Las Vegas - Day 1 to Day 3

Only 5 hours away from Flagstaff, Las Vegas sits in the Nevada desert like an anemone in the middle of bleached corral. The waving tendril buildings can sting, or provide a haven for those with the money to pay for their protection. One word that might suffice to describe the Vega strip is majestic, not the glory of Richard the Lionheart, but the posturing pretence of John the Pretender. There’s nothing actually false about Vegas; all the sculptures, the grandeur, and splendour and light, they are as authentic as the cultures they allude to. Recreations of New York, the Eiffel tower, whole rollercoasters... it was all well-made and epic, but after a day of wandering round, the soul of the place seemed lacking since everything, all the artistry, all the industry, is designed for one thing: making money. It doesn’t help that the strip is crowded with leafletters and newspaper bins dispensing pornography. I don’t have a problem with it per say, but like all you can eat buffets, you can have too much of a good thing.

The shops in the Venetian, the MGM Grand, the Bellagio etc. were fun to explore. The tech store in Venetian had all-sorts, a massage chair, a laser-based music system and there was a huge collection of classic cars in the Imperial Palace. We spent more time in the arcade in Circus Circus than on any of the casino floors. Most of the casinos have some exhibition of one sort or another, my favourites being the photography exhibits in the Bellagio and the Venetian. A book of the photos costs $175, had it been $80 I would have definitely bought one. There was one shot, a 4 hour exposure of circumpolar stars above an old Vietnamese boathouse, which took 6 months to perfect.

It’s possible that it was inspired partly by the artistry in those landscapes, perhaps it was the fact I’ve been dying to get my hands on a macro lens for ages, whatever the reason I spent $280 on a couple of lens and a circular polarizing filter. I was an impulse buy, a macro lens with a coupled fisheye/wide-angle lens. What I’ll use the fisheye for remains to be seen, I just know that it’s incredibly cool and my camera looks ludicrously professional with it stuck on the end (think Jack Sparrow in the ‘most awesome telescope competition’ in At World’s End). It’s a shame that the most appropriate subject for the lens was the Grand Canyon we’d already left behind.

Overall it was fun, but really not my thing. In the end, the only bet I made was for the chance of winning at air hockey against Barry. I changed a $20 bill into quarters for the arcades and used almost nothing... getting rid of that change is going to take ages.

The Grand Canyon - Day 1

36 hours, thirty-six hours... that’s how long a bus trip on Greyhound takes from New Orleans, Louisiana, to Flagstaff, Arizona. Remembering that a 2-hour car journey to Suffolk when I was little, I’m somewhat surprised that 36 hours didn’t have me running up and down the aisle and sprinting around the intervening stations. Perhaps I’ve grown up (*ah*).

Even though I did survive the trip, my legs could have received a health insurance claim from my rear on the basis that long legs like mine make it extremely awkward to sleep on a bus: to be comfortable, there needs to be good blood flow and that means actually having room to extend my legs and that’s just not gonna happen. Also, I like to tuck my legs up or brace them against something when I’m on my side... when I’m sitting up, all that does is give me cramps in my legs and a numb bum.

Once we got there, close to 11 PM we were presented with the single most unpleasant person we had yet met. The attendant at the hostel refused to accept the deposit we’d paid online, refused to change the room or the fee as we’d discussed on the phone and when I made my case in what I’d describe as logical terms she said she didn’t have time for us... complaints letters and an inquiry from the attorney general are forthcoming. Don’t stay at the Downtown Roadway Inn in Flagstaff, that’s all I can say. I’m still waiting to see whether the payment that she took from the debit account at the same time I was paying the same fee with cash will reverse itself. Somewhat pissed off, we went to bed disgruntled.

There seems to be no end to the meteorological buffet that has been battering my journey round the states. Earthquake, hurricane, hail storm, wildfire, thunder and lightning and a tornado. Actually, the wildfire was up and down the route we took into Texas and we never saw it, and the tornado appeared ten miles south of the Grand Canyon while we were there and never made it up... still, the warning dampened the already rain-drenched compound even further.

