He’d left his friend’s bachelor party to head to a strip club and extended an open invitation, but we declined. To be honest I’m not really sure where the rest of his friends were; surely they should all have been going to the strip club!

When we reached the hostel there were a few people sat outside so we joined them for a little while before calling it a night. Funny how the quiet drinks always turn into the loud ones.

The next day we began a quest for some guitar shops having looked up some locations online. The weather over night had been fairly horrific and the forecast told us to expect rain, but it was sunny for most of the day. By the time we left the hostel we’d pretty much forgotten where the first one was, but we knew it was only a couple of blocks away and the rough direction so we set out walking. We didn’t find it, and later looked it up again to find we just been a block short but on the right street.

When we made it to Gruhn guitars on Broadway we were disappointed to see that Saturdays are by appointment only. As we discussed how ridiculous this was, we noticed that there were lots of people in the shop. A little investigation led us to the open back door. They have some seriously cool guitars in that shop, and after a chat with a salesman we learned that customers include Bruce Springsteen, who has a titanium American Express with a $1 million spending limit. The front door, by the way, is shut to stop the sheer volume of people they get coming in on Saturdays who generally get in the way and leave drinks in silly places and so on.

Here is a picture of me playing a guitar.

That is not just any guitar. It is a 1959 Fender Stratocaster with a retail price of $20000 + tax, and it plays beautifully.

The $187000 Les Paul isn’t on display in public areas.

With huge smiles on our faces we went to Starbucks to steal some WIFI to find some more guitar shops. With a few locations written down we left in their direction and saw the free State Museum on the way. As we had planned to go there anyway we took a detour. On entry we were greeted by a friendly man who welcomed us and gave us a quick overview of the museum layout. I thought I’d misunderstood because what he’d said had seemed fairly odd, but it turned out I hadn’t. The Civil War section was interrupted by an Ancient Egyptian exhibition right in the middle, with lots of pieces, and some photographs documenting the slightly surreal local Egyptian-influenced architecture.

When we’d finished in the museum it was time to eat so we went to a bar on Broadway for a sandwich. The live band were typically good but they’d clearly been playing the same songs for far too long because they kept asking for requests. I didn’t think they’d know Raining Blood, and even if they did I can’t imagine it would have sounded good with their setups. Speaking of which, check this out…

That little mechanism there is for bending the B and G strings and will set you back a cool $1200. The guitarist also put his pedalboard to great use.

After lunch we got ready to head back out to the Grand Ole Opry for the show, passing a rather loud preacher on the way. I don’t think shouting at people is the best way to convert them. We had to chuckle when we saw a guy across the street throw both arms up and form the devil horns, toss back his head and scream a guttural ‘HAIL SATAN’.

With that, we went to the bus stop hoping that this time we would make it there in time to see the show. There we were joined by a local called Dillon with dyed black hair and piercings who was returning home. He spent quite a while discussing the Resident Evil and his plans for the zombie apocalypse. I’m not sure I’ve ever met anyone who seems so convinced it may actually happen one day. He was very polite though, a far cry from the youth of the UK. Having said that, he’s on a year’s probation for possession of marijuana, underage alcohol consumption and breaking and entering, although it was an abandoned house and his 18th birthday.

When we arrived at the Opry we had a chuckle at ‘Gaylord Entertainment’ before being greeted by a very friendly old lady called Charlotte who told me she liked my accent. Jackpot. We promised we’d tell her what we thought of the show and we did so afterwards. I don’t think anyone could fail to be impressed by the incredible musicianship exhibited on that stage, including a 90 year old called Little Jimmy Dickens who plays the guitar better than I could ever hope to.

After the concert we went back to Broadway, once again via the longest bus journey in the world, where we returned to Paradise Park and $6 pitchers. We met a few other people there and partied long into the night, getting home at about five in the morning.

The next day saw a fantastic start with wonderful sunshine greeting us as we stepped outside. In the kitchen we found a group of people compiling a list of cartoon Disney films to watch. I couldn’t help but think that might have made more sense the day before when we were threatened with thunder storms.

After the excitement of the past couple of days we took it fairly easy, playing some guitar and doing our laundry until it was time for some food. It was John and Dee’s last day before they flew to Vegas so we all went for a meal together before heading into town. We had hoped to show them Paradise Park in full swing, but with it being a Sunday night the place was almost dead. As an alternative we headed to the world-famous Tootsies. At first we thought the band were okay, but their male singer was much better than the girl. The fiddler seemed fairly promising, and after someone gave a $40 tip in return for a rendition of The Devil Went Down To Georgia any doubt was well and truly removed. No one coughed up the $100 house-enforced charge for Freebird though.

After a little while we moved on to another bar. The music here was a little less country and a little more mainstream but still a lot of fun. Here someone paid $100 in return for an AC/DC song. They got three, which is fair enough, I suppose. One of the most remarkable things here isn’t just that the musicians are so consummate everywhere, but that many of them are able to rotate onto different instruments with no detriment to the overall sound of the band. We met up with the people we’d met the night before and once again had a brilliant time. Arriving back at the hostel at three I joined a group of people outside. There were two Americans, a Brazilian, a Swede, a Dane, and myself. There was more drinking and conversation to be done and it was well after sunrise when we finally all went to bed.

The next morning we were quite tired but got up to allow plenty of time in the Country Music Hall of Fame. After saying goodbye to John and Dee and eating a pancake covered in Nutella which was kindly donated by Laura, one of the people who had stayed up the night before, we were joined on our trip downtown by Gary who is from Liverpool. After the Hall of Fame we went on a quest for a souvenir t-shirt for Roderick, during which we stumbled across a pair of $700 cowboy boots.

When we were done in town we went back to the hostel where I managed a quick sleep before we made our way to a nearby BBQ/sports bar for an evening of live entertainment performed predominantly by people working or staying at the hostel. I was sat at a table with Roderick, Gary, Dan and Carl and we ordered food while we were treated to some truly incredible songs. I would not be surprised if a number of the people I saw play in that bar are fairly soon very rich and very famous, and it would certainly be very much deserved.

After the music we weren’t sure what to do as we wanted a fairly quiet night following the hectic nights before. As it turned out, a circle of people soon formed outside in the garden and we sat around playing songs. I was lucky enough to play a Martin guitar which belonged to one of the people who had played earlier but I soon felt (very much justifiably) out of my depth and passed the guitar on to some of the much more accomplished musicians. Before long we were all in full sing-along mode and were treated to one of the most remarkable covers I have ever heard; The Way You Make Me Feel featuring a fiddle, a very drunk but remarkably talented Australian singer/guitarist, who we had seen earlier carving a baseball bat from a chunk of driftwood, with a whole group of people singing along is not something I will forget in a hurry. After a night which had left me almost speechless, it was time for bed.

The next morning Roderick and I finally made our way to another guitar shop where we tried out some pedals. I will be surprised if I haven’t purchased some sort of guitar equipment before this trip is over. After that we walked out to Centennial park to see the full-sized copy of the Parthenon. It’s quite a sight to behold but does leave you wondering what the hell the people here were thinking during the early part of the last century.

It’s now the afternoon and I’m just about to leave for food and the final night here. I’m almost packed and ready to leave tomorrow morning and it’s a very bittersweet feeling. On the one hand I’m looking forward to seeing what the next part of my journey brings, but on the other hand I’m wondering what else will compare to what has been undoubtedly the best few days of my life. Either way I feel privileged to have been here and experienced what I have. I wasn’t surprised to learn that one guy who came here as his second stop on a three month trip to the States changed his plans and made his second stop his last.

There are a few things I can say I’ve learned here:

• There is not a lot hotter than a southern girl in cowboy boots, hotpants and a vest.
• It is possible to fall in and out of love multiple times in one day.
• There is a Telecaster with my name on it somewhere in the UK, if not in America.

My current game plan is to get rich and move to Nashville, Tennessee. And not necessarily in that order.

Hey mama rock me.

