Category: Travel

Travel

St Louis and Chicago

My stomach is a battlefield, my intestines the trenches. Corpuscles run in fear as mustard gas erupts around them and arteries wince as more saturated fat rains down from the sky.

I think it’s safe to say I’m having a hard time adjusting to a holiday diet – after a huge dinner out one night, and countless desserts, I have completely lost my appetite. It may be because back home I generally eat plain bread and sandwiches, and here I’ve subsisted mainly on doughnuts and fatty treats. Now I have no idea when I should eat – I just do because it feels right – but I enjoy more extravagant meals anyway.

And extravagant, rich, buttery foods are available everywhere. Now I’m actually trying to avoid them, but when the standard stop for a Greyhound coach is at the local McDonalds, it becomes difficult.

We’ve now completed the Route 66 part of our journey – we’re in Chicago. This is technically where 66 starts, running all the way to LA, so we’ve essentially done the first half of the road backwards.

St Louis, our final driving destination, was great. It felt like a big city but without a lot of the congestion, and had a lot to offer eager sightseeing tourists (like us). We went up the enormous “Gateway Arch”, took a trip down the river, and saw an American Football game. I can’t honestly say I understood what was going on most of the time, but I enjoyed the atmosphere at the stadium, and the hot dogs sold outside were terrific.

We had a chance to try a local delicacy – frozen custard! It was very nice, actually a lot like ice cream (and you can get it flavoured with all sorts of other things).

We had an interesting greyhound coach up to Chicago, because we were packed on without about 10 ex-cons who had been freed that day. At first it was pretty scary, and we didn’t even ask what they had been arrested for, but they were just pleased to be going home. I did have to avoid some threatening gazes that came my way though.

Yesterday in Chicago we took a water taxi to the Sears Tower (now the Willis Tower), the tallest building in the states, and queued for hours to go up it. I should tell you that I have two fears: heights and spiders. I suppose my absolute worst nightmare might be to be dangled from a great height above an enormous spider, but anyway, the Willis Tower Skydeck seemed specifically designed to torture people like me. They’ve built glass floors into overhanging ledges from the 103rd floor of the tower. And being the glutton for punishment that I am, I just had to go over it. Sarah did well and stood near the end quite early on (though she did admit that it was quite scary) – I had to kneel down and back onto it, only snatching glimpses of the sheer 1,000 foot drop below us. There’s a good photo (that I can’t post yet) of us above the ledge, pure fear visible in my eyes.

After we descended we ate at Giordano’s, who make stuffed pizzas with your choice of ingredients, went to the Threadless retail clothes shop, and went to a late night blues bar. After only 24 hours in Chicago, I felt like it was a very cool place.

Today we got up and frantically tried to dry our clothes which we had washed in the bath yesterday, although all my underwear was still soaking wet. I jammed it all in the suitcase anyway, acutely aware that I may open it in Toronto to find a bundle of mouldy boxers.

We just had time to hire bikes and cycle from the beach (yes, Chicago has a beach – with proper sand) to Navy Pier. It’s a tourist fest, a pier jammed full of restaurants, stalls and cheesy attractions, but still worth a look.

Now we’re on the Greyhound once again, faced with a 14 hour trip to Toronto, going through Detroit and London (the one in Ontario). I’m not looking forward to the 3am stop, but at least sleeping on a coach saves accomodation money.

Cruise Control

Most of my driving duties have been stripped away from me: we’re driving an automatic, so there are no gears or clutch, and when I turn on cruise control, I don’t need to touch any pedals at all – just steer. It’s a pretty cool feature actually, and it means we can go at the speed limit the whole way without babysitting the accelerator. But still, I’m starting to feel superfluous to the driving experience.

We’ve just arrived in St Louis, the final destination for the actual driving part of our road trip. To get here we’ve been through some other small towns, like Miami (the small one in Oklahoma), Joplin, Springfield and Kansas City. Some places we go through seem little more than excuses for rows of fast food restaurants and gift shops.