The shuttle bus from Flagstaff to the Grand Canyon was $25 each way, with a $6 for the entry fee to the park.  Compared to the price of tours ($60+) it was easily worth it, but we were so close to being left behind. We got there a little late, and missed out on all but one seat... splitting up wasn’t an option so we resigned ourselves to taking the later bus (1 PM rather than 8 AM). However, the angel of mercy descended upon the travellers in the form of the driver, who had made great intercession to the powers that be such that two more persons could fit in the bus.

The Grand Canyon is probably the most dwarfing sight I’ll see in a while. Not content with being so deep that it looks unreal – no amount of depth perception difficulties could negate the sheer size, but the lack somehow removed my vertigo near-completely – the width and length made me think about what the first explorers would have thought... northern Arizona is largely flat, a plain of dry grasses and sparse trees with mountains away in the distances. Then, all of a sudden, a crack like the biggest Earth wrinkle you could imagine severs the link between north and south, the only means to cross being by air or by foot. Airplane and helicopter tours are expensive and there wasn’t the time for climbing down and camping in the canyon, we were only there for the day, leaving on the 6:15 PM shuttle.

What the 8 hours afforded was a trip up to Yaki point on the complimentary shuttle buses within the park itself, a walk around a few miles of the rim and an hour or so on the Bright Angel Trail. Yaki point is the most easterly drop-off on the orange shuttle route, a cliff edge that sharpens to a point overlooking a vast expanse of the canyon... the poor weather, light rain and that got heavier as the lightning approached, had encumbered the canyon with a light-scattering mist, occluding the brilliance of the stratified pillars and walls on the opposite side. There were layers of red and yellow, a dressing of green from the trees clinging to the inclines, some growing slanted at the rocks beneath had shifted over time. Larger groupings of layers were separated by mini cliffs and ridges part way down the walls of the canyon with large shifts of colour as they approached the harmless trickle of the Colorado River – a brown dirt-ridden ghost of the leviathan that in time prehistoric must have carved the chasm to begin with.

Walking along the rim provided endless new viewpoints on the gully’s passive beauty. In contrast to the roaring might of the Niagara Falls, the Grand Canyon is a silent screaming mouth in the Earth. Sound is eaten by those lips as you throw your voice over the edge, dulled by the inhuman vastness. It wasn’t until we attempted to descend the canyon that the scale became tangible. Walking down for a good forty minutes, we barely made it down the first ridge below the rim. From the path – lined with stones and branches to make safe what could easily be deadly – we could see how little we could see. The path wound back and forth, hugging tight to the drop, scouting through arches and swift bends. The time we had left was too little to go more than maybe a tenth of the way down, as much as I wanted to see how the mouth would close around me at the bottom I was grateful for the relenting sun, setting away from the clouds: as we climbed again, the light chased us along the wall, threatening to lift the damp cool that made the climb easy, and along the floor of the canyon, finally, the vibrant brilliance of the drying rock spawned a rainbow that radiated up and out of the canyon itself – the canyon was sticking out its tongue.

Departing before sunset (something I will have to see in the future), we had a Thai dinner with some excellent plum wine and waited at the station for the bus out for Vegas.

New Orleans - Day 1 to Day 3

If there’s one stop-over on this trip that pales to insignificance as compared to the rest it is the three nights we spent in New Orleans. Were Barry to write this post I imagine it would be quite different. New Orleans is bound to look a little different if you don’t spend two of the three days in a warm bed, in a private room, with Spicy Chipotle Cheese Ritz Crackers and a tub of Philadelphia, and wifi. The trip to New Orleans took about 24 hours and the hostel (AAE Bourbon House, the best hostel so far by miles) had a pick-up service meaning we were ready to hit the bars almost immediately.

There was a great Mexican restaurant a few blocks down from the hostel, and a great mojito cocktail and Flying Burrito therein. After dinner we caught a cab out the Spotted Cat in the French district and wandered around with the guys and girls from the hostel looking for the best live music. We shouldn’t have strayed. A classic swing band brought the period photographs of the Spotted Cat to life... staring at the frames on the walls, you could swear that you were falling back in time (and if imagination wasn’t sufficient I suppose a wander down an alley or a linger on a street corner would have produced some medicinal aid).