So you thought I wouldn’t have anything to write about seeing as I’d just been sat inside all day, huh? More fool you! Prepare to be subjected to the ramblings of my brain after it’s been under-stimulated for the better part of a couple of days.

So what did I do on my days off? I started by writing the previous entry, which you’ve no doubt read by now, before charging some camera batteries and the like so that everything’s ready when I can walk around again.

An American woman in the lobby wanted some coffee and I told her that there was free coffee in the kitchen. As it turns out, she wanted an American sized serving of European coffee because American coffee tastes ‘like someone poured hot water through a dirty sock’. It’s a fairly apt description, and one which can also be applied fairly accurately to their beer if you substitute the hot with cold.

I took advantage of the fact that I’d brought some videos with me and watched some 24 while I looked at some sexy guitars on the internet. When it was time for lunch I relocated upstairs to the dining area and cooked a meal. I threw in some spices, pepper and hot sauce and it tasted really good. I’ve certainly had worse in restaurants.

While I was cooking I got talking to an old man from Seattle who seemed a little eccentric. He’s over here for a conference on Islamic terrorism and what can be done about it. I invoked rules 1 & 2 and gave some very diplomatic responses to his questions on my views.

The weather outside has been fairly bland all day so in that respect I haven’t missed a lot. On the other hand I had planned to visit more museums so I wouldn’t have been outside anyway.

Sean came in after working on his research and invited me to Georgetown to meet some people he met at another hostel. I would have loved to but I thought it for the best that I stay in and rest the leg. There were rumours of free tacos circulating in the evening, but the limit on the number of people had been reached, so we went for a quick walk to get some food from somewhere close by. His friends ended up canceling as they had to work.

I started talking to a really nice guy who teaches singing in high school. His adopted son lives in Nashville and he called him up to ask for a few recommendations for good things to do when I’m out there. He sounded a bit like he’d been put on the spot when I spoke to him, and I suppose he had, but between him and his friends they gave me a few suggestions which is good. I’m sure a black man with a ginger, gay son doesn’t raise any eyebrows.

After our food we came back to the hostel with a view to watching a film and bumped into Sarah who we’d seen the night before. After a bit of talking we went through to the TV room. Some other people had just put on Spy Games so we sat down to watch it.

It was then pretty much bedtime after I’d had a drink in the cafeteria, where I overheard what has to be one of the greatest quotes ever: ‘I’m opposed to microwaves’.

When I woke up the next day my leg was a little better but still not perfect, and I was concerned that if I tried walking around all day I’d just make it worse again. Unfortunately this meant that I would have to remain in the hostel for another day, which is a little frustrating as there’s still so much I want to see here. The idea was that with any luck it would clear up enough that I could do something in the evening, or at the very least be able to make the most of my final day in D.C. on Thursday before I caught the bus in the evening.

If there’s any consolation, I suppose it’s that of all the things here, the museums are the ones which can perhaps be experienced most authentically by looking at pictures, and I’ve done most of the monuments and landmarks already.

I’ve also taken the opportunity to catch up on the uploading of my photos which has been oft-interrupted so far, so if I do manage to lose my computer over here at least I’ll have copies of most of the photos I’ve taken up to this point.

I know hostels are used by a diverse range of people, but one thing which has surprised me is the number of other people who stay in using laptops during the day. Of course, it’s possible that they’re all afflicted with various ailments as well, but I’d be fairly surprised. I will concede that the couple in front of me had spreadsheets open and did seem to be having a fairly in-depth discussion about their contents. I can’t say for sure though, because I don’t speak oriental languages.

The throat/headache combo hadn’t really got any better so I decided to get some fresh air and sat out on the patio after lunch for a bit of guitar playing action. It’s just a real shame the action’s so high it’s not very playable.

A little while later I saw Sean again. As I still wasn’t sure about how my leg would hold up we sat down to watch Blazing Saddles in the tv room. All of a sudden people arrived and we learned that there was a communal screening of No Strings Attached scheduled, so Blazing Saddles was sadly interrupted and we stayed to watch that instead. Verdict: generic rom-com with the welcome bonus of Natalie Portman in her underwear.

After the film we went back to the patio with the guitar to play some more songs. A little while later we were receiving rounds of applause from a table of German girls nearby before being joined by Hacob, an Armenian who is studying in London. I managed to lose my plectrum, and it was soon time for bed.

This morning I had breakfast, said goodbye to Sean, showered, and packed before checking out. I walked to the Greyhound station to buy my pass before returning to the hostel for lunch. It was then that I realised I’d left my food in the kitchen and no longer had my keycard to get back there. Luckily the guy on the desk was very helpful and let me in. As the leg is still a bit on the tender side I decided to cook lunch and then just relax for a while.

It was shortly before this that I realised I had somehow managed to lose yet another pair of sunglasses. I’m fairly sure I’d not lost a pair in my life before this trip, and yet somehow since coming here I’ve managed to lose two in two weeks. I really hope this doesn’t become a habit, although to be honest they’re probably buried somewhere in one of my bags.

It’s now almost time to leave the hostel behind and return to the Greyhound station to head to my next destination. Interestingly enough, some of you are so impatient you seem to think I’ve already departed but I can assure you I have not. Even though I haven’t been able to do everything I wanted to do here I’ve still had a lot of fun seeing what I did manage to see and speaking to the people I’ve met.

I am a visitor here: I am not permanent.

The next day it was time to sample the wonderful museums D.C. has to offer. I started with the National Archives as I was early enough to avoid any real queue. It turns out most of the hold-up is airport style security just inside the entrance, which is rapidly becoming a theme in American museums. Although not strictly a museum, it certainly has some interesting exhibits, including a letter from a young Fidel Castro to the president asking for a $10 bill as he had never seen one, and a letter to the president from a young boy asking for federal aid after his mother declared his room a disaster area, complete with a very humorous reply.

Of course, the main reason for visiting the archives has to be the ‘big three’: the Bill of Rights, the US Constitution, and the Declaration of Independence. Sadly there’s no photography allowed because of light exposure, and even though I could have done it without a flash I wasn’t allowed. The rotunda they are held in is fairly grand, with two great paintings of the signings adorning the walls. The artist invented likenesses of some of the people present due to a lack of available reference material, and he also managed to include a ghostly Lincoln in the clouds.

I should think that this room would be of more importance to Americans than it was to me as a foreigner. In a way it holds the foundation of their entire country. That said, it was still very interesting to see the original documents and to read the accompanying information. Perhaps of more relevance to me was the Magna Carta which is held just outside the rotunda.

The original plan was to see two or three more museums after the National Archives, but I soon realised how futile this would be when, after a couple of hours in the Museum of Natural History, I was still on the first floor. I’m not going to give you a blow-by-blow account because that would be silly, so here’s a (very small) cross section of things I saw.

The first section is aquarium related. I must have been the only person there who didn’t make some sort of reference to having found Nemo.

Further on, there’s a piece about African migration. Apparently they’ve moved to every continent. I think the Australasians may have a thing or two to say.

Some of the stuffed animals are very cool.

As are some of the skulls from the various ages of man.

By the time I finished in the museum it was pretty much time to eat my tea. I walked back past the hostel to a nearby convenience store and bought some healthy food to cook. After I’d eaten I realised I hadn’t left a lot of time to get down to the Mall in time for sunset, and it didn’t help that just as I was about to leave I bumped into a bunch of people who’d been on the pub crawl the night before. We talked for a little while and I learned that I was basically the only one who wasn’t still horribly hungover, which was nice. After some more talking we all went our separate ways, and I hurried off hoping for some luck. It had been very much overcast all day with no visible sky so I wasn’t holding out much hope for a good sunset.

When I got down to the monument the clouds started to break up a little and a wonderful orange glow surrounded the sun. I got set up, wished I had a tripod, and waited a little while longer. I noticed a man to my left who was clearly doing exactly the same thing. He had a camera with touch-screen live view on a tripod. I was jealous.