Some places have been very cool though, Springfield had some interesting and quirky art galleries and shops to look in (did you know that 35 states have some sort of community called Springfield? Probably why The Simpsons chose it), and Clinton was a quaint little village you can imagine from remote crime dramas on Channel 4 late at night, where everyone knows everyone and the whole town is based around 1 square in the middle.

Being on the road everything is improvised. We usually don’t know where we’re staying until hours before. It’s incredibly liberating but a little scary too: every night runs the risk of making us sleep in the car.

But it also gives us the freedom to just show up and try things out. Yesterday we decided to explore Kansas City, which is an odd place because it’s the capital of Kansas, but straddles the border into Missouri as well – and in fact all the interesting bits are on the Missouri side. We got there and found a hotel at the last minute, then after a little research found a jazz bar and went out for dinner. It was great to explore the central plaza at night, which was all lit up, and full of fountains (KC has as many fountains as Rome).

This morning we just followed our noses, and found a leaflet for an urban segway tour. That’s right! Those strange upright scooters that seem to defy balance. And after an hour of messing around on one, I can say that they are AWESOME. They’re very easy to ride, it intuitively just goes in the direction you lean. And they balance perfectly, it seems to constantly compensate for your body and itself. Shame they’re nearly £5k in the UK!

Now we have just over a day to look around St Louis. Time to try the local delicacy: frozen custard!

Davy’s On The Road Again

Driving somewhere new can be exciting; as can driving a new car, or a different kind of car, or under different road laws. So when all of those factors come together you experience a thrill which is equal parts childish excitement and grown-up fear of responsibility. As I cruised on our first strip of Route 66 to Tulsa, I was acutely aware that I might crash or turn the wrong way, but also high with excitement, and perilously close to shouting “Yee-ha” like some sort of newly indoctrinated cowboy.

Sarah and I only got about 10 miles down the road before realising it was getting late, and dark, and we wanted to actually see the road we’d come all this way to drive, so we found an Econolodge by the road (in “Chandler” which made us think of Friends, especially as we were heading to Tulsa) and stayed there for the night. The restaurant had closed early so it was M&Ms for dinner, but we did manage to procure some hot water and make some proper Tetley tea, which was incredibly satisfying.

The next morning we hit the road and found a small village called Stroud – a banner announcing it as “The Place To Be”. No-one else seemed to think so though, as the streets were deserted and most of the shops boarded up. We walk up and down the street then get back in the car.

We drove through a couple more small towns, and admired some of the classic car garages with pin-up letters on the boards outside, some seedy looking cafes, and the odd historical monument. There is a particularly revered big round barn, although we didn’t quite see the attraction of it ourselves.

Only about half an hour later, we got to Tulsa, and found some free parking so we could look around downtown. It was mid-afternoon on a Saturday but the streets were almost entirely empty. It was a bit spooky but we persevered onto a place called the Gypsy Coffee House, which came recommended by our Lonely Planet book. We were pleased to step inside and see other customers, in fact it’s quite lively in there.

We left Tulsa – still seeing only a handful of people outside – and got a little lost, since our GPS (an app for iPhone called Copilot) kept directing us to the I-44 instead of Route 66. But we manage to get back on the mother road and head further northeast.

Going past a Walmart we just had to stop, and were pleased to find out they really do sell everything. We loaded up on microwavable food – some hot pockets and steamed veg – figuring we could try to find a motel with a microwave.

Then we had an interesting challenge of finding a motel, and deciding if we wanted to stay there based on the 2 minute drive through the town while we get there. We pass through some towns like Chelsea, most of which seem to be little more than service stops for traffic, then found one called Vinita which seems ok. We booked a room at the Vinita Inn. Now this is a classic American motel with all the rooms connected together, doors facing outward (like from My Name Is Earl). There were a few flies buzzing around, and the air con is a bit loud, but it’s only $40 for the night so we’re happy with it.

We bumped into a few other guests who ask us if we’re there for the rodeo. What, here? It seems odd because it’s not a major city. But we say we might go and see it, just out of curiosity.