The feeling of the group died at about half-midnight. After a taxi back I still hadn’t seen more of New Orleans than my tired eyes had made out in the shuttle bus from the Greyhound station. Seemingly resolute in my desire to shield myself from experience I spent the next two days indulging in food and blog writing and calling home and making soppy calls to Petunia.

I actually don’t regret it. After two weeks on the road, some me-time was exactly what I needed. There’s plenty in New Orleans I’d like to see – actually going to Bourbon Street, seeing the museums, seeing the remains of the Katrina damage – but it’ll have to be another time.

Florida - Day 1 to Day 4

The plan in Florida was to collect a car from the car rental in Tampa, spend that day with a friend of Barry's, drive over to the east coast and then boondock at a Walmart; the next day we’d go to the Kennedy Space Centre and after the day there, head down to Miami.

Once at the car rental, Barry had the closest feeling to a numinous experience he’s likely to get before we get to the religious communities of Alabama. We’d splashed out for a premium car on the Enterprise website, expecting a comfortable Buick. When the attendant gave us the option of the plain black Buick vs. a dark blue, arrow-sleek, 5.7 litre Dodge Charger... well, Barry had an expression somewhere between orgasm and winning the lottery. Driving a classic American muscle car around Florida will rate as one of the most awesome experiences of this trip, without a doubt.

  

After picking up the car we went to lunch with Gerald “G-Man” Gold and his wife, at Joe’s Seafood Cafe. Joe’s is a fairly expensive restaurant, typical for seafood I guess, it was the first time I’d had crab and the bibs handed out were a pretty good idea.

From thence we headed to a beach near Clearwater. The clouds had dulled the sun to twilight but the muggy heat permeated through. Rather than cloud-bathe there was a street break-dancing crew that we watched (they had a dance-off between kids and adults selected from the audience, the kids rocked, the adults sucked). The only problem with the beach was parking in the first place... there were plenty of spots going for free, all occupied, and further down the beach the hotels were milking the market at $20 a space. A retinue of spot hunters circled the car parks like vultures. We found a space in a parking garage that was going free at the time because of a grand opening promotion of the shop beneath.

After saying goodbye to Mr & Mrs G, we drove off in the direction of Titusville.

Walmart is a haven to the financially limited driver. For nothing, you can park (in a corner, away from the entrance please) and stay the night. The one draw-back is that we were in Florida. In Florida it’s hot, even in the middle of the night. After snuggling up in my sleeping bag with naught but an inch open on a couple of windows, we slept until about three o’clock... by that time, the accumulated sweat had drenched the inside of the sleeping bag (definitely a bad idea) and doused the windows. The fug didn’t help my already sleep-deprived brain, it took a while to get the command together to ventilate the car, wipe down the sleeping bag and get back to sleep.

Still early enough to feel sleepy but not so early that the sun wasn’t in full force, we set of at about 8 AM for the Kennedy Space Centre. The Kennedy Space Centre turned out to have the feeling more of a sedate theme park than a museum. After handing over a dear $45 – worth every cent in the end – the first thing I saw after the photophobic security was the NASA emblem in the middle of a court. After taking the usual pictures we headed to the rocket park (imagine the result of seeding a few engines in some really good solid fuel, pouring on some gasoline and leaving them to grow), and saw a little bit of a rocket exhibit before heading over to the IMAX theatre.

