I M P R E S S I O N S

15 May 2006, 11:06 AM (EST): 4:06 PM (GMT)
     It’s strange to be going back to America. I feel distant and disconnected from it, having lived in Britain for so long, but it still feels like coming home. I could do without the customs/immigration ordeal we have to go though, but once released into the general population, I know I’ll be driving down the Interstate feeling like I've just woken up from a long dream.
     It will be good to see the country at street level again, to reconnect, not only with friends and family, but with the culture, to reacquaint myself with the real America--the land of ease and convenience, filled with genuinely nice people who hardly ever want to kill you--not the malignant ogre the world press makes us out to be.

I wrote the above on the plane. Rather ironic considering what happened later (but I promised not to talk about that). I’m safely back in England now, relaxing and reminiscing about my trip:

America, for the most part, is all I remember it to be. Kennedy Airport, I am sad to say, is not. Compared to the European airports I have grown used to, Terminal 8 is a toilet (which clues you in to the state of their toilets; my wife refused to go into one because there was so much blood on the floor). The waiting lounges are cramped, there aren’t enough seats, the eating and shopping options are paltry and there are no windows anywhere. I was glad to escape into the carbon monoxide and gridlock of New York.

JFK's Terminal 8, not exactly Gatwick

Driving in America is wonderful. Even in a traffic jam I had more space around me than you can find in the average British lawn. And cruising down the wide lanes of a rural interstate with the lush landscape rolling out to eternity in front of you, the AC cranked up and a cool beverage in one of the many beverage holders, why, there’s no feeling quite like it.

Ah, the open road.

The building has all the architectural charm of a crematorium,
but what a front entrance! 

The Cabela's near my cousin’s house in Pennsylvania is, I am told, the second most popular tourist attraction in the state next to the Liberty Bell. That’s amazing, but not as amazing as Cabela's. I’ve bought stuff from their catalogue before, but I never knew they put up amusement parks and disguised them as sporting goods stores. They were bussing school children in for field trips. Only in America could rampant capitalism be a considered an educational experience.

And what a foyer!

This should give the kiddies nightmares.

What could be more American that a huge rack of guns?

Kutzville, PA, where time stands still.

We had breakfast at the Letterman Diner, a genuine bit of Americana. I always look forward to breakfast there—a nice big American omelet with a side of scrapple and, if you’re lucky, a fried sticky bun. We weren’t lucky this time (they were out of buns), but we didn’t go away hungry. 

There is nothing like an authentic American diner,
let's hope they all don't disappear.

I am glad to see that the economic outlook for traffic cone manufacturers is bright. We drove for miles along one-track interstates lined with orange cones only come across a single truck with a flashing yellow light or a lone man leaning on a shovel.

Lots of cones, no one working.

In New York State, we found nearly all of the State’s police force (we call ‘em Troopers there, buddy) hiding behind bushes next to the interstates. The rest of them were at Olana, a remarkable mansion I had told my wife about and which she wanted to tour. There were dozens of police cars in this bucolic setting. It made me want to go out and rob a jewelry store; it wasn’t like anyone was going to catch me. And the exotic mansion my wife had waited two years and traveled 3,000 miles to visit? It was closed.

Olana, popular gathering place for NYS Troopers.

While refueling and buying snacks for yet another road-trip, my wife pointed out the Hershey Bar section and noted that she had never tried one. So we bought a milk chocolate and one of the dark ones. Now, I have to say, I was weaned on Hershey's chocolate. I discovered good chocolate in my adult life but my memories of Hershey's was of something bland, but serviceable. Either the recipe has changed or having access to European chocolate has spoiled my taste buds, but those chocolate bars were appalling! They were bland, yet had the most annoying, cloying flavor. Perhaps I've lived in England too long.

I notice you Americans still have a tendency to plow up huge tracts of land in order to build Home Depots or Wal-Marts the size of commercial aircraft hangers, making no effort whatsoever to make them look like anything beyond a scar on the landscape. Then, when they go out of business, instead of reusing the buildings, you abandon them and build new hangar-sized buildings next to them. I know it’s tempting to believe, in such a huge country, that your land and resources are limitless; trust me, they are not.

Putting up another Wal-Mart.

For people from the UK, shopping in the US, even in high-end boutiques, is like shopping in the bargain store.

"Twenty quid!"

Even though, no matter where you are on earth, you can’t really see very far into the distance, being in America seems to surround you with a pervasive sensation that you are in a humongous country; it just feels big.

Oh, beautiful, for spacious skies . . 

We were traveling on a budget, so the Super 8 motel chain was our residence of choice. I don't mind staying in chain hotels; mostly they provide a clean room, comfortable bed and a bathroom with all of the amenities and are generally in neighborhoods where you aren't afraid you'll be mugged. Syracuse was like this. The Super 8 was in a fetching setting, with a Comfort Inn on one side, an Extended Stay America on the other and a Rudy Tuesday's across the street. The room was inviting and the amenities, if not luxurious, at least very nice.

Clean, convenient,  comfortable and safe.

The Super 8 in Albany, however, looked like a crime scene. It is the type of place where you wouldn't be surprised to see a door frame splintered from being kicked in by a cop or jealous husband and criss-crossed with yellow tape.

I wouldn't walk my pit bull here after dark.

I realize comparing the amenities of one Super 8 over another is like recommending the food at a particular Burger King, but if you're ever in the Albany area, stay at the Days Inn instead.

As a final note in this section: it came as a surprise to me to notice, about halfway through the vacation, that I was converting dollars into pounds in order to determine how much things actually cost. Also, US-style dates tend to confuse me now, and, in my own hometown, I kept telling people I met that I was from England. I guess I really have gone native.

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