We ate our improvised but tasty dinner and go in search of the rodeo. Everyone else must have driven because we had to walk through a building site. And half expecting some sort of trumped-up cattle market, we walk through the gate to find a stadium packed full of people. There’s a buzz of excitement and I get the feeling we’re about to see something good.

And it really is good: cowboys riding bucking broncos, lassooing steers, and speed riding around barrels. One cowboy is hurt badly when he’s thrown from a horse, and he lies crumpled in the middle of the arena for a minute, motionless. So imagine the cheers when he’s helped to his feet, although he hobbles off looking concussed.

The night culminated in bullriding, which looks very, very difficult. The men are thrown around and do well to stay on for just a few seconds. Throughout, two presenters made introductions and banter to keep the whole thing going.

Impressed, we scrambled back through the building site to our motel. We had a beer with some other guests and talked about Oklahoma and the UK. It’s difficult to explain the full history of Ireland, but answer some other questions. We told them we were going to New York and they seem unimpressed: “Why d’you want to go to that den of misery?” they reply. We tell them because our flight is cheapest from there.

Branching Out

It was really raining heavily in Oklahoma City, but it was also really hot, so our first impression was that the city was like a broken shower.

It took a little while to orient ourselves and while I was looking confused for a second some guy came out of nowhere to talk to me:

“Hey, where y’all from?”
“England”
“What’re your plans now?”
“We need to find The Grandison inn”
“It’s just down there, here I’ll take you”

At first I think we’ve got lucky, and I have to admit I was just about to get Sarah and say we could get a lift. Then he became a little too insistent and warning lights went off. He also did not seem like licensed cabbie.

“C’mon man, it’s two blocks that way”
“Oh… Well then actually we might just walk”
“Nah c’mon, I’ll take you there for a couple of bucks”
“No, seriously, I’m sorry but we’ll be fine”
“But I really need the money”
“Sorry, uh, but no…”
“PLEASE”
“Sorry, really, no!”

At this point I’m backing away and trying to make some distance. We look at the map and realise he told us the wrong direction anyway. And it was quite a but further. Holy crap: what would have happened if we’d got in his car? I didn’t want to dwell on it too much.

So we find the right direction and head off. It had dried up now leaving the odd puddle and a red hot Sun overhead. I jumped between shadows and we dragged our suitcases over bumpy pavements trying not to jaywalk too often.

We got about halfway, really hot and flustered, and looked up a very long street towards our destination, and all of it was steeply uphill.

And then, an official looking car pulled up beside us. And an official looking man in a blue uniform is asking us where we’re going. Great, I think, we’ve gone from getting mugged to getting arrested.

But some comprehension falls on my mind, and we realise he’s just offering us a lift. For free! And he’s a member of the fire department, so he’s legit and isn’t trying to pick up an unwilling cab fair. So I swipe all my suspicion thankfully to the side, and get into his car, with much gratitude.

He takes us to The Grandison, which we then realise is a beautiful Victorian house, and we meet the owner. Suddenly everyone is being so kind and I feel very good inside. We go to see our ‘Treehouse’ room, and find out it’s just about the most silly but cosy love nest imaginable: everything is fashioned like we’re in the branches of a tree, and previous occupants have graffitied the walls with “Leo loves Kathryn 4 Ever” notes and drawings. There are also a lot of quotes from the bible scribbled on the wall.

We chill out for a bit (and I can finally shave), and we decide to go to “Bricktown”, a cool central suburb of Oklahoma City. Some family members of the hotel owner kindly offer to give us a lift in.

Originally the plan was to go to Mickey Mantle’s Steakhouse, but after we’re seated we balk at the prices. $35 for a steak! I’m sure it’s good but we’re on a budget so we apologetically leave. It’s quite embarassing as we pass the counter on the way back, but preferable in the face of financial ruin.

Instead we go to Zio, a lot like Zizzi back home – and much more economical. Sarah orders a huge aubergine meal and I chuckle as she tries to eat even half of it.

Next we popped in to Murphy’s, where they feature “duelling pianos”, essentially two guys playing requests (of absolutely any style) and embarassing people on hen nights and the like. It was very amusing when one hen got invited to sit on the piano while she was played a song all about tumultuous married life.