There were two films we watched back-to-back: Hubble, and the International Space Station. My love of Hubble is well known, I fall more in love with it as I see each new picture, as I fall more in love with Petunia as I get each text that signals one more day has passed before I return to Virginia on the 26^th of September. Seeing the 2D images of Hubble re-rendered in 3D, seeing them tumble into real space, and having the perspective pull apart familiar gas clouds and constellations... it was heart-stopping. Something about the scale of space relative to the scale of humanity, combined with the apparent ease with which human kind has unravelled the workings of the cosmos, brings tears to my eyes when it’s made so clear: stellar nurseries in the Orion Nebula; deep-field images peering into a past so distant that measurements of time and space surpass all comprehension; even the iconic images of the plumes within the Eagle Nebula, autumnal patterned chimneys many light-years tall spewing dazzling stars and smoky trails in livid green and vibrant orange, even those reminded me of the solemn beauty and elegance of the Hubble endeavour... a 13.2 metre long synthesis of 11,110 kg of metals, plastic, ceramics and inorganics, with a little bit of human imagination.

Barry preferred the one about the ISS. I have to admit that the idea of zero-gravity crystals and the wibbly-wobbliness of liquids in space (and probably other things) make the ISS eminently more productive than Hubble in a practical sense (and those videos of water droplets being fed Alka-Seltzer are way cool). Seeing the construction of the station in 3D and the final design flying over the face of the Earth was cool and awe-inspiring.

Besides being humbled* beyond belief, the Space Centre offered a nostalgic blast from the past in the form of multiple Star Trek exhibits. I can say now that my behind has kissed the indentations left by James Tiberius Kirk’s own two buttocks on the captain’s chair of the bridge of the starship Enterprise – it’s a pity my engage warp finger point doesn’t quite measure up.

*Suggestion: I propose the induction of a new word into the lexicon of geekdom. ‘Hubbled’ – v., to be so humbled by the awesomeness of the scale, ingenuity and/or complexity of something to the point of feeling either drastically superior or radically insignificant.

There was lots more to be done than sit around in the captain’s chair all day. A bus tour around the divisions of the shuttle launch procedure – from the 525 ft, one-storey, construction complex, along the crawl-way, up to a viewing platform that overlooked the distant launch platform – also stopped at the Apollo Mission Control exhibit. A full replica of the Apollo 1 mission control room provided credence to a video narrated by Jim Lovell himself detailing what would have been happening therein as the first manned mission in the history of American space flight went through preparation and take-off.

All the talk of the size of the space shuttle and the rockets involved in that and other space flights was grossly insufficient to prepare me for the sight of a full Saturn V rocket, the full 475 ft of knife-edge engineering and science, segmented and suspended on its side inside the next room. Not even the largest rocket in the rocket garden (a Saturn II I think) was comparable in size. The engines of the first state alone were three or four times my height, probably more, and that was just one of them. As we learned later as the Shuttle Launch Simulator, the sound alone from the space shuttle launch would kill at 300 ft, and that’s not even using the Saturn V.

The shuttle launch simulator was the last stop of the day, if you don’t count the full-scale mock-up of Endeavour outside. Using a rollercoaster-like stage, the simulator approximated the vibrations and g-forces (as best as can be hoped without asking the rider to undergo 6 months of physical therapy) using vibrating seats and a shell around the stage that could rotation forwards 20 degrees or backwards 90 degrees. The description of the stages of primary ignition, twang (where the shuttle rocks back a little bit), secondary ignition, lift-off and then the separate stages of accent was an excellent way of building the anticipation. I needed to use the bathroom at the time.

In the 9 hours we were there, the Kennedy Space Centre fulfilled a dozen boyhood dreams and gave me a renewed conviction that the Apollo space missions amount to the most amazing achievement of human kind in all of history.

Writing all of that has exhausted me a little. I almost want to take a break before going on to Miami and Key West. But I can’t, Barry’s given me an hour before I have to hand this laptop back and I don’t know how much I’ve already expended.

The trip to Miami was another chance for us to enjoy the joy of the Charger. Once in Miami, on SW 2^nd Ave, we were annoyed when it turned out that the website for the hostel  had the address slightly wrong and our true destination was SW 2^nd Ave, Florida City, a half-hour’s drive away. Thus we had the first piece of the case against the use of numbers for streets instead of names – I’m still in favour of numbers since walking NYC would have been a constant affair of map-checking without them.