After a little while we got talking. He convinced me that I needed a tripod, and after observing him I decided that a few graduated ND filters probably wouldn’t go amiss. He lives a little while out of D.C. and often comes in to take photos. As the light changed more I was increasingly surprised at how beautiful it was beginning to look, and his exclamations of delight hinted that this was really something special. He gave me some tips if I make it to Arizona and advocated hiring a car to get to some particular places. If you want to see some of his photos they’re here: www.flickr.com/photos/79546474@N00/ Well worth a look.

As for mine of the sunset? I’ve not had a proper look yet because this screen is tiny, but I’ll let you see a preview.

Before long the light disappeared and we went our separate ways. I took a few more photos along the Mall before I went back to the hostel. Bonnie had texted to let me know she was leaving the next day so I went to say a quick goodbye and went to sleep.

The next morning I went down to breakfast and overheard some girls talking about the confusing sugar dispenser. Basically, it looks like it should hold milk, which has hilarious consequences if someone doesn’t realise. We got talking and I learned that they’ve done almost the reverse of what I’m doing, travelling from California across to New York on a trek. One of them is at Exeter reading history so I’m debating doing the old Mark from Peep Show/Keyser Soze trick.

With breakfast eaten it was time for more museums, via a camera shop where I bought a Gorillapod, which has already come in very handy. I started with the Spy Museum, one of the few in the city which requires an entrance fee. The way I see it, with all the others being free it doesn’t matter if I have to pay for one or two because it’s still incredible value for money. The museum has some seriously interesting bits of kit, but sadly they don’t allow photography so you’ll have to come here and see them for yourself. Again my intention was to see quite a few museums, but by the time I was finished in there it was lunch time.

I nipped back to the hostel for some lunch and then made my way to the Museum of American History. No, dad, it wasn’t empty. But I was greeted by one of the few characters to appear in all six Star Wars films.

I want one.

Finding this is a lot easier when the building isn’t dark, derelict, and full of glowing ones.

There are a lot of interesting and light-hearted pieces in the museum, but they don’t shy away from some fairly harrowing things either. The Civil Rights and Native American sections have some particularly poignant parts.

This is one expensive lava lamp.

 

 

 

 

 

There’s also the Star Spangled Banner which was flying at Fort McHenry the morning after the bombardment. Once again no photography is allowed and it’s in a very dark room. I don’t think it would have mattered if I’d been allowed to take a photo though, because that thing is absolutely huge. After some cuttings were given away as gifts after the battle, it’s left at an incredible 30×34 feet, and I’m not convinced it would even have fit in the frame because the display is so close. It must have been quite an experience to see it flying at its original size of 30×42 feet.

The woman who made it had to move it across the street to finish it because it was large enough to fill her living space. Speaking of living space, one of the exhibits in the museum is a whole house along with information on some of the people who have lived in it across the years.

When I was finished at the museum I was quite hungry and it wasn’t far off getting dark. I went back to the hostel to eat and talked with a few other people in the room, one of whom works for a senator from Ohio. I’m now convinced they care more about the Royal Wedding over here than almost anyone in England. After they’d gone, another guy who had joined in the conversation expressed his vehement dislike for republicans. He’d seemed like a cool guy up until this point, although it had been fairly clear he’d disagreed with a lot of what she’d been saying. I was at a crossroads.

My three rules for America had been as follows:

1. Avoid religious debate.
2. Avoid political debate.
3. Don’t get caught doing anything illegal.

I basically told him I was trying to avoid political debate and he was fine with that, so we got to talking about other things. His name is Sean and he works in the Library of Congress. He was going to go and get a beer with a Chinese guy called Jing who is also staying here and invited me along. As we were walking down to the Mall we bumped into Sarah, an Australian who was on her way to meet a friend near the Capitol Building. As we were going in roughly that direction we all walked together and she spent almost the entire walk berating the Chinese and Americans.

We left her at her meeting place a little unsure whether or not they’d find each other as they had agreed on the reflective water in front of the Capitol, and while there is some water in front of the Capitol, and I’m sure it has reflective properties, the Reflective Pool is the other side of the Washington Monument a fair way away. Still, it wasn’t our problem and we carried on taking some photos and talking. On our way down the Mall towards the White House we bumped into Sarah again. She still hadn’t found her friend and Jing suggested shouting out her name. I’d been assuming she’d have already tried that, but sure enough there was an almost instant reply. We left them to it and continued on.

It’s impossible to generalise about an entire country’s inhabitants based purely on the people you meet, but Sean did a lot to dispel the idea of an ignorant American in a very short space of time. He’s well traveled and very knowledgeable about other countries’ economies, governments and policies. I was a bit lost when he and Jing started discussing China in a fairly minute amount of detail.

We arrived at the White House just after they turned off the lights and were told by the Secret Service that we couldn’t use tripods on the pavement. Luckily for me, mine doesn’t really resemble a tripod so I was able to set it up and take some shots right in front of their eyes.

We finally made it to the end of our walk and went to order a drink. Disaster almost struck when the barman pointed out that the last digit of the year was obscured on Sean’s ID and in theory he shouldn’t serve him. As it was, he said it was late and he wanted to leave and didn’t really care so he served us anyway. We only had time for one before they closed and we returned to the hostel. I grabbed the communal guitar I’d spotted earlier and we went out to the patio. Sean plays piano so he gave me some chords to play while he sang along and then it was time for bed.

This brings me to today, which has, unfortunately, been a bit shit. I woke up with a sore throat, cough and a bit of a headache but was prepared to deal with it. Unfortunately, that wasn’t the worst of it. I was bitten by an insect a couple of days ago and everything seemed fine until I noticed a familiar sensation in my leg. For those who don’t know, I’ve had Cellulitis a few times. It requires rest, which is a little bit at odds with what I was planning on doing today. I started on the antibiotics but sadly I’ve decided that the sensible thing to do is to take a day off and hopefully the symptoms will subside quite rapidly. I’ll have to come back to Washington when the Reflective Pool is properly refurbished anyway, so if I do have to miss things I can always do them then. I just hope it’s improved in time for my impending 17 hour bus journey.

It was bound to happen sooner or later, and it’s better now than during the trek. I’m taking the opportunity to check out some of the music people have recommended to me since I’ve arrived here, probably playing some more guitar, and starting to read a book I acquired from the ‘free books’ section in the hostel in Baltimore.

The glow from that fire can truly light the world.

News flash: Kieran and Matty made it to New Zealand after spending a night in the LA Hilton and a day on Venice Beach. It’s alright for some, while the rest of us are stuck here at work all day long. Oh, wait…

The train journey was fairly uneventful. I tried to stay awake to see how it looked, and for the most part I think I managed, although the inexplicable pain in my neck would make a lot more sense had I been asleep. The scenery was generally as expected, with countryside and suburban houses to infinity.

Union Station is nowhere near as large as you would expect, but still fairly grand, and the dome of the Capital Building is just about visible in the distance, which is a nice welcome to the city.

After a quick walk round that area enjoying the brilliant sun I made for the hostel. Their directions said either take a bus or get the metro. Unfortunately, the street on which I was supposed to catch the bus didn’t appear to be there, so I went for the metro instead.

Pop quiz: You’re naming the final stop on an underground line. Do you call it

1. Nice place with trees and sunshine and stuff.
2. Cedar Avenue.

Of the two, I’d go with number 2, although I recognise that the first option does have a sort of ridiculous charm about it. None of this matters though, because apparently if you’re from Washington D.C. you call it Shady Grove, which sounds unnecessarily ominous to me.

So, with my ticket bought, I headed towards the end of the world, safe in the knowledge that as long as I could see which stops we were at along the way, I could get off before it as required. And therein lies the main problem with the D.C. metro (aside from the feral ghoul infestations). It can be very hard to see the name of the station you’re at because it’s very dark. Points go to New York.

I checked in and went for a walk, as is rapidly becoming my MO. Even though I’d only been here for matter of minutes, I already felt like the city was calling to me.

That’s some Derren Brown shit right there. Seriously though, it’s already been very interesting seeing the difference between three American cities, and they’re all in the North East. The next few stops are going to be a remarkable culture shock.