The next morning we scrambled out of bed after the best night of sleep ever – a bed being infinitely more comfortable than the greyhound seat the night before. We took a shuttle to the station to commence the 2nd leg of the journey, and the initial reason for everything: hiring a convertible and driving up route 66.

In high spirits we marched up to Dollar car hire, and inform the guy behind the counter of our reservation. And in the blink of an eye, all our hopes are dashed – they don’t have any convertibles. Our hearts didn’t just sink. They crashed out of the sky, and splashed into the ocean, coming to a rest on the sea floor. He only had SUVs! Thanks, Dollar, but that’s not quite the experience I had in mind!! And why couldn’t they find a reasonable substitute, or at least TELL ME in advance??

Severely disappointed and simultaneously abhoring everything Dollar stood for, we asked at Avis, Empire and Hertz but with no luck. And I didn’t expect any, I’d done all this research already months ago. We had one more option – to go to National & Alamo down the road. We took the free shuttle there, figuring it was worth a shot.

On-site we found a pokey cabin, and ask about hiring a car to Chicago. Success, they can do it! But surely not a convertible..? Our assistant peers out of the window and the fleet of cars. Yes they can!!

And the price? Dollar quoted me $900. So I expect about a grand, and mentally prepare myself for $1100. And a number comes back which I don’t hear the first time. $1900…?!

A lady fiddles with the computer and sorts out some discounts, but she can’t get it to less than $1820. For a while I consider just paying it anyway, since we came all the way here. But we find some alternatives; what if only I drove… What if we took it just to St Louis? That’s about half-way to Chicago.

And that’s more reasonable, $1200. Or at least feasible. So after a lot if deliberation, we take it. I jokingly suggest we’ve set some sort of record for booking time, and the lady glumly nods. But she does seem to like us, and has applied every discount under the Sun at this point. It’s odd that the rental is based on distance instead of time though. We still get it for a week, but have to drop it at St Louis. Technically we could drive it to Chicago and then *back* to St Louis for the same cheaper price.

It’s a lot of fun getting into our new vehicle and we put the top down immediately. It’s a sexy Chrysler Sebring and I try to get a feel for the controls. The brake is super sensitive and just wafting your foot near it causes the car to come to an immediate stop, lurching the seat belt into your ribs.

After a shaky start with my iPhone’s copilot app trying to direct us the wrong way down two one-way roads, and the pressure of totally alien road laws, we get going back to Bricktown. We take the water taxi, look around, and indulge our inner tourists for a few hours.

We also took the chance to look at the Oklahoma bombing memorial. Before 9-11 this was considered the worst act of American terrorism – when a truck bomb was exploded next to a federal building in 1995. The memorial is a huge rectangular shallow pool where the road used to be. And the 168 people who died are signified by glass chairs showing where they would have been. It’s a very sombre and peaceful place. The American Elm which survived the blast is called the “Survivor Tree”, and you can see how it’s been physically blown away from the detonation site. One side is entirely charred.

Glad we could finally get a convertible, but wishing it was slightly cheaper, we put down the top and drove to the North to join Route 66 and start phase 2.

If you’re reading this on Facebook, check the full blog at davidaddis.com for some attached images.

Greyhounded

We arrived in Flagstaff at about 4:30pm on Wednesday, waved goodbye to Elin, and got dropped off at the greyhound station. Immediately two very friendly guys started quizzing us on where we were from and our travel plans. It was nice, if a bit intense, so we chatted along quite happily.

I wanted to take a picture so I reached into the usual pocket and was confused by the absence of my camera. I checked all my pockets. And my rucksack. And Sarah’s bags. Ok, time to panic. I had lost my camera with hundreds of photos already, and all the really good grand canyon ones. A horrible gloomy feeling descended on me; a mixture of guilt and anger: had someone stolen it?

I rang the coach company who had taken us from the canyon to Flagstaff. I spoke to someone straight away who went to search the bus. Minutes passed, mentally hoping he would return triumphant. Eventually he did return, but had not found any camera. He said he’d scoured the whole bus.

