Camp America: Part One

Unsurprisingly, there is a lot to say on this subject, so I may have to break it down into several parts. As is traditional, let's start at the beginning. I believe I left you with the rat and raccoon anecdote at the crap hostel in New York. So, Day One: Philadelphia & Washington D.C.

The view from George Washington bridge across the Hudson was incredible, as we rolled alongside Mack trucks and giant American cars in our cramped van and trailer. Oh, slight digression before we really hit the road - my sleeping bag got stolen before I even left the hostel. That's right - despite locking my bag in a 'secure' room, I managed to pick it up, have a whole evening's entertainment and almost get into our tour van the next day without noticing that the bright red, giant-ass sleeping bag that was knotted to the front of my pack had gone walkies. After fuming and making red-faced enquiries for a few minutes, the kindly man at the front desk gave me his 'spare'. Initally, & probably unfairly, I suspected some filthy old rag covered in suspicious stains, but it actually appeared to be brand new, and he didn't expect it back. Silver lining in every cloud & all that. Anyhoo, boring, let's move on.

Dear old Brandon, who I can't recall if I have already mentioned was our tour guide, was keen to crack on as we had a lot of ground to cover. Around 5,334 miles if I recall correctly. Anyway, I have never met anyone more time obsessed than myself (though I have got better... I swear), but here he was in tour guide form. Don't get me wrong, he needed to keep us on a tight leash as we had so far to go, but we enjoyed mocking him for his precise time allowances, viz: "OK, you can go check out the Liberty Bell for around 25 minutes, so if we can be back here for 1.45... no make it 1.50." That extra five minutes really helps when you're busting for the loo and are terrified that the van will drive off without you as you're running towards it, pants around ankles, waving and shouting like a wee obsessed maniac. The other eccentric requests from the soon to be known as 'Daddy B' were 1) shower every day (he previously had someone on tour who didn't, and in 40 degree heat this can get pretty antisocial) and 2) no crisps, chips or chocolate in the van (ostensibly, they smell and cause mess). This guy was pretty OCD when it came to keeping things tidy, something I have to say I can get on board with as a cleanliness freak.

We hit Philadelphia pretty swiftly, and our first stops were to be the two places both claiming to be the original inventors of Philly Cheese Steak. For those of you unfamiliar with this delicious concept, please click here:

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cheesesteak

We patronised 'Geno's' steakhouse, and 'Pat's King of Steaks', and concluded, slightly unfairly, that Pat's won out on deliciousness alone. Ironically, Daddy B 'no crisps, chips or chocolate' allowed us to eat these horrendously greasy items in the van, and we all enjoyed this contradiction immensely.

A speedy trip to the Liberty Bell (symbol of American freedom) and a Dairy Queen were had. Dairy Queen: a revolting symbol of all that is wrong with American eating habits. The cakes were a lurid frozen collection of various eye watering neon combinations that looked like they might be carcinogenic. There were ridiculously creamy drinks and 'ice cream turtles' that resembled neither ice ceam nor turtles, all treated as if they were an everyday snack you might just pick up from the corner shop after work rather than a rare treat. It all made me feel rather queasy. And horribly judgemental.

Onwards to the Washington D.C. campsite. The best one we stayed at! Enormous pool, wifi, snug little corner of the woods to ourselves. Lovely. And the best discovery of the day? Shock Top IPA - wheat beer with citrus peel and coriander flavours. As soon as we got into the campsite, I necked 2 bottles in quick succession as they were cold from the fridge and quite frankly, they were rather delicious.

A quick dinner of spaghetti bolognaise and salad was welcomed with open arms, especially after the stomach bloating properties of the cheese steak. We all sat happily about the picnic bench and ate as if it was our last supper on death row. After not really eating all that properly (sorry Mum!) for four days previously, this was heaven.

Anyway, I digress. After 3 beers, because I am a lame lightweight, I headed off to sleep in Bree & I's carefully constructed tent, complete with bent top pole (make of that what you will). We had made our first rookie campers' mistake. We had left the insect net open all day, and some of our six and eight-legged chums had decided to bed down with us for the night. All Buddhist goodwill and nonviolent protest intentions went out of the window when I found about 5 spiders and a multitude of earwigs in our sleeping bags and equipment. A primitive measure was taken out on the unlucky creatures as I severely beat the living crap out of them with a well aimed flip flop, with the pure anger of the semi-drunk.