I came across the National Archives and considered going in but thought better of it; there was a big queue and I didn’t want to waste the sunshine in case the thunder came. I continued on and ended up in a small park containing sculptures. It’s a shame there’s tape in the way to stop people from touching and climbing on them as it really detracts from the art. Still, I suppose it has to be done. There was jazz music playing so I headed for the source and found a large water feature in the middle. There was a stage but it was being covered as I arrived because it had just started to rain. I sat for a while before walking some more and before long I found myself at the Mall.

I left the Capital Building alone for now and sampled the festival celebrating children’s art. A young band were fairly impressive, and their Line 6 pedals reminded me why I want one.

From there I walked past a number of Smithsonian museums to the Washington Monument. There’s no way anyone could carry a satellite dish that far. Up close it’s very impressive and there are some interesting patterns in the stone. I decided I would come back when it was quieter for photos with no one else there. I carried on along the Mall to the WW2 memorial on the other side, and looking past it towards the Lincoln Memorial I had a nasty shock, which we will hear of again.

I left the Lincoln Memorial where it was because it would only have been full of people asking for favours and everyone knows there’s nothing that ruins a photo more than needy people en mass. Having spotted the White House I headed over.

I bet I’d have made it to the hedge.

So you’re aware, the uniformed Secret Service (an oxymoron if ever there was one) down on the road don’t like being photographed. At all. They made this so clear before I tried that I didn’t even think about it.

Well, maybe just a little.

It was time to return for food on the way to the Hostel, where I would meet up with some other people for a military band concert at the Capital Building. I tried a Five Guys burger joint which had been recommended to me by Paul in New York and it was certainly worth the money.

We set out after introductions but when we arrived we learned that the concert had been cancelled due to the weather forecast. Some of the group left, but Bonnie, who had just met up with us having got food on the way, stayed around to see the building at night and we chatted while I took photos as the sun started to set.

It took a long time to get any good shots because there were people all over it, but eventually the numbers thinned out and I asked the last few to move for a little while. They were so angry that when I managed to drop a filter and lens cap, they forced their children to help me look for them in the dark, on their hands and knees in the dew-soaked grass, in some sort of backwards act of revenge.

This is an earlier shot while it was still infested.

Once it was dark we made our way back to the hostel and I went to bed so I could get up at 5am in time for the sunrise.

I managed ten past, which wasn’t bad considering how little sleep I’ve had so far. I walked down to the Mall and was struck by how many people there were sleeping on the streets, in many cases with very few clothes. I suppose the climate at this time of year means that’s the sensible way of doing things. Other than the homeless there was hardly anyone about, and the Mall was very pleasant. It’s nice to see things a little differently.

I took some shots of the monument and carried on to the Lincoln Memorial. I was talking to the policemen who were at the top about the view and how I was disappointed that the Reflecting Pool had been dug up and one of them pointed out that I was witnessing history; it’s unlikely that this will happen again for a seriously long time, if ever again. It’s a good way of looking at it, I suppose. There have been a few other things which have been under repair that I’ve not been too bothered by, but I was really looking forward to seeing the view of the monument with the pool in the foreground. If this is anything to go by there’ll be scaffolding holding up the Grand Canyon.

As I made my way back to the hostel for breakfast I came across more and more joggers and rapidly increasing levels of traffic. I’ve always enjoyed watching big cities ‘wake up’ in the morning. After breakfast, Bonnie and I caught the metro to Arlington National Cemetery via the Post Office so she could send some belongings off. Now Bonnie was just over 6kg (and $100) worse off we proceeded to Arlington. Speaking of the metro, Bethesda did a really good job. No sign of the ghouls though.

Shortly after we arrived, Bonnie and I parted ways so I could do some photography and she could write in her journal. The weather was glorious from an ‘I’m on holiday in America and I want warm sunshine’ point of view, but sadly not so good in terms of photos. Still, I did what I could. Arlington is almost beautiful until you remember what it is and then it feels a bit like you’ve been punched in the chest. The graves seem to go on forever. I had a look round Arlington House, but I didn’t stay at the Kennedy grave and eternal flame for long because all of the people there reminded me of vultures.

At the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier, I watched the changing of the guard and a wreath laying ceremony. The honor guard (sic) must be incredibly hot in all that gear.

After a little more time at Arlington I went for some food and then came home to book some accommodation. Here I was introduced to the somewhat interesting concept of an enquiry regarding availability being treated as a cast-iron booking. I e-mailed back to changed my dates just because I could. And because I wanted another night.

After that I spent a little while debating whether to go on the hostel pub crawl or go out to do some more photography and guarantee that I could get up in the morning. I decided I would socialise because I can photograph monuments any night but the pub crawl, a good opportunity to meet some more people, would only happen once while I was here.

After a great deal of delays and faffing around, we caught the bus to Dupont Circle. It’s very surreal stepping off a bus and almost immediately recognising the place you’ve arrived at even though you’ve neither been there nor seen a picture of it. That’s even more the case when you find that you’re cursing yourself for forgetting your pip-boy and scanning the horizon for super mutants and centaurs.

Obviously I met a lot of people, but I’m not going to list them here. This has nothing to do with the fact that I can’t remember all of their names. We went to a bar, supposedly for an hour, and left over two hours later. We had a sneaking suspicion the guide received a cheeky back-hander when we left, but we were having fun so it didn’t really matter. The next place we went to was a bit of a dive so a group of us left for a bar we’d passed on the way there. We spent a while discussing whether or not three bars really constitutes a crawl, but maybe the Americans do things differently. Besides, that was nowhere near as shocking as the girl who had been in a wheelchair all night walking around when she came to say goodbye to everyone .

After a lot of terrible music mixed in with the occasional gem, I left wondering how the capital city of the USA could be five years behind the UK in terms of the music played in their drinking establishments. It’s a good job the Americans have better town-planners than us though, or I would have been seriously lost on my walk back to the hostel. Who needs a map when the streets are literally grid-references!?

Post-script: I apologise to those of you who haven’t played Fallout 3 for the apparent non sequitur laced throughout this post. If it’s any consolation there are nowhere near as many as there were to begin with.

Post-post-script: I hereby rescind my apology. If you’ve not played Fallout 3, you don’t deserve one.

O! say does that star-spangled banner yet wave o’er the land of the free and the home of the brave?

I boarded the bus to Baltimore not really knowing what to expect. It turns out that (at least some) American buses are seriously comfortable and spacious. Leg room for days. I sat down, relaxed, and was about to put in my earphones when the girl next to me ended a phone call to the friend she was about to visit. We started talking and only stopped when some travel sickness drug she’d taken before the journey sent her to sleep for a little while. She wants to be some sort of artist or graphic designer, grows food on the roof of her Manhattan apartment block, and watches an insane amount of obscure foreign films. She also has an old Japanese camera called an Anny-35, which just happens to be how you spell her name. No, not with the number. Moron.

One of the most interesting parts of our conversation was about the motivations behind taking photos on holiday. She said that when she went to Paris she didn’t even take a photograph of the Eiffel Tower, because as she was about to she realised that there were hundreds of people doing the same thing, and that few if any were doing so to admire the architecture, but instead just to show that they had been there, which she thought was motivated by a wish to preserve a part of themselves after they were dead.

I’ve often thought it’s ironic that people can become so concerned with taking photos of where they are and what they’re doing that they end up failing to really experience the memory they’re trying to preserve. As an example, I wonder how many other people stood next to me at the Statue of Liberty noticed how the patina had run down the base to form patterns because they were too busy with their cameras.

Other, rather more light-hearted topics of conversation included American stereotypes of Brits. Apparently we have bad teeth, we like tea, and, oddly, beans.

The guy sat over the aisle from me sounded so much like Jon Favreau that I had to check whether or not it was him on more than one occasion.

