View from the Empire State

Well, a good long run round the perimiter of Central Park this moring has perked me up completely, and Dan and me spent the day enjoying Manhattan on foot. Much of Broadway has been pedestriansed from Central Park down to Madison Square, and a cycle path has been built. With the free deckchairs and tables with umbrellas, it has quite a continental feel.

Tonight it's the Empire State and a stroll along the Hudson.

The endless journey has ended where we started in New York. While I was looking forward to getting here, I find that the Road has spoiled it to some extent. Manhattan seems expensive and lacking in soul – after a month of being in the US, the short-tempered and paranoid New Yorkers hold no charm for me. I got a more electric vibe from downtown Baltimore -- which reminded me, in its crazy family-oriented waterside nightlife of Tel Aviv’s Tayelet. Charleston, Georgia had more class.

Yes, New York has me feeling flat. Maybe after a good run in Central Park tomorrow I’ll remember why I still say, unthinkingly, New York is my favourite US city. Maybe because I’m thinking of the impending Visa bill, or of dealing with life without Mish when I get back. Maybe. Maybe I’m just tired. Maybe its because I’m not in Kansas any more.

Missouri, Illinois and Indiana.

Kansas

Getting Lost with Dan and Kate

Sad old Vegas

Bryce Canyon

The shimmering US-70 in Arizona curves and dips suddenly to reveal a huge, ancient saguaro cactus flanking the road like an alien monster hitch-hiker. I glance over at Dan. Behind his sunglasses, his eyelids are heavy, but no, he’s not asleep. Neither is he dozing. Like me, he’s merely “zoning” on the road and the infinite perspective.

I remember, I could be instantly calmed down by a trip in my parents’ car. Growing up, I loved everything about car rides: The hum of the engine, the gentle swaying and vibration, the entertainment of the slowly changing view from behind the safety of the window. Then, as now, I would prefer it if there were no talking, no radio: Only the purring engine should provide the sound track for a car trip.

Above all else, I loved the mystery of the unknown just around the next corner. Getting Lost, I’d call it. “Let’s Get Lost,” I’d ask Dad. And he’d take me on the little streets around where we lived. He’d come to a junction and say to me “Which Way? Which Way do we go now?” And I’d say, “Left”. And he’d say “Are you sure?” and I’d say, “No, I mean right. Let’s go right.” And we’d go right.

Back home in England, there are no infinite perspectives to zone on. The motorways are crowded and people drive fast. The country roads are narrow, and twist and turn like garden mazes, flanked by wildflowers and high lush hedgerows, which afford little view of the cosy green and gold countryside. Cruise control is unusable, except at night on the motorways. I drive a lot in England, to and from music gigs. Often the venues for these gigs are in the most beautiful spots in the country: fine stately homes set in gorgeous landscaped gardens, which have been leased out for nouveau riche weddings by their impecunious squires.

Driving home after a long and tiring gig in Somerset a year or so ago I found myself disorientated and lost. Mile after mile of tiny twisting lanes took me even further from the main road I was trying to get to. I was sleepy and my neck hurt. Finding myself returning to the same spot after an hour, I stopped the car, got out and screamed oaths at the top of my voice, cursing my life, my job, but above all, the jolly little country lane which as far as I could tell had not one side-turning, running in a continuous, endless, inescapable loop.

The next day I caved and bought a Tom Tom satnav, something each of the other band members had done long ago. I deliberately chose one that had U.S. maps as well as British and European ones, because I had long been planning a big Road Trip across the United States. It comes with a number of voices, the default being Kate, a nice, soothing kind of voice, calm but ever so slightly reprimanding when I miss a turn-off. Well-spoken.

And now here we are, me and Dan, four thousand miles into that long-planned Road Trip, somewhere in the inhuman heat of Arizona. Not Lost, though, because we have Kate with us. Like Dan, Kate is basically taciturn, speaking only when she has something important to say.

The outer journey mirrors the inner one: The pilgrim progresses, back where he started, back to the Home not the same as the one he left, because the returning traveller is not the same as departing one.

When Dan and I return home, it will be different, because when we left Mish was there, and when we return she’ll be gone.

“After two miles, take the exit left, towards Phoenix.” Kate stirs me out of the reverie. Good thing one of us knows where we’re going.

Beautiful Colorado

Dan and I spent the last few days being with family in Los Angeles, Dan with my nephew, and me with my brother. L.A. is its usual self, with its vacuously cheerful blue skies. Dan and I gravitate to the tourist places with a European scale, where walking and people-watching are possible.

Spent Saturday driving across Western Texas on I10, ending up in El Paso. What a dump! Anyway I was so tired I didn't really care. Dan snapped me comatose on the bed after the 600 mile drive. We did stop for a burrito breakfast in a great Mexican eating place in a small town a few miles off the main road though. The walls were adorned with pictures of the founder, who started the place in 1929.

Yesterday was a better drive, mainly because we left the Interstate. Had a great time driving trough Tonto national park, where thousands of saguaro catcus grow on the hillsides.

Ended the day in Phoenix, AZ, staying at its oldest hotel . They had a pool party in the the 100 degree heat. We were the only hotel guests there, everyone else was local young people. Sofas and strange aging punks. Weird atmosphere altogether, made weirder by the furnace-like heat of the night.