And then there was Washington D.C - a most enjoyable place - we visited the Lincoln Memorial (Abe in the big chair), the Vietnam War Memorial, designed by a student who intended it the memorial to resemble a cut into the earth that eventually grows over with grass - The WWII memorial (huge), the outside of the White House and Potbelly's Diner, probably America's finest institution yet. One thing's for sure, the Americans love their patriotism, and they do it extremely well. Flags hang from every conceivable surface, and sternfaced law enforcement officials patrol any remotely politically charged attraction.

My favourite thing about Washington was its excellent Holocaust Museum. An incredibly well put together collection of information & exhibits, the permanent exhibition comprised of a trip up in a lift to the upper floor, where you are given a replica immigration card of a Holocaust survivor, complete with name and backstory.

Displays of items such as the striped pyjamas inmates wore & tear jerking details of how far the Nazis persecuted the Jews, disabled, mentally ill and homosexual were both depressing and thought provoking & upon seeing a plaque at the museum exit dedicated to Stephen Tyrone Johns, a security guard shot and killed by a white supremacist who opened fire in the museum, had a bit of a cry. To lighten the mood, Bree, who gets motion sickness quite badly, managed to throw up some of her double choc cookie ice cream sandwich from visit #2 of the day to PotBelly's on the way back to the campground.

We went for a swim after dinner & balanced out the bad karma from the previous day's insect massacre by rescuing a particularly stupid species of beetle from the pool that kept flying back into the water once we had put them on dry land.

Then a teenage boy had a massive barney with his brother and it all kicked off, & we left before anything interesting actually happened.

More to follow...