Before I knew it I was in Baltimore and had to figure out how to get from the bus stop to the hostel. Before I set off, I said goodbye to Anny and she said she hopes to see me in New York one day. I’d say it’s fairly unlikely we’ll just bump into each other. The map said the hostel was a short walk down a straight road and then a right turn. Hard to get lost, you’re thinking. And you’re right, because I didn’t. But I did sweat quite a lot.

By the time I’d checked in and unpacked it was nearly five o’clock. Considering that I’d had breakfast when I got up at 8:00 before I left for the bus at 12:15 and nothing to eat since, I was absolutely starving. The girl at the desk told me that there was a pub just around the block with reasonably priced food so I headed straight there. It was an Irish bar, and with Guinness only $3.20 a pint it was hard to refuse. While I waited I read some of the Brewers’ Times which had some fairly interesting articles about American beers, including one on the first active brewery in Washington D.C. for around fifty years. As an added bonus, the food was excellent and I got to watch the first half of Napoli v Roma.

Stomach full, I went for a wander to explore and soon found myself down at the inner harbour. Turns out they gave me the wrong dates.

There was a street entertainment act consisting of a man and his daughter riding 6 foot tall unicycles and juggling knives and fire. She was only fourteen, it was the first time she’d done it in public, and she was quite clearly terrified. As I continued my exploration I came across Baltimore Street. It seems to me that if your city is called Baltimore, you should avoid having its eponymous street house a bunch of seedy sex shops, strip clubs, and god knows what else. But what do I know, I’m not a town councilor.

Getting hungry again I went to a nearby 7/11 for some ingredients, cooked some food and, the excitement of the past few days catching up with me, was in bed before midnight. When I got back to the hostel I saw this in the window of the fortune teller next door. Fantastic grammar.

The next day I took advantage of the free pancake breakfast. First I made a small one, but I was still hungry so I went back and cooked an absolutely huge one. Well fueled and ready for an education, I set off towards Fort McHenry, where, in 1812, the Americans repelled the British navy and the next morning Francis Scott Key penned the poem which would eventually be set to the tune of an English drinking song and become the American national anthem.

As the fort was not too far past the harbour I decided to walk there admiring the view and get the water taxi back. As I got a little further out from the inner harbour, the city became very industrial, with lots of derelict housing and disused land scattered about. I pressed on further and eventually came to the entrance to the fort. Inside the centre there’s a history lesson and video about the conflict and the birth of the Star-Spangled Banner, which culminates in the first verse being played as a blind is raised and the fort is revealed through the window behind. Many of the people in the room were singing along fairly vigorously and, as presumably the only Brit in the room, I kept my head down.

If I understood the ranger’s accent correctly, a flag has flown in that spot by presidential decree ever since.

I’ve never really ‘got’ patriotism, but after my visit to the fort and that experience I feel that I understand it more now. A symbol representing the unity of a country in the face of adversity is a powerful thing. I also saw my first REALLY fat American sat outside with a McDonald’s bag big enough to fit me in it.

After some more photos and a brief talk on army kit I decided it was time to return to downtown Baltimore to see what other charms it had to offer. As it turned out, the National Park Service allow people to be dropped there, but not to buy a ticket. Presumably this is to stop people from taking advantage of the free parking. Not having a car, I thought this was a bit unfair and grudgingly prepared to walk back. As luck would have it a bus pulled up just as I reached the gate and I was able to catch that back instead for the princely sum of $1.60. Much better than $10 for the Water Taxi, I’m sure you’ll agree.

After a short walk from the bus stop to the water I felt my stomach rumble and found a place to eat. I was greeted by a host with one of the kindest smiles I’ve ever seen, and all of the staff were incredibly friendly in a genuine way. I felt they’d actually earned a tip so I was fairly generous, and the waitress even came back to make a point of thanking me. The food wasn’t half bad either.

One of the main attractions on the Baltimore harbour is the aquarium. I’m told it’s one of the best in the USA. Then again, for $25 it had better be! I was just in time to see a presentation involving divers feeding rays and sharks in the big pool. It was interesting to see that the rays still had all of their barbs. It certainly seemed like a comprehensive aquarium, with a good range of creatures and well presented exhibits.

I didn’t pay the extra to see the dolphin show, but I imagine the underwater observation was better than the arena in many respects as it allowed me to see the power and grace of these creatures as they leapt from the water and pirouetted just under the surface when they landed.

After the aquarium I visited Edgar Allen Poe’s grave, where I learned he married his first cousin, who died at the age of 24, and he was only 40 when he died.

On the way I saw this. I dread to think what would have happened if one or both of them had woken up.

From there is was a short walk to Baltimore’s Washington Monument before I went back to book more accommodation/transport. It was a good job I got in when I did, because not long after there was a torrential downpour with no warning at all.

I made some food and a lady I’d chatted to briefly insisted I went to sit with her and another girl rather than sit on my own to eat. She is very enthusiastic and outgoing and perhaps a little bit crazy in a perfectly harmless way. She’s planning on putting her energy towards helping young people and that can only be a good thing. I’m not convinced I’m ‘meant’ to help, though. I suppose we will see.

I’d only had a small snack to keep me going until the hostel’s $3 all-you-can-eat pasta & garlic bread. Very tasty. I was having trouble sorting out some of my desired transport and accommodation and getting a little stressed out when a guy in the room who hadn’t been very talkative up until then suddenly asked if anyone was going out. I said I’d come for a pint to take a break and we headed out.

It’s surprising how different Baltimore is in the dark, and even though we’d both spent a day walking around we still managed to get a little bit lost. Still, soon enough we’d made it to the harbour and ‘Power Plant Live’. We had to show ID to get into the area, which involved me pointing out where my date of birth was to a fairly confused bouncer. I also had to remove my bandana. Unfortunately every bar there was the same, and there was a live gig with bands we’d never heard of. The week before Reel Big Fish had played for free. Can’t win them all, I suppose.

After trying a couple of places which were dead and playing shit music we ended up back in the pub I’d eaten at the day before, where we met a very drunk girl from Ohio who had been abandoned by her friends. We left her at the bar and sat at a table to chat. Andrew is from near San Francisco and is taking a trip during his college holiday. He’s been to Chicago, which seems to be highly recommended by everyone, and said he planned to go to Philadelphia next. I said he might have a problem as it was all booked up when I looked and as it turns out I was right, so he’s off to New York earlier than planned instead, before heading north to see a friend. By this point we were both fairly tired (me in particular) so we went back to the hostel to get some sleep.

The next morning I had more free pancakes and seemed to have a bit more luck with route planning, but it’s still not finalised at the time of writing. I realised it was time to check out and packed in a hurry before cooking the last of my food to eat and putting some of the now free pasta from last night in tupperware containers. I’d paid for all I could eat, after all!

It was then time to walk back to the station to catch the train to Washington D.C. The sun came out a little while before I left, so it looks like my weather prediction might be right, as they’re forecast thunderstorms in D.C. for the next few days. At least there are lots of free museums. It does mean I might have to miss out on the early morning photo opportunities though.

The City That Never Sleeps

The hostel I stayed in for that night scored more points by providing a free breakfast which was more than enough to feed five thousand. Take that, Jesus. There was box after box of cereal, gallons of milk, loaves of bread, bananas, oranges, peanut butter, grapes bigger than your head, and more. We had our fill, bemoaning the unfortunate lack of tea and coffee, did our washing up and spotted the tea and coffee. Sadly there was no time, but with the weather looking great I checked out and we set out Downtown. Paul was kind enough to carry my second pack. Our original plan of catching the first ferry wasn’t quite executed successfully, but on hearing that the crown tickets are sold out until October, it didn’t really matter.

Luckily I remembered the penknives in the pack Paul was carrying before we went through the security checks, and I stashed them in a bush before we proceeded. I passed with flying colours, unlike the night before, but I did have to remove the battery from my laptop so the lady could check there were no aliens in there waiting to paint the statue with fluorescent chains. Or something.

She looks like she’s crying.