Awaking in the hostel the next morning, we set off to Key West, for the most southerly point in the USA. It was my turn to drive... cruise control, unspoilt weather and minor traffic turned the 60-odd miles of straight road into an unadulterated pleasure. The sun was bright, the car accelerated like a hand off a hot stove, Barry’s heart attacks at my driving were entirely a result of an overactive imagination.

It took about 2 hours to get all the way. Each Key is separated by a stretch of road bridging the water between. The trees on land gave way each time to the sun-specked royal and baby blues of the Atlantic. A 2 hour drive felt like a cruise. Once in Key West we parked the car close to the first corner that showed the sea, finding a massive gum-drop pedestal proclaiming that we had reached the most southerly point of the US. It took about 20 minutes on the beach however before Barry realised that he had left his phone and his wallet at the hostel... I feel a smidgeon of guilt that it struck me as a little humorous that his face got redder and redder as I watched him search the car. It turned out ok because someone at the hostel had turned it back in and we went directly back to pick it up.

The hostel location mix-up meant we had to find another hostel for the second night since we needed to be in Miami to catch the bus on towards New Orleans. Actually only a couple of blocks from South Miami Beach, the Santa Barbara Hostel is a little cramped (three bunk beds per single-sized room) but it was filled with plenty of ex-counsellors and we went out for a good evening.

The next morning we split for the Greyhound station and set off for New Orleans.

Greenville, South Carolina - Day 1

Skipping out of NC to Greenville, SC, the bus left us at the Greyhound station at about 11:30 PM the same day. Duke picked us up and we spent the night at his parents’ place. Before going to bed I decided to make my my-world-famous omelette. Left with fridge freedom, I threw in onions, sausage, salsa and cheese, and carrots. To me, adding carrots to an omelette filling is not weird, it’s not. That didn’t stop everyone laughing at the idea through to the next day. After a really, really welcome lie-in, we went to Mojo’s.

Mojo’s is a burger joint that distinguishes itself from Five Guys in the following ways: a) their onions rings are huge, b) the meat isn’t as good and the use more sauce and c) they try to kill you. It’s not really fair to say they actually try and kill you; it’s more a matter of assisted suicide. The regular portions are the usual American fare, a bit on the large side, deliciously filling... the Quadruple Coronary on the other hand is as bad as it sounds. About 5 lb of meat in a 15-odd storey burger, the serving of chips alone would be enough to raise your BMI by five points, double your blood pressure and persuade your liver to move out of the waste remediation business. A hall of shame at the entrance exhibited pictures of those who had tried (and without exception, failed) to down the ultimate meal... the promise on the menu is that anyone who manages to eat the whole thing doesn’t have to pay for it.

Within 6 hours we were back on the bus, set for Tampa, Florida.

North Carolina - Day 1 & 2

Ha, and you thought it would all be smooth from there. Nah... the bus out of Radford alighted in Richmond, VA, and we waited for three and a half hours before being told that the bus wasn’t running and that a replacement was being arranged. The next stop before Goldsboro*, NC, was Raleigh. Initially told that Raleigh was closed, there was a chance we’d have to stay with one of Melissa’s friends before taking the bus to Melissa’s parents’ house the next day. Rather, the bus we pulled in on was rerouted out of Raleigh to Goldsboro and the tale of delays, trials, tribulations (whatever they are) and more than enough hassle with Greyhound – available in graphic novel form under the title of “Escape from Virginia” – ended with Melissa pulling up at the station.

*since Melissa’s house in Greenville lacked power (air conditioning, light, fridge... kinda important) we had arranged to stay at her parents’ house in Goldsboro.

American houses are awesome. It obviously has something to do with staying with well-to-do people, but it seems that the size of house available to someone of a given salary is a lot bigger in the US. Melissa’s house, built to her parents’ specifications, afforded us private double rooms with on-suite bathrooms... the Marrakech in New York was a far sight from this. We had a delightful time, me catching up with Melissa, and Barry taking the opportunity to teach me the finer points of IP address subnet addressing.