I had to come to terms with the fact that I’d lost my camera, and gigabytes of photos and video. I felt slightly sick. And around us as this was happening, the intense conversation about our travel plans and peoples’ distant Irish heritage was continuing. It took all my effort not to scream. I wanted them to understand this was not the time for an interrogation, it was the time to be angry and kick dustbins.

During all of this a native American Indian had arrived, explaining he’d hitch-hiked from Las Vegas. That was impressive (it had taken us a flight and a coach ride). What was more impressive was that he wanted to sing a native song about travelling. So he did. Right in front of 5 total strangers, about 1 minute after meeting all of us.

After the song he seemed to take a very great interest in Sarah, complimenting her on her hair and eyes. He then actually attempted to solicit her. For money. He had a cheeky grin like it was a joke, but it had a disturbingly serious undertone. Maybe I should have been the overprotective boyfriend at this point, but we just chuckled and pretended it was very funny.

Coupled with the camera loss this was about all I could take. I really thought I would explode any second.

And then, like light shining down from the heavens, with a full choir singing in the background, the original coach pulled up, the driver smiling at me. And as he got close he held up my camera. I thanked him profusely, gave him ten dollars, and got my brain back on the track of enjoying the holiday.

We had to wait a little while for the greyhound station to open, then we went in to collect our carefully planned prepaid tickets. One of the friendly guys with a big hat said he’d look after our suitcases while we went to find some dinner, so we left him in charge and started looking for the local Safeway. I was a little concerned we’d come back to find Sarah’s suitcase wide open and her new fan with her knickers on his head, but thought Big Hat Guy would probably prevent that.

We loaded up on delicious foreign snacks; it was really fun picking out things that we half-knew from films, and brands that have different names (like Lays instead of Walkers).

We got back and boarded the bus. This, I thought, would be the toughest part of our trip – 18 hours on the coach, from Flagstaff to Oklahoma City, about 900 miles. It was crowded so I asked someone to move so Sarah and I could sit together. He complied, in total silence which I thought was weird, but I thanked him and we sat down. We set off and both fell asleep fairly quickly, despite the cramped seats and baby gurgling behind us.

Then all the lights came on, blinding us awake. It was the first of many stops. I thought we’d be going for 6 or so hours at a time, but as we progressed I realised we would only do 1 or 2 before taking a break. This was good since I could stretch my legs and go to the loo, but I did also yearn for us to take a big bite out of our journey, rather than nibbling away at it.

We stopped at some well-known cities, like Alburquerque and Amarillo but barely had time to look down the road. As anyone who has used public toilets knows, the quality can vary wildly. But the thing about American ‘restrooms’ seems to be that there is always a huge gap on the sides of the cubicle doors. This means that you feel ever so slightly exposed when you use one. In one station we stopped at, there was a cubicle with no door at all. You’d have to be feeling pretty brave (or extremely desperate) to use that one.

At Amarillo we were half-way through a conversation with a local about Chicago when we noticed two guys behind him getting arrested. An officer dressed in green (which we later found out to be customs and border patrol) was putting two men in handcuffs. They seemed disappointed, not angry, which I thought was odd. Then they were discretely taken away.

We asked a fellow passenger about this and he explained they were probably “illegals”. He seemed totally au fait with the situation but it made me feel a little sad, reminding me that I wished everyone could just live where they wanted. Or rather, that there was no reason people would ever need to desperately leave their hometown.

By this point we’d met quite a few other passengers. We all had one thing in common: we had business in a very different part of the coutry. Some were headed to Oklahoma, some even further to Chicago. But it was interesting how the bus had scooped us all up together for a day. We waved and smiled our goodbyes after drawing into Oklahoma City, which was unexpectedly raining very heavily, and started trying to find our next hotel.

Definitely the Grandest

Grand Canyon Village is surprisingly well supplied. I thought it might be a rag-tag collection of log buildings and archaic coin-operated telescopes, but actually it has all the mod cons you could want – a full (free) shuttle bus service, multiple runways and helicopter pads, a variety of clean and modern cabins, and a choice of restaurants. The people there also seem like a close-knit village – presumably because they are – but they welcome visitors.