Someone on MPH needs to get hold of a set of these:

It was good to see the statue, even though by that point the weather was oscillating between very close to rain and glorious sunshine at a fairly alarming rate, but we both agreed that the highlight of the trip was undoubtedly Ellis Island. And not just because it had the room from that scene in Hitch. A set of very well presented exhibitions and a beautifully restored building is a great combination, but the conversation it provokes is also very interesting. Plus it has incredible views of Manhattan.

We had a bit of chuckle at the SWAT team. One was very serious, with one hand on each gun at all times, whilst his two colleagues compared apps on their iPhones.

I’m still not used to the number of guns on show at any one time in America.

As we were getting hungry we boarded the boat back to Manhattan and made for Little Italy, where there is a small bar called Cafe Habana which had been recommended to Paul by his sister after she visited a few years ago. It also came highly recommended in his guidebook, which can go either way. When we arrived it was very busy, and we had to wait a few minutes for a seat. We both ordered the Cuban Sandwich, which had been voted ‘Best Sandwich In New York’ for a few years.

While we were eating a sandwich which completely dominated the BBQ Pork from a few nights ago, we got chatting to the barman. Apparently it wasn’t busy at all, and an hour’s queue is the norm for for most of the day. I guess we were very lucky! He has three jobs including running a not-for-profit art gallery which he’s hoping to expand. Exhibitions have included ten thousand cupcakes hanging from a wall. He invited us to an exhibition taking place the next evening. I declined as I was moving on but Paul said he would go.

For the afternoon we made our way to the American Museum of Natural History. A ‘suggested donation’ of $16 per head seemed a bit steep as we only planned to go for an hour or two and wouldn’t see half of what it had to offer in that time, so we settled on $5. I’ve since learned locals often pay as little as 50c, which seems a little on the cheap side to me. We had a hard enough time getting in because there didn’t seem to be an entrance which lived up to our expectations of grandeur, so eventually we settled on entering from a terrace and making our way to the ticket office from there. We spent a while in the dinosaurs and African mammals section but by this point I was really flagging. We set off so I could check in at my last hostel in New York and drop off the bags.

The guy at the desk was very amused by the fact we were both called Paul, but having had multiple friends and acquaintances with the same name for quite a while now I wasn’t as amazed as he seemed to be. Still, I humoured him, because I didn’t want to be locked out on the streets of New York. With the bags deposited we found our second wind and went in search of a mystical bookshop which opened in the 20s. Unfortunately, and in spite of Paul’s protestations, when we got there we found that it had been overrun by a street of diamond and gold stores.

We made the best of it and tried a comic book store nearby instead, but this one didn’t have the character of Midtown Comics, and its rare collection was far less impressive. As the Rockefeller Center (sic) was close by we went for a visit. The part of the plaza with the gold statue and fountain was closed for a private function, so we let ourselves become distracted by the Lego store close by. And who can blame us when they have things like this?

Post-Lego we took a quick trip to a cathedral a block away before having dinner, parting ways and heading home. If Paul has any luck he’ll be on the receiving end of a phone call from an attractive Italian waitress. If he doesn’t, he’ll be waking up to a horse’s head in his bed!

The next morning I showered and packed so I was ready to leave in good time for my bus. It’s a good job everyone who stays in that hostel is a contortionist or they’d have real trouble managing to sit down on the toilet with the door closed. As I had plenty of time I followed through with my plan to take a quick trip to Grand Central station for a photo opportunity. I’d admired it on the way through to Times Square when I first arrived but hadn’t wanted to stop at the time. With that done, I moved on to a square near the bus stop and sat down for half an hour taking everything in and enjoying the wonderful sunshine. I hope the hallmark of my trip doesn’t become sunshine the day I arrive and leave anywhere and rain or an overcast sky on the days in between.

And so it was time to leave New York. I knew before I started this trip that my rough route would mean there would be things I wouldn’t see, and I couldn’t have been more right. I didn’t even go to Queens or The Bronx, nor did I make it to the Lower East Side as recommended by Jenna at the airport for any length of time. But in spite of that I can honestly say that I don’t feel like I missed anything, even though there was plenty I didn’t see.

Strawberry Fields Forever

After the excitement of the day before, not to mention the gig, I spent a lot of the early part of Sunday taking a very relaxing stroll in central park. The weather was better than the day before but there were only occasional glimmers of sunshine. There are so many iconic images associated with the place it’s hard to list them all. Suffice it to say I saw basically everything I expected aside from drug-dealers and muggers, who, I’m informed, appear at the witching hour. The relaxed pace of the park is a welcome change from the hectic streets just moments away.

I took a quick stroll through Strawberry Fields. It was a lot more interesting than the area by the Dakota.

A little later on, I stumbled across my second wedding photography session. (I forgot to mention the people near the Brooklyn Bridge in the rain a last time). Another thing I forgot to mention was the amazing bouncy seat underneath the driver on the bus from the airport. I was a little concerned that had he had to brake suddenly after going over a bump his legs would have been too far away.

I also saw 5th Avenue closed off by the Police for the Puerto Rican day parade which was fairly disappointing all in all. Having said that, they all seemed to be enjoying themselves. After a little more time back in Central Park, I took a brief stroll into the outskirts of Harlem before heading back to the hostel to meet Matty and Kieran for the evening.

When I got there, there was a new face in the room. I introduced myself and I’d just met Max, an Australian gap student who was taking a break from his school in Scotland to work at Camp America for the summer. As the others hadn’t yet arrived back we chatted for a while and I invited him to come along with us. When they came back, Kieran in particular was vocal about his appreciation for the Hooters bar they had just been to. After a short while exploring parts of Manhattan, we ended up there for our evening meal. The photograph of him grinning whilst sandwiched between two twins wearing very little had nothing to do with it.

Walking into the bar was like an assault on the senses. Aside from the obvious scantily clad girls, there were TVs everywhere. In England, it often seems like you have to struggle to see a screen depending on where you’re sitting. In this bar, it is impossible to look anywhere else. Apart from at the waitresses. With a combination of the waitress’ hilarious look of horror when Max requested a side salad, large frosted glasses of flavourless Guinness, and the NBA finals on the TV, along with miscellaneous whoops and cheers from all corners of the bar when points were scored, we all agreed we were very much ‘in America’. As an aside, if you’re too young to drink over here, under no circumstances should you listen to the waitress when she tells you that root beer tastes like ginger beer and order this in lieu of a nice cold coke. If you don’t believe me, just ask Max.

When we were fed and watered we decided to show Max Times Square at night. When we arrived, we were a little surprised to see it full of people until we realised they were broadcasting the Tony awards live on one of the screens. I would like an explanation as to why anyone needs a Footlocker to remain open at half ten on a Sunday night.

After spending a little while longer here and hunting in vain for a bar which looked like fun we went back to the Hostel, talked for a few minutes, agreed we were all tired and went to bed.

The next day, Matty and Kieran were due to fly to New Zealand and I also had to check out and move to my second hostel. We all got up at eight for breakfast, and those of us who were leaving packed and had a quick look on the internet before stashing our bags and heading out for some more fun. At this point, the guys discovered that their flight to NZ was cancelled because of the ash cloud in Chile. Strangely, the last time we’d spoken at the time of writing they’d been told they could fly to LA as planned, then to Australia and on to New Zealand, which seems ludicrous to me.

When they’d got over the shock, we went to Midtown Comics. Superman #2 for $2300, anyone? (No flash, for obvious reasons, so the picture’s a bit dark) Sadly no one was up for my suggestion of all chipping in and sharing the issue Simpsons style.

After a while agonising over purchases (some as presents and some for ourselves), we decided we were hungry and went for food. Two slices of pizza may not sound like a lot, but when the slices are roughly the size of a small pizza, it’s sure to fill you up. It helps that it was some of the best pizza I’ve ever tasted, and sitting in the middle of Times Square can’t have hurt.

By now time was pressing so we returned to the hostel to prepare to leave. Not knowing how the internet would be where I was going I booked accommodation for my next few nights and the relevant transport to my next stop. A little while after that it was time to say goodbye to Matty & Kieran and wish them good luck with the rest of their trip. I think we were all a bit disappointed that we wouldn’t be able to spend more time together on our travels and hopefully we’ll all follow through on our plans to meet up in the UK. The sun came out just before they left so Max and I stayed out in the street talking.

