Category Archives: Antarctica to Alaska

130. Plains, trains and snow capped mountains

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Wednesday, 1 May 2019

Glacier Park, Montana, USA

 

Surprisingly good sleep considering the shake, rattle and roll of the train as it trundles across the plains of North Dakota. Not as bad as the Washington DC to Chicago train as the track seems to be a lot straighter.

Wake up to snow. They’d had a big blizzard a few days ago, the remnants of which I see across the flat lands.

Full day on the train but it soon passes. By the time you’ve had breakfast, caught up on news, listened to a few Infinite Monkey Cage podcasts, typed up blog, had lunch, watched the flat scenery from the observation car and watched a film, it’s soon time for a pre-dinner drink in the observation car as we enter Glacier National Park.

Shortly before we have a brief platform stop at Havre, a load of men in uniforms board the train. Stupidly, I enquire who they are as one passes my cabin. Border patrol, he says. Oh right, say I. Where you from, says he. England, say I. Let’s see your passport, says he. Really? Says I. Of course, says he. We’re border patrol. Flipping ‘eck. Only asked who you were. Hand over passport. What visa have you got, says he. Erm, says I. I’ve got no idea. Filled in an ESTA. He’s taking too much interest in my North Korean visa for my liking but says nothing. Passport flicked through. He’s seen the entry stamp, which I fortunately asked immigration to stamp in Dallas after being told they don’t stamp passports any more, as it’s all electronic these days. And with that, hands passport back and clears off. Cheeky sod.

Had seen snow capped mountains in the distance as we entered Montana and as we head further west, pass through them.

These are the Rocky Mountains. The setting sun glancing off the ice packs thousands of feet up. Stunning views along the way before darkness falls. Pass remote settlements and you wonder how they make a living. All along the route today have been small settlements out on the plains. Full of rusting scrap and other debris by the wayside.

Dinner with a Louisiana retired couple visiting son in Portland, and a millennial girl who is migrating from Milwaukee to Portland. Starts snowing too. Quite a good chat and they have delight in telling me that they all watch ‘The Great British Bake Off’ on Netflix and love it. Everyone is so nice, they say. At the end of the meal the elderly gent offers to pay for the millennial girl’s dinner, as she’s just starting out in the world and saving up for rent etc. He places $15 on the bill, thinking the total is only $12. The money is returned by the waiter who says it’s not enough. Total is actually $23 plus tips. Elderly gent had been looking at the table number 12 on the bill, rather than the cost. And has to stump up another $10.

Having bought another beer to take to cabin, place it on the floor so it wouldn’t slide off any surfaces as the train shakes, rattles and rolls along the tracks. Soon discover my feet are wet. The beer has toppled over on one vicious pitch and toss of the carriage. Dispensing its contents all over the sodding, and now sodden, carpet. $8 down the drain. So to speak.

129. Shake, rattle and roll

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Tuesday, 30 April 2019

St Paul-Minneapolis, Minnesota, USA

 

Absolutely shattered as the train pulls into Chicago Union Station. About an hour before arriving, the clocks have gone back 1hr to Central Standard Time, having been on Eastern Standard Time since passing Tallahassee in Florida all those weeks ago. There was some confusion with the guard last night over what time breakfast finished and whether it was 0830hrs EST or CST. He made out it was CST, which would make sense as that would be 15 mins before arriving in Chicago. So it’s with some alarm that as the clocks go back as we hit the zone change at 0800hrs EST, which changes to 0700hrs CST, and thinking I’ve got another 90 minutes until breakfast finishes, that they announce that this is the final call for breakfast.  Clearly, it’s 0830hrs EST, not CST, that breakfast finishes. I’m like a grumpy little ogre as I hurriedly get dressed in my swing a cat cabin which is rocking and a rolling all over the place, racing to grab a much needed coffee and disgusting egg, cheese and ham roll. All nicely microwaved in a plastic wrapper.

A young Amish lad, about 14 years old, sits on the table across the aisle and engages in conversation.

Now those that know me, know that the lesser spotted Touring Taurean needs a bit of peace and quiet as he wakes up from a sleepless night.

But the Amish lad’s infectious enthusiasm to have a chat is one I’ll put up with. He doesn’t know much about the big wide world and when I tell him I’m from Nottingham, England, he looks puzzled and asks if that’s in Canada.

My dear boy. You are about to be educated. Ask if he’s seen a world map before. He says he doesn’t think so. He has no idea where I’m from. Told you the Amish only had a basic education in my blog entry from last week.

Pull up Google Maps on phone to show the world. He’s impressed that I’ve come from across the Atlantic Ocean. Explain where England is and Europe. He wants to know if there’s anywhere that doesn’t speak English. Easier to tell him which countries do speak English.