Our first taste of the canyon was at Bright Angel Point on the South Rim, well known for its sweeping majestic views. And as we got off the bus we raced each other to the edge for our first few glimpses.

We were surprised. We knew it would be big, but it effectively opened up a couple of extra dimensions in our mind as to just how big something can be. It doesn’t just stretch across one gorge, the canyon is a massive collection of hills, outcrops and ledges, and gashes its way through the ground using many cuts in every direction.

It’s also not just barren rock; some bits look quite fertile and are covered in trees – requiring the government to occasionally start controlled fires to prevent it becoming too thick. On the way towards the canyon we drove through an extremely thick forest, in total the size of Switzerland.

It was baking hot so we slathered on the lotion and also sought some shade. But it was difficult to pull ourselves away for long, and we kept returning to the rim for more views. It’s also like crack for photographers; I could barely let my finger off the shutter before I saw another scene I had to capture.

The canyon is some 270 miles long but the shuttle only serves 10 miles around the village, and we decided to walk back to Bright Angel, our hotel, from Mather Point. The rim is wavy so it offers many different views as you go along. I’m not sure how many photos I took but I had to tear myself away a few times or we’d never make it back by sunset.

It was only 2.5 miles back to Bright Angel but it took us a while due to stops for photos and to record a video of a squirrel looking through peoples’ bags. I thought if I could send that to You’ve Been Framed it was an easy £250.

And when we got to our hotel room we were really surprised. En suite, with a lovely bath and shower, cupboards, great comfy bed, and everything was in good condition and clean. From the outside they have preserved the log cabin look, so we half expected a bed full of termites.

After a shower we headed out for the sunset at Hopi Point, the highest served point on the South Rim. I thought we’d missed it at first (because the first shuttle filled up with other tourists) but we made it with a few minutes to spare. And the views from Hopi were even better than Mather Point. An enormous golden disc releasing plumes of purple and orange before plunging us into darkness made it even more magical.

Eager for a hearty meal, we then returned to the centre to the Arizona Room, and enjoyed exactly the steaks we had been looking for. It was very popular though and we had to wait for a table. They gave us complimentary “corn bread”, which is a bit like sponge cake but even better. I’m not sure exactly what’s in it but I intend to bake a vat of it when I get back. It was very cold when we left (at only about 10pm) and we had to get back inside, but not before enjoying a view of the stars – the big dipper affronted us as we left the restaurant. I think it may be the highest and least polluted place I have ever been.

We knew we would have a difficult decision the next morning, and we did as the icy cold hand of consciousness wrenched me from peaceful slumber at 5am, in the form of my iPhone’s ‘robot’ alarm. We threw on some clothes and went outside – even colder than the night before – and searched for a shuttle.

We saw one headed in the wrong direction but figured a sunrise would look good at Hopi anyway. And predictably, the sunrises are far less popular than the sunsets, so we joined the much smaller queue and clambered on.

For me, the sunrise was more majestic than the sunset. Because you start with dim cloudy mountains in every direction, and slowly shards of light grow over them to reveal their full contours and depth. And the full distance becomes aware to you. Looking at the canyon is a bit like looking at a very long word. You can’t concentrate on the whole thing at any one time, you must focus on a bit then move onto the next.

We took a helicopter tour of the North Rim, and while it was great looking from one rim, it was even more awesome to go *over* it and look down. We could also explore one of the many side canyons. I was slightly distracted by the very cool Eurocopter that we flew out in – it had a full LCD dashboard and an intercom so we could talk to each other easily. I was used to wearing headsets from many hours of late night gaming so I was the most talkative when we were in the air.

Somewhat exhausted from our morning, and feeling like our eyes had eaten too much rich food, we waited for our minibus to take us to Flagstaff. While we were waiting we met a Swedish girl called Elin who’d been couchsurfing for the last few months, something totally new to me. It sounds great if you’re lucky to meet good hosts. It was fun to practice speaking a little Swedish again, and watching some IT Crowd on the way, the time flew by.

