So it begins. Leaving home. Everything. My family. My friends. My routine. My life. For longer than I ever have before.
After a last night at home relaxing with friends, I became ever so slightly panicked at my plan - and just what the hell I thought I was doing. I knew I should have had that beer... time passes, eating into what should have been a good night's sleep, as I once again do battle with bastard iTunes as I try and update my iPod.
Anyway, morning comes, and all is going smoothly after a cup of tea with my nan and my Dad dropping me off at the airport - until a BA flight touches down too early and beaches itself just short of the runway. Bad weather on top of that ensures that we leave England a good three hours late.
An emotional drunkenness overtakes me, and for all that I've come to dislike about home, I was really going to miss it. Eventually. Ultimately, I'm a very proud Englishman.
New York
With the minimum of fuss, we reach NYC and the queue for immigration. After that I'm vaguely unconscious with tiredness, and reach my hostel where I'm past the stage of polite conversation. Alas, the visit preceding mine was that of a sweaty feet convention, and some 2 days of window opening fails to freshen the room in the slightest. One, or perhaps, maybe the key reason I didn't spend longer in the Big Apple.
The next day, gasping for air I make it out of my room early and begin pounding the streets. Downtown. Criss-crossing 5th, 6th and 7th Avenues all the way. Breakfast is taken within sight of the Empire State Building, where I seem to impress with my politeness. Probably less so when I leave no tip. Greenwich Village arouses no interest, although I don't look very hard. This is even more true of SoHo and many other of the central areas. My interest overall was generally starting to wane.
One of the main places I had wanted to visit was the site of the WTC. Currently an enormous building site, a small memorial (more to follow in the blueprints) just touches on the little pocket of immense hell that opened up on that day in New York. In some places it is possible to see into the site, the foundations are like a crater, which in the days following were filled with crevasses in between the tangles mess of bodyparts, brickdust, razor sharp twisted metal and entirely flattened cross-sections of the buildings - now just ghosts on the Manhattan skyline.
That fresh in my mind, I amble down to Battery Park - visiting the Statue of Liberty - and the almost infinitely more interesting Ellis Island. I spend a couple of hours wandering the wrong way round - avoiding the crowds - and trying to get a handle on the place again. It is undeniably fascinating.
For me at least, there really was a very clinical, almost Auschwitz like efficiency about the place in it's heyday. The stories told there really stir up so much emotion in me. It's bewildering to think of these people leaving everything they've ever known behind - some illiterate - some who had never even held a pencil - waiting with thousands of others like them - and not - to get the nod, to enter into the New World. Skyscrapers. The City. The Statue of Liberty. I can only marvel with a strange smile at the feelings they must have felt in those days when America first flung open her doors too all-comers. Taking their first steps together.
My favourite, heart warming part of the day follows by way of a quote from a Polish immigrant at the start of the 20th Century.
"They asked us two questions, "How much is two and one? How much is two and two?" But the next young girl also from our city, went and they asked her, "How do you wash stairs, from the top of from the bottom?" She says, "I don't go to America to wash stairs.""
Superb :)
Washington DC
The chance to see the capital is too much to pass up, so I get up early to cross NYC to buy my ticket - stopping only to help a poorly woman who has collapsed on the Subway. There are that many mentals in the city, so much so that it's very disconcerting when anyone even talks to you - let alone actually finds themselves in need.
Leaving Union Station in DC - the Capital (Congress) building is the first thing that grabs one’s attention. I walk the 11 blocks to my hostel - something that I come to regret - as my knees let me know all about it as the days goes on.
Being a fan of the horror genre, high on my list of places to visit was the house - and indeed - the steps that were made famous by the 1973 film - The Exorcist. Somehow, this suburban Georgetown house looks less imposing with a black VW Beetle in the driveway. In hindsight, it takes an abominably long time to get to, ultimately costing me a chance of visiting the Lincoln Memorial, which I would have liked to have seen.
I see the rest of the sights, potter around some shops, and pick up a ticket for the hockey game that evening. It’s pretty cold, and the circulator bus which services the main highlights takes a while to reach me time I want to hop on. The light fails me by the time I get to the White House, but I have a look around, and generally avoid getting lost amongst the cordoned off roads.
Ice hockey rounds off my trip to Washington, where I sup on a Guinness and watch the Washington Capitals sprint into a 3-0, first period lead. The Florida Panthers get back into it gamely, as the poor goaltending continues, yet ultimately it’s the ‘Caps’ who run out 5-3 winners.
I sleep with a dorm to myself… wake at 2am… and struggle to find a taxi driver who fancies going to the station. The hostel receptionist assured me that getting a cab would be no problem, even at silly o'clock. One chap helpfully informs me that he’s “not going that way.” Hmm, are you going to tell him - or should I?
Stopover
Arriving back in New York in time for my egg, bacon and cheese roll breakfast - I try to stock up for my onward train to Montreal. Success in finding Peanut Butter M&Ms, but I'm denied a beer to drink on the train that evening, as they can't serve before midday.
Once seated on the train, I delicately convince some puss from the painful spot in my ear, enabling me to listen to music for the first time in a couple of days, whilst some weirdo pesters the girls in our carriage. We reach customs at about 4pm, and I relay my poorly thought-out plans for Canada to the nice, assertive border guard.
Where do I want to go?
The Maritimes. St. Pierre et Miquelon.
Did you know that it's been snowing?
Yes I know.
Do I have any family in Canada?
Yes. An aunt who once asked me how to spell 'pizza'.
Will I be staying with her?
No, not if I can help it.
Thank you, I will enjoy my stay.
Please check out more of my photos on Flickr/Ovi/more to follow:
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