He doesn’t watch TV, films or listen to the radio but he does know a song called ‘Whisky Glasses’, which is his favourite for some reason, so I pull it up on YouTube so he can listen. He’s chuffed to bits and smiling as he listens to the song. He and family are off to Chicago to then take the train to Los Angeles and then go down to New Mexico. Seems to be a big group going so wonder if it’s some special event.

Train actually arrives 20 minutes early into Chicago.

Oh. My. God.

It’s bloody freezing!

Having enjoyed hotter climes since, well, leaving Antarctica, it’s a shock to the system. About 4C, grey and lashing with rain.

About a 5hr wait until the next train. The Empire Builder will travel along the northern edge of the USA, following the Canadian border to Seattle over 45hrs. Two more nights in a swing a cat cabin.

Yay.

Could’ve gone for a walk about Chicago for a few hours but as I’ve been before, it’s bloody cold, it’s lashing it down with rain and I’m totally knackered, ensconce myself in the warm first class lounge and catch up on blog and diary for a few hours.

Finally board to discover that it’s a slightly newer version of the Sleepliner carriages and that there’s fractionally more space in the toilet/shower cubicle. Thankfully.

Shake, rattle and roll as we travel through the industrial areas of Illinois, Wisconsin and Minnesota. Having decided that the shower is just about big enough for me, decide I’ll take the plunge. Well, dear reader, if you could see some of the contortions I have to do get soaped up you would laugh. Coupled with being bounced about and nearly losing my balance. Yeah, great.

Communal dining in the restaurant car gives an opportunity to chat with fellow travellers. Two on my table are Chinese and hardly speak English. As my Chinese isn’t what it used to be, it’s a short hello, where you from, sort of exchange. Young lady to my left is very pleasant though and it’s an enjoyable natter over dinner. We’re both enjoying the wine, in an attempt to fall asleep later. She’s come by train from Maine and travelling to Seattle for her friend’s wedding at the weekend. During the course of conversation, becomes apparent that I’m old enough to be her Dad.

And I suddenly feel old. Very old.

Bed is made up during dinner by my Hungarian attendant who reminds me of a Hungarian secretary I worked with in Dublin. Could almost be her sister. Consequence of having quite a big bed is that it impinges on floor space so a bit of an obstacle course to get from one side of cabin to the other.

A few squeaks and vibrations to resolve first.

Bit of gaffer tape on the door latch as it has a habit of vibrating open enabling the door to slide open. Bit of gaffer tape, I say a bit, quite a lot actually, is deployed on the washhand basin unit to stick the partition to the structural column. Bit of tissue paper wedged in a locked cabinet to stop vibrations. Two rolled up towels stuffed between stowed upper bunk in the raised position and the ceiling to stop upper bunk squeaking on the metal catches. Small face flannel wedged between the rubbish bin and the door that hides rubbish bin to stop rubbish bin clanging in the cupboard. Ah yes. That just about covers all bases.

Not sure if it’s the beer, wine and whisky that makes me fall straight asleep. Or the fact that I’m totally knackered from last night.

But.

I sleep rather well!

128. On the rails

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Monday, 29 April 2019

Somewhere between Washington DC and Chicago, USA

 

Late afternoon train departure from Union Station in Washington DC on the overnight sleeper service to Chicago.

Union Station is a nice big architectural building with a grand entrance hall. It’s to be an 18hr overnight journey to Chicago.

Depart Washington DC on time and soon leave the suburbs behind trundling through dense lush green forests, loosely following the Potomac River through Maryland and Pennsylvania. At Martinsburg station, in Pennsylvania, a large group of Amish board.

Cabin is ensuite but you’d struggle to swing a cat in the combined shower and toilet cubicle. Thing aircraft sized toilet but with a shower and you’ll understand why I forego a shower on this occasion.

Like trying to have a shower in a coffin.

A minute washhand basin in the cabin completes the facilities. The sofa converts to quite a wide bed at night with just enough leg room to stretch out.

Dinner is served. Have opted for the tasty sounding Beef Provencal but I suspect it’s never been anywhere near France. It’s a microwave job and the superheated steam nearly spot welds my tongue to cheek.

Cabin is converted to a bed whilst having dinner and find that as the bed is quite wide there’s even less room to walk.

Plenty of squeaks and vibrations.

Manage to resolve the toilet door flying open every five minutes, because the latch vibrates open, with a bit of masking tape I’d bought and wrapped around a container when in Guayaquil, Ecuador, on the advice of an old friend (you know who you are!), and kept in my bag for such eventualities.

It’s 0300hrs when another squeak is rectified by bunging a towel between the top bunk (stowed at an angle as not in use) and the ceiling tile. Feeling rather chuffed with myself that I’ve sorted the squeak out try and get to sleep.

Having.

Not.

Had.

Any.

Yet.

Grrr.

But then after a few minutes as I’ve got back into bed and made myself as uncomfortable as possible, a vibration starts in the ceiling.

Sod it.

Get up again.