As the canyon parted behind us I felt like the locals summed it up very well when they said, “It might not be the world’s longest or widest canyon, but it’s definitely the grandest.”

Hoover Damn

The vast majority of Americans do seem to be very polite. They almost relish their customary “you’re welcome”s and “have a nice day”s as we part. And people here seem very approachable and happy to talk to strangers. I wish the UK was more like that.

However there’s very little even the kindest security guard can do in the face of impractical beurocracy and immovable anti-terrorist laws. And so was the situation we found ourselves in on Tuesday morning.

We had clambered out of bed at 6am and gone to meet our tour company, Vegas looking quite resplendent in the morning sun around us, when we were told we couldn’t take our suitcases with us:

“You can’t put hard cases on the bus”
“But we need to, we’re travelling one-way”
“Which hotel were you staying at?”
“Bill’s… But we’re not going back there”

So WE could get to the grand canyon fine; just not with any of our belongings. Apparently a new anti-terrorist law forbids commercial traffic from carrying hard cases. Great! The guard and the reps did what they could, and spoke to invisible supervisors on their walkie-talkies but we weren’t making any progress.

Interestingly you CAN take hard cases over the Hoover Dam if you, say, hire a car. Because no potential terrorist would think of doing that. Ohhh no. They always get the tour bus.

There’s a certain feeling when your priorities suddenly change, and all your effort goes into fixing something. I called the tour company and tried to organise a flight instead. And made some headway, although it would cost $200 more. But given the current situation, the lady I spoke to on the phone didn’t help – she gave me 3 different flight times before deciding which one was right, said there was no inner city pickup, and just kept leaving the phone every so often. I’d be left probing “Hello…? Hello….?” for minutes while she rearranged her desktop icons in silence. The call lasted 20 minutes. On a UK mobile phone. Calling an international number. Fuming, and with a single flight successfully booked, I hung up, making a mental note to send a scathing email later.

We set out taxi hunting and made it to the airport $25 later, and were amused to be personally weighed along with our luggage. Eventually we boarded a relatively small plane and flew out towards the canyon.

In the end, this debacle worked out for us in a few ways; we got to the canyon much quicker and in style, got amazing aerial views of Lake Mead and the Hoover Dam, and got to meet the very funny Japanese tour organiser. He was a stubbornly happy man who always made me smile when I talked to him.

On arrival at the canyon we were somewhat disowned as all the return visitors were ushered onto the coach – we were left to fend for ourselves. The return troupe seemed to get all the perks, whereas us downtrodden one-way guys had to make all our own arrangements. But we softly inquired if we could join the tour up to Mather Point on the rim of the canyon, and after a discrete tip to one rep, we were on our way.

Beer and Clothing in Las Vegas

We’re just leaving Vegas. And I have to say, I like it here. From the ubiquitous slot machines, prostitutes and glitzy shows to the overpriced alcohol, the whole place is designed very specifically to drain you – physically, emotionally and financially. But if you have the funds to back yourself up, you will love it.

We started our little jaunt by dipping our metaphorical toe into the casino – I entered a cheap ($25) poker tournament, and Sarah took a crack at the slot machines. Then we took a walk down the strip to find a show and explore.

We might have gone to see the Burlesque, but instead settled on “Gregory Popovich’s Pet Theatre”. Tickets were $80, but we were told the viewing distance was quite bad. So slightly reluctantly we took the allocated seating for $120.

This wasn’t the song-and-dance extravanga you might be expecting – the show was essentially a mixture of juggling, acrobatics and animal tricks. A lot of it was quite superficial slapstick humour, and some bits were downright pointless, like a woman repeatedly taking off outfits to reveal more dresses underneath. But some of it was also really good, like acrobatic feats of climbing a ladder with nothing to support it, or getting dogs, cats and rats to get on board a toy train before it drove off-stage. And seeing trained house cats jump through a hoop on command will stay with me forever.