All of a sudden he was distracted by something behind me and calling out ‘Miranda’. At first I thought maybe he’d contracted some sort of tropical disease until I remembered he’d mentioned meeting a girl at the US embassy when they were getting their visas. She’d somehow stalked him through the CCU organisers and they’d been e-mailing for a while. Sure enough, there she was, accompanied by her friend Megan. They had tickets for the Yankees game that night and wanted to explore some of Harlem beforehand. As we had nothing else planned for the immediate future Max and I went along. Within five minutes we were reminded why women should never be allowed near maps.

On the topic of stereotypes, Harlem. That is to say, a gentleman in a wheelchair broadcasting hip-hop on a ghetto-blaster, watermelon stands on the side of the road, more fried chicken joints on one street than I’d seen in the whole of Manhattan, and, although I missed this particular nugget, a young man with a comb embedded in his afro.

I need a haircut.

Miranda and Megan hadn’t eaten so they treated themselves to a wonderful pay-per-lb selection of questionable looking dishes including plantation banana (sweet) and candied yam (very sweet). Not long after that they realised their summer clothes wouldn’t be warm enough for the evening and, having brought nothing warm, decided to go shopping. That didn’t really take our fancy, so Max and I caught the subway and said our goodbyes as I headed to my new hostel in Brooklyn.

After walking a block from the station I started to wonder about the neighbourhood, but in all honesty I think that was more a case of pre-conceptions based on things I’d heard rather than what I was actually seeing. Inside the hostel everything was fine, and they recognised my reservation immediately which scores them points right off the bat. As I entered my room I was struck by the contrast with the last one. Both were clean and well kept, but this one was massive in comparison. Added to that, I was soon to discover that I had a single bed rather than a bunk.

I was soon talking to another Paul who had arrived just a little while before I had. He lives in (and loves) London, and was over for his cousin’s communion in Detroit and had then spent a while in Canada getting eaten alive by mosquitos and chopping wood with a blunt axe. Having had no transfer planned from JFK to the main city he was lucky enough to be offered a lift by the man sat next to him on the plane. A little while later he was a passenger in a DB9 which pulled into a very expensive looking car park in Greenwich Village. It was about 7pm when I arrived, and as there was a gym over the street we went to see how much it would be for a single session before finding some food, but $15 was a little too much so we went on to Little Italy for a fantastic meal. As we wandered the streets and thought of things to do for the evening, we stumbled across the thought that New York probably looks pretty cool from the top of the Empire State Building. We couldn’t have been more wrong. Because it looks like this:

And ‘pretty cool’ is clearly a country mile away from doing that any kind of justice at all. It’s just a shame the building itself is a little large me to take with me, because it played the role of a fairly effective tripod. So, having just ‘nipped to the gym’, we made our way home about five hours later, meeting a very entertaining individual on the subway on the way. He claimed to:

• be a producer
• date a super model
• routinely pay $1000+ dollars to get into clubs
• develop property.

A Google search on his advice has so far showed up nothing, although I admit it was fairly rushed.

I’d like to take this opportunity to state that in my experience, the NY subway felt very safe even after midnight. There were still buskers, and the volume of people wasn’t much less than some trains during the day. As for a few hours later? I can’t say, because we got to bed at about 1am and set an alarm for 6.30 to get up in time for the first ferry to the Liberty and Ellis Islands in the morning.

My family’s in Cornwall, I’m in New York?

It’s the morning of my second full day in America and I’m pretty exhausted. But in a good way.

The flight was fairly uneventful. I never thought I’d get bored watching films, but I managed it. I chose The Mechanic, The Fighter, and The Eagle because I didn’t want to watch a ‘proper’ film on the tiny screen in front of me with fairly poor sound and visibility. Still, it passed the time. I’m glad I got an aisle seat because my legs started to feel it by the end of the flight.

We arrived in New York a little bit early and I met a couple of people over here for Camp America while we were waiting to go through immigration. They had a booking for this hostel and I’ve bumped into one of them so far. I caught the airport express bus from JFK to Grand Central. You can’t really get away with calling a bus express if it takes forty minutes to tour the terminals before it even leaves for the city, but the grumpy Irish man in front of me was being a bit too much of a dick about it all. I was just enjoying the 29 degree sunshine and feeling glad that I’d arrived. I got talking to a girl called Jenna in the queue who is over here visiting friends and she recommended a couple of places to check out and I may well do that later today.

Everything had been going fairly well up until this point, but once I got to Grand Central they took a slight turn for the worse. I tried to buy a $29 metro pass on one of my pre-paid cards and it wasn’t accepted. Then I bought one with cash, used it, tried to use it again, and it wouldn’t work. I’ve since used the pre-paid card and it’s fine, and someone staying here tells me that there is an 18 minute period after swiping a metrocard until you can use it again, but as I didn’t know this at the time, I decided I would start walking and worrying. I emerged out of the Subway at Times Square. It’s fairly hard to describe the sensation so I’m just going to cop out and say that everything keeps going up. Any ideas I had about New York being a bit ‘big’ didn’t quite prepare me for how vast everything is.

I had a bit of a stroll down Broadway to 34th Street before deciding I should probably get checked in and have some food, and started walking back up Broadway towards my hostel. Over 50 blocks later, I arrived dripping with sweat with very uncomfortable shoulders. I may have brought too much stuff. Why didn’t I get a taxi, you ask? Well, after I’d walked a certain distance, I started reasoning that because I’d already walked this far, I may as well just carry on. Next time I think I’ll just spring for the cab.

At this point I was tired, warm, uncomfortable, and worried about my card and metro ticket. So it didn’t help that the hostel had no record of my reservation. After a few anxious minutes I was told that there had been an error at their end and I was only charged for two days instead of three because of the inconvenience, which I think is known as a result. There was no one else in the room when I arrived so I deposited my belongings and went to get some food. There’s a small takeaway just over the street. I thought the prices seemed a little steep until I saw the size of the portions. It was then that I realised I’d somehow lost my sunglasses. Day 1 – 0 Paul.

When I got back to the hostel were a couple of Argentinians but we didn’t talk for long because only one of them spoke English well enough to converse. They were packing to leave, and he asked me if I thought he’d have trouble getting the tin after tin of fudge he was cramming into his suitcase through customs. If that’s all he was worried about I’m sure he’ll have been fine.

A little later on two more room mates got in. They are a couple of guys from England, Matty and Kieran, who are doing a mini trip round the world. We went down to the hostel’s gathering for our two free beers. Interesting flavour, to say the least. There were a couple of crazy Australians there (which ones aren’t) who were flying around the States and everyone decided to go to a club, but I was so tired I stayed in for an early night. Having been up for over 24 hours. I tried to get online to let everyone know I was here and so on, but sadly I’m having issues with the wifi in the hostel.

When I woke up the next morning, the weather looked a bit disappointing. Overcast and gloomy, but still quite humid. I had breakfast from the hostel cafe and set off to find a phone. A few minutes later, and I was the proud owner of my very own US cell phone. I gave Will a call to let him know I was here and see when we should meet up but he didn’t answer. It was early so I gave him the benefit of the doubt and headed out to see some sights.

I started off downtown and headed for Ground Zero. At the moment it’s basically a very busy construction site to get the memorial ready in time for the 10th anniversary this September. I don’t want to sound pessimistic, but I’m not convinced it’ll be done in time. I may call in at the end of my trip to see how much progress they’ve made. It’s hard to conceptualise the fact that there were two towers almost twice the size of the surrounding skyscrapers, which themselves were slightly hidden by clouds at the top, but at the same time it’s easy to picture the scale of destruction and how utterly terrifying it must have been to have been anywhere near the site when the attacks took place and the towers collapsed.