Going to bed fairly quickly after dinner, the next day started with another early rise so that Melissa could drop us off in Greenville while she went to uni. A wander through the campus (I looked at the chemistry department, Barry got a PhD offer from the IT department) sandwiched a trip to the barbers and a look at the park next to the river in north Greenville. The risen river, a remnant of the hurricane further to the trees down all around, encroached on the car park but the cool stuff – a sundial, the outside theatre, a cannon from the revolutionary war – was still accessible. To be honest, not even the barber could point out much to do in Greenville so we relaxed under a tree for Melissa to round up at the university.

Melissa’s house was on the sole block in town to which power had yet to be restored, so we went back to Goldsboro for the night. I think we went through about half my photos that evening with Melissa’s mum... about 2000 maybe.

By the next morning I was very tired of early rises. Monday and Tuesday were because of the Greyhound attempts, Wednesday because of the trip to Greenville and then Thursday because of the Greyhound schedule. Thanks so much to Melissa and her parents.

Radford, Virginia - Day 1 to Day 6

Having escaped the vibrant Washington – more elated by the novelty of the earthquake than actually shaken – the next stop was a less historically and scientifically taxing stop-over in Radford, VA... three nights with Petunia. Or rather, 3 nights that turned to four, to five and then to six.

Hurricane Irene, having been buffeted about the Atlantic with nothing to do for a good while, opted to vent her frustration on the east coast. Making land-fall in North Carolina, power lines dropped with trees, and the wind and the flooding caused damage from NC up to NYC – downgrading from a category 1 hurricane to a tropical storm along the way. As the days passed and the certainty of severe disruption became ever more clear, the phone calls to the next stop (Melissa in Greenville, NC) became more frequent and more tenuous: “It’ll hit on Saturday”, “The power’s out, it’ll be back in 12 hours”, “Power’s still down in Greenville, I’m in Goldsboro”... Radford is too far west to have been at risk so we stuck it out as the plans shifted.

At the fifth morning, at the assurance of Greyhound that services had resumed we rose at 4:00 AM to be at the bus station for the 5:30 bus. At 5 o’clock, the signs weren’t good: a couple of hopefuls were still waiting for the 1 AM bus and the office was closed. Petunia, having made it back to Radford after dropping us off, had just enough time to fall asleep before being roused by my call for advice, and later for a pick-up. At about 7 o’clock Greyhound phone lines finally opened and confirmed that services weren’t resuming until the next day. I love you Petunia, 2 hours and 40 minutes of driving before 9 AM is quite a lot :)

Before the eventual continuation of the epic journey through these United States, we did manage to fit in a fair bit of fun. There was a winery nearby, $5 for a talk and a sampling through some of the wines and a free pricelist. I’m not one for whites normally, give me a good Merlot any time, but there was an ice wine that deserves the price for a couple of bottles... I have a feeling that should I live anywhere near there in the future that I’d have to exercise a lot of self control to avoid drinking myself to oaky-with-a-dash-of-peach-cherry-and-blackcurrant oblivion on a regular basis.

There was also the frozen yogurt place and dinner and cocktails at Macado’s, but the majority of the time we spent reclined in various arrangements on the air mattress (parallel, cross-hatched and every once in a while, stacked). One of Petunia’s best friends, another Nicole (the fourth so far), enjoyed having ‘The Brits’ to stay... there are only so many times I can say ‘Willy Wonka’ before I burst out laughing. Since she never stopped asking, I spent most of the time she was there laughing. Hence, I’ve now adopted it as my response to “Your from England?!?! Say something!!” .

The other reason that a three-day delay didn’t bother me is that after a week or so on the road, having a hurricane mandate more time with your girlfriend there really is no downside. So, err... thank you Irene for that one grace. I suppose it illustrates that even in the most destructive of tantrums there remains the chance that a storming child, by sheer accident, might manage to knock two ornaments into a more pleasing position while destroying all the others.

So, after lots of cooked meals, cereal with milk, hugs, kisses etc., and a lot of attempts to catapult Barry off the air mattress through coordinated airstrikes, the journey continued via the 05:30 bus out of Radford, Virginia.