That night we played poker at Caesar’s Palace, the most well-known casino in Las Vegas. It was $70 each to enter. I felt like I played abysmally, and while Sarah won quite a few hands, we both went crashing out quite early. We felt a little cheated and went to drown our sorrows in the club on-site. When we got to the bar I asked for four drinks. $50!!! My jaw nearly hit the floor. We refused to pay for all four and just took two cocktails. They were good, but for $15 each you would expect them to drive you back home. We moved on to another bar and danced until quite late. There was all sorts of drinking and raunchy dancing going on. It was great.

On our final full day we headed up the strip to look around the shops and to see the Luxor building – essentially a massive pyramid. It was baking hot and we were relieved to get into the “Miracle Mile”, a circular mall full of shops and restaurants. Some of it had painted ceilings, which tricked you into thinking you were looking at the sky; until you realised it was a facade 3 seconds later. Like my Dad said, “The Americans do bad taste very well.” Clothes were pricey and it was hard to find anything under $50. I eventually found a t-shirt for $34. And I bought it because buying clothes abroad is definitely more fun.

We moved on up the strip – jumping from shadow to shadow – and took refuge in New York New York. We could see “Excalibur” from here, a massive Disney-esque castle with painted towers. And whereas most of the buildings seemed to be a high quality kind of tacky, this one just looked cheap.

Most of the Luxor was visible now, but the afternoon heat was boring into us so we took a detour and headed back, looking into the MGM Grand as we went. Luckily we passed right by the lion enclosure, as they were giving a speech about it. For anyone worried they are kept in very good condition (better than a zoo) and rotated so they are usually at “the ranch”. There were two, both lying on top of a transparent pedestrian pathway. I’d never seen a lion from underneath before, and while it is like when a house cat sits on a glass table, it is much bigger. And with much longer teeth.

Deciding we needed just a little chill-out time, we headed to Flamingo to use the pool. In comparison to the air it was very cold, but refreshing. And there’s that awesome time when you feel yourself relax in holiday, like you really are away from the rest of your life’s problems and worries, and it came while we were sitting by the pool, drying off in the Sun, and reading.

We had dinner at Serendipity3, a classic looking burger joint, then I decided to take a shot at poker again. I knew I wouldn’t win but I wanted to at least feel like I’d played a good game. So I signed up for a $45 game at O’Sheas casino.

The game started and I won the odd hand, but it was difficult to stay ahead and soon I was about half of my chips down. I played one hand aggressively and got called, then I realised I had to decide to go all-in or not to back it up. I was about to shove when my opponent said, “I know what you’ve got.”

I gave him a quizzical look and he said, “You’ve got queens or jacks, maybe even tens”. I had a pair of jacks. Was this guy cheating, or just psychic?? He obviously wanted me to fold, because he then offered to show his hand if I did. Now, usually your opponent doesn’t help you in poker, so I thought it may just have been some mind-games. There was an ace on the flop but he didn’t necessarily have another in his hand. I wrestled with the decision for as long as I could – the dealer was calling time – and figured he was a little too confident. I folded, and he honoured his part of the deal. He did have an ace. Lucky escape.

Now seriously down on chips I just had to pick the right moment to shove them all in, and fortunately got lucky again, and again. Eventually I found myself on the final table, and then in the final five. A thrill ran through me as I realised 3rd place won $155.

After some more quite lucky hands, and some uncharacteristically aggressive play on my part, I made it to the last four. Then one other guy ran out of chips and I realised I’d won some cash! I had a good setup for my last round but the guy on my left hit a high pair and beat me on the river. I wasn’t angry, I was still ecstatic to have made it to 3rd out of about 30 players.

With my winnings in hand I strolled very smugly back to our casino, ready to tell Sarah in great detail about my victorious evening, and mentally preparing for our next early morning and our trip to the grand canyon.

3 Weeks in the USA!

I’m about to start a 3 week road trip across (most of) the USA with my girlfriend Sarah, and I hope to post here occasionally with some travel updates.

The plan is to start in Las Vegas and make our way to New York by coach, car, helicopter, boat and train. We’ll stop at the grand canyon and niagara falls, and drive some of Route 66. If that interests you, check back here at some point. ^_^