After a few minutes’ contemplation, I walked down to the waterfront and along the river bank to see the Statue of Liberty in the distance. I wouldn’t mind going over there, but yesterday there would have been no point. There was so much cloud cover the view wouldn’t really have been worth seeing. Not that the boatloads of people travelling over there were deterred.

Around the ferry port there are lots of street entertainers and I watched a few, including some break dancers/acrobats, one of whom cleared five people bent over in a line with a front flip. Impressive stuff, to say the least. A little further along there was a small stage with a band playing to a few spectators. It was fairly middle of the road radio-friendly rock and I started to leave after a couple of songs until the violinist started busting out an absolute face-melter. I hung around until they started the Michael Jackson cover.

Just a short walk North and I spotted the Native American museum. I didn’t expect the airport-style security measures, and I managed to set off the alarm with my belt. The building which houses the collections, an old customs house, is a work of art in itself. Unlike this photo of it, which is very much off-centre.

There were some very interesting pieces, including an entire section on the development of the horse’s importance to the Native Americans, but the highlight, without a doubt, was the private gallery of glass-blown pieces by an individual whose name escapes me. I had no idea glass-blowing could yield such incredible things. Unfortunately photography wasn’t allowed, but when I have a better internet situation I will find out who it is and let you all know so you can share in the awesome. Or you can use Google and find out for yourself.

A little further up, I saw this guy. Very cool, if you ask me.

It was roughly at this point that it started to rain on and off. It was only a bit of drizzle so I didn’t let it bother me. From there I walked up to Wall Street. That is one big flag.

I’m not going to go through the rest of the afternoon in this much detail, partly because it started to rain more so I took fewer photos, but I do have to mention this:

If a street blocked by a row of black cars with blacked-out windows isn’t stereo-typically American action film, try the FBI/Secret Service types with their ear pieces telling everyone to move on in a fairly abrupt manner, before some woman and a bunch of men decorated with medals cross the pavement and get in to the cars before they wheel-spin off with lights flashing and sirens blaring.

I spent the next hour or two walking down to Brooklyn Bridge (where I got soaked, because it really started to rain) and then went back up to the Empire State Building and the New York Public Library. The ESB is seriously tall.

That’s at 18mm from across the street, and even if the cloud weren’t in the way I’m not convinced the whole thing would have fit in the frame. Again, I’d have liked to go up there, but with the weather as it was it would have been a waste of time and money. There’s always the next couple of days.

Around this time Will and I organised getting together so I caught the train out to Brooklyn. It was a bit surreal seeing him here but it was great to catch up. We’d not long been at his apartment when he told me there was a free gig at the waterfront by some band he hadn’t heard of so we went down to see if we could get in. After a quick frisking, we headed to the beer tent and I was introduced to the fantastic concept of buying a ticket to exchange for a drink. At $6 for a tiny drink I only bought a couple, but when you consider the gig was free, I can’t really argue.

Another of Will’s friends, Myles, was there and we met up with him. The band were his favourite (he’d gone so far as to have their logo tattooed on his arm) and he was seriously hyped. After a little while, they spotted a guy they’d met in a bar the night before by the name of Breno, and he came to watch the show with us as well. They started with a 30 minute acoustic set before playing the entirety of their first album and then a 45 minute encore. Watching a band play a free open air gig and being able to look over your shoulder to see Manhattan at night time is, quite simply, fucking awesome.

By now you’re probably wondering who the band was.

If the hair and guitar didn’t give it away, that’s Claudio from Coheed & Cambria. It was the last date of their tour and they’d decided to play for free in their home city. Support was provided by one Adrian Belew. Fucking. Win.

After that we grabbed a BBQ pork sandwich, which was one of the best sandwiches I have ever eaten, before going back to Will’s to have a beer on the roof and look out across the city. He treated us to a rather endearing version of the classic football anthem ‘ENGERLAND’ and before long we’d joined in. I did not think I would ever be able to say I had sung football related songs on the roof of an apartment block in Brooklyn.

We were supposed to be meeting up with Breno to go to a party but he had already gone on ahead. We managed to get very lost and ended up going to a bar Will knew. I shared a cab back to Manhattan with Myles and got to bed at about 4 this morning.

That awkward moment when you walk through security at an airport

I’m currently sat in the departures lounge at Heathrow Terminal 3. It’ll be a couple of hours until I know which gate I need to be at so I’m taking the opportunity to do some more blog and getting tempted by the WHSmith Bookshop over my right shoulder and the myriad of eateries in front of me.

I don’t think 4:30 am ever felt so tolerable as it did this morning. I ate breakfast (craftily prepared the night before), drank coffee and showered. Then I turned off my second alarm, which probably woke up the people in the next room because it went off while I was in the shower and it took me a while to figure out what the noise was when I got out. So, in the incredibly unlikely even that you ever read this, I’m very sorry if the idiot in room 509’s alarm woke you up.

After that it was a quick check-out (left room key-card next to mountain of other room key-cards) and back on the bus to Terminal 5. £4.50 each way seems a bit steep, but I suppose it has to be better than walking. It turns out I could have spent a bit longer in bed because I got to the check-in desk a good fifteen minutes before it opened. So I sat. And waited. For about half an hour. Until it opened. Still, the staff were nice enough, and the lady on the desk told me that because I was clearly such a ‘rad dude’, I’d be able to take both my bags on as hand luggage. So much for my worries about one of the bags being overweight. It was only when I was about to go through security I realised I had a knife/fork/spoon camping thing in the bag I’d planned to check. Not quite so rad after all, and back to the desk for me. No queue though, which was a bonus.

I did the obligatory browse of everything in WHSmiths before buying a magazine, drank as much of my water as I could manage and threw the bottle and remaining water in the ‘liquids’ bin, because that’s how I roll.

The thought has just occurred to me that this bit of the blog might be quite interesting for anyone who’s never flown before, but everyone else is probably screaming ‘GET TO THE BIT WHERE THE POLICEMAN WITH THE MP5 GUNNED DOWN THE TERRORIST RIGHT BEFORE YOUR EYES’ .

I’m afraid I’ll have to disappoint you, but if you read on you will learn of one lady’s nervous moments as a result of a potentially lethal everyday household item.

-NEWSFLASH- I’ve just been interrupted by a woman asking for help with a phone charger/travel adaptor scenario and she asked me if I knew how they work. I’ve never wished I’d paid more attention in Physics in my life.

And back to your regularly scheduled programming…

Security was fairly straightforward aside from basically unpacking my bag and pockets into one of those black tray things because of all the electrical devices I have with me. Not particularly great, because I imagine if anyone dishonest was kicking about I’d have just painted a great big target on my back. Then again, I’m now sat here typing this, so I’m hardly being subtle. But I was all nice and let people go in front of me and stuff. Besides, the girl just across from me is using a Mac, so she’s clearly target number one for the thieves.

After that came that terrifying moment when you walk through the metal detector and pray for two things:

1. Your nipple piercing doesn’t set it off.
2. While you were sleeping, no one secretly operated on you and fitted you with a Wolverine-style adamantium skeleton.

Or maybe that’s just me. Does anybody else find themselves wincing ever so slightly as they walk through?

I got through without event, and on the other side I set about re-packing my belongings. I looked up when I heard those heart-stopping words ‘who does this bag belong to?’ Apparently a woman had bought a lot of souvenirs, and matey wanted to find out where she’d been. After a brief rifle through her pack, he walked away for a little while and the woman was left telling her husband that it must have been the metal photo-frame which set it off. Makes sense to me, of course. Those 6×9″ photo frames are at the forefront of covert weapons technology. The reality, though, wasn’t much less ridiculous. It turns out that a small bar of soap is enough to worry a middle-aged woman into an early grave.

I thought I was going to have to stop there -numerous cheers-, but I found a plug here that actually works -numerous groans- so I’m going to carry on for a bit. I’m now guarding it with my life because it seems to be the only one anywhere that works and I’d quite like to have a fully-charged computer for the flight. Drinking all that water was a big mistake. I can see the old lady in the garish cardigan eyeing it up from here.