Goodbye NYC

Hello all,Currently in new orleans. I am updating this on an ipad, so have decided i can't be bothered to use the correct capitalisation as it's too much effort with a mild Bourbon St hangover. Forgive me :)So, following the excesses of the margarita cup night, I spent most of the day feeling decidedly peaky - Delhi belly in new York of all places. Well, at least they have flushing toilets here. Spent the majority of the day feeling a bit sorry for myself and hung around the hostel while the owner hovered around my feet. Eventually deciding it was probably a good idea to get moving, I ventured outside. Big mistake. The 32degree heat slapped me in the face as soon as I got outside, like a hot complimentary towel on an Asian airline. I bought some plain tortilla chips & a box of loperamide and went slowly across to catch the ferry to Wall St. I missed the departure by one minute, and had half an hour to wait, so I tried to find a small patch of shade i could hide in. The ferry across the East River (known rather aptly as the East River Ferry), was a gorgeous boat ride across to Manhattan and it was great to catch some breeze. I tried desperately not to chuck up over the deck as we spun round 180degrees from the dock to head to Wall St, and appreciate the view. Everyone else on the boat was in couples, families or groups of friends. I was getting slightly bored of feeling so alone, and idly looked forward to meeting my tour group the next day. Several hours of hot wandering around later, I met up with Joel, a son of one of my mums good friends (yep!) and drank soda water at a university watering hole called The Penny Farthing. Really happy to talk to someone from Britain, we discussed the idiosyncrasies of new York and American life in general. My final stop of the day was to Talitha's flat in Park slope, Brooklyn. I lay on her yoga mat to straighten out my sore back and she fed me plain fish and rice. What a star. Beautiful young people wafted about the place, and I felt pretty old, but they were all very friendly and interesting. We sat on the roof and I was surprised to note that they all smoked, while none of my friends at home do. What's difference a couple of years and a new York address makes eh!One slightly sketchy incident with an older park slope inhabitant later (I believe the dialogue went "hey gorgeous, you wanna go someplace?" which was met with a fixed glare and a hurried pace) I was back on the beloved MTA train back to Williamsburg, where I took a long shower and resolved to feel better in the morning. I did, and so I checked out, with every intention of visiting Ellis Island immigration museum. This predictably didn't happen. I started out making my way down to South Ferry to catch the boat, and got caught up in conversation with some delightful elderly people on their way to Governors island. They were all down for a wedding and were more than happy to chat with me and help me find my way on the shuttle bus to the ferry point. One particularly perky member of their party, the kind of older lady with a fun, mischievous face who has been through some things and seen and done it all, was particularly in favour of my trip. "you're brave, I'll say that much, but good for you." I got my ticket stub and baked as I walked to the red t-shirted city tours rep, as instructed to on my ticket. An unhelpful response. Apparently I was talking to the incorrect red t-shirted man. The incorrect red t-shirted man waved his hand in the general direction of some other red tshirts, and I dutifully followed. Eventually I was able to exchange my ticket stub for an actual ticket, and pausing to grab a jalapeño cheese pretzel (heavenly) and two bottles of cold water, I took my place in the hour long queue for security. America and their bloody security. Having waited in the full midday sun for approximately 40 seconds, I lost all patience with the heat, dust and the moronic red t-shirted men walked out of the queue and called Hamed. He was on Coney island beach, where we could swim and go to Luna park (ancient wooden roller coasters and the like). I said I'd be right over. I ended up on a fantastic beach with some crazy Colombian lesbians and their college friends. For the first time in the last few days, I laughed hysterically, in a state of blissful rapture as I ran headlong into the sea, relishing the cold as it splashed off the sweat, sand and probably most of my suncream. I was probably the only tourist there and this seemed to be where the native new Yorkers hung out on a free day. Families wolfed down pizza, ate snacks and drank beer (in heavily covered cans, this is America after all) from coolers, there were no windbreakers or changing awkwardly under towels while ghost white skin puckered with cold. Nobody had sand in their stale sandwiches, they all ate giant turkey sub rolls and crisps from bags bigger than their heads. Shortly, we were joined by the NYPD's helicopter and several police boats. Nobody knew what was going on and from what I could tell, the police were flying by just to wave at everyone on the beach. They circled the beach lower and lower each time, and each time I thought they might actually be rescuing someone or about to grab a megaphone and tell someone off, these two officers appeared at the door opening, big daft grins on their faces, waving like loons. Police presence on the beach itself was heavy, with officers on sand buggies checkin people weren't drinking in public, which of course they were, heavily. A tough assignment, all they seemed to be doing was checking out the bikini bottoms.This leads me on nicely to butter pecan ice cream. Good God, where has it been all my life? The heat was so intense that it melted all over my hands quicker than I could eat it, but what I did manage to force down I enjoyed immensely. We walked back from the cafe, past a group of people dancing to electro, all out of sync and apparently in hope of getting a few dollars for their efforts. I had to get back to the hostel to check in for my welcome meeting, so I left the gang behind and hauled myself back on the MTA.Of course, as I had to be back by 6, I managed to get the express train by accident and ended up 4 stops from where my hostel was. I thought I had managed pretty well up until this point. There was no welcome meeting at 6, but I did meet some similarly confused members of my group and decided to call the tour company. To their credit, they had warned the hostel they would be late, but being as it was run by morons, they hadnt passed on the message. We decided to grab some pizza and return. I was happy to meet a very perky American girl, Brianna, who was also on my trip and was more than happy to chatter away while we ate with some of the others. Kelly, a fellow Brit, Ellie (also Brit), a few Aussies and an older woman from Italy, Patrizia, who was sharing my room at the hostel, joined us and we all gushed excitedly about the upcoming adventure, but I was sad to note that most of them were on a different tour. However, Ellie and Bri were along for the ride and from that point forward it was generally accepted that we would sit together on the bus. Our tour guide Brandon joined us at 9pm and we finally had the hallowed welcome meeting, which mainly involved a series of insurance forms and waivers of responsibility for the company in case we fell down a ravine etc. We each had to do that dreadful group dynamics thing where we each say one interesting fact about ourselves, which inevitably results in a series of dull facts about owning pet dogs called Smoky and having once met the Queen's eightieth cousin twice removed. Still, that didn't dampen the mood, and once the meeting was over and the jet lagged crawled off to bed, Bri and I sat by Central Park gate to while away the time before bed and managed to make friends with a pair of raccoons that were rifling through the bins. Once the giant rat turned up, we scarpered. Bedtime.