Seeing that I’ve bunged the towel up tight against the ceiling near the ventilation grille, this has lifted the ceiling slightly above the grille which now has space to vibrate. Issue resolved by moving towel away from grilles.

Get back in to back and try and sleep.

But then I need a pee.

By now it’s 0330hrs and not had any sleep yet.

But I’ve gaffer taped the toilet door shut so end up with gluey sticky mess on my fingers as I…well…you know what.

And to compound matters. For some inexplicable reason. The toilet light won’t come on.

So I’m shooting in the dark.

Back into bed.

Somehow.

In the early hours.

Manage to grab a disturbed couple of hours of light snooze.

Can’t wait for the next two nights on the rails.

127. Spiderman

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Sunday, 28 April 2019

Washington DC, USA

 

Nothing much to report folks. Bit of an admin day and planning the next sector of the trip through Alaska.

Oh.

But.

I did meet Spiderman on the Metro.

Only in America.

126. Because I like you

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Saturday, 27 April 2019

Washington DC, USA

 

Walking along Pennnsylvania Avenue mid morning towards the US Capitol, there are many large government buildings. It’s like London but the buildings are bigger. Much bigger. And more spaced apart.

The only monstrosity amongst the ornate architecture is the hideous concrete FBI Headquarters. Dreadful building.

The mile or so walk is rewarded by the very impressive US Capitol standing proud on the hill overlooking the National Mall. Its brilliant white stonework is beautifully set against the deepest, bluest sky I’ve seen in years.

A magnificent day.

Hordes of tourists traipse through the guided tour of the Capitol and an example, once again, of over tourism. Nevertheless, it’s interesting to see the massive and very impressive central Rotunda. Construction of the main Capitol building began in 1793 and was completed in 1800.

Then.

And I didn’t know this.

The British came in 1814 and burned it down.

So much for the Special Relationship.

As part of the reconstruction, the Rotunda we see today was built between 1818 and 1824 with the Capitol dome above being built 1857 to 1866. Around the top of the Rotunda is a depiction of American history from its discovery by Columbus in 1492 through to the Wright Brothers. Adjacent the Rotunda is the Statutary Hall, where all the states have statues of prominent Americans from that state. Beneath the Rotunda is the Crypt, which was intended to house the coffin of George Washington, until his family buried him elsewhere, in accordance with his will. The central point has a stone star laid into the marble. This being the point from where all distances are measured from in Washington DC.

A number of tunnels link various buildings and it’s a short walk underground to the National Library of Congress Jefferson Building. Once again, architecturally stunning both inside and out. Looking at the interior, you could almost be in some very expensive hotel in Venice. It’s that ornate with painted frescoes adorning the walls. Housing amongst other things the Jefferson Library, the Gutenberg Bible (the first to be produced by the Gutenberg Press in Germany) and the first map dating back to the 16th century to show the name ‘America’. Oh. And Sir Francis Drake’s map from 1589 depicting his foray to he New World. The whole place is dripping in history.

The piece de resistance though is the Main Reading Room. Wow. Another impressive domed rotunda. Sadly, the tourist viewing point is from behind a protective glass window which is no good for taking photographs due to the reflections.

However.

Dear reader.

Just because you are a bit special.

A plan is hatched.

Just for a better photo.

Had been told about an hour earlier that anyone can join the library and access the reading rooms. This little nugget of information is lurking in the deepest recesses of my brain as I’m struggling to get a decent photo from the windowed viewing gallery trying to avoid reflections.

So.

Passport in hand, make my way into the basement and register to join. A five minute process of filling in a form, handing over passport, photograph taken and new library card printed.

Voila.

Easy peasy. I’m now able to access all the various reading rooms.

Only want to the go in the Main Reading Room for a photo but as soon as I enter, see many signs saying, ‘NO PHOTOS!’ and ‘SILENCE’.

Need a book to make it look like I’ve a reason to be there.

Enter the Main Reading Room.

It’s deathly quiet.

Like a morgue.

However.

The deathly silence is punctuated by my boot emitting a creaking sound.

You see, dear reader, when tying laces this morning I must have tied the lace a bit too tight against a bit of leather on my left boot.

Every time I take a footstep.

There’s a ‘creeaak’.

And not just a quiet ‘creeaak’. It’s rather loud and obtrusive.

And amplified by the ambient silence.

So there I am. Walking about.

Creeaak.

Pause.

Creeaak.

Pause.

Creeaak.

And of course, trying to walk slower only accentuates the noise.

Rather embarrassing. I have to say.

Around the perimeter walls are alcoves full of bookshelves. In the centre of the reading room is a large wooden librarians’ desk.

Eventually find a book on English folklore. Of all things.

Now I need to get to a reading desk which is hidden from view from the librarian and doesn’t have too many neighbours, so I can take an illicit photograph of the Main Reading Room.

Just doing this for you, dear reader, don’t forget the things I do for you.

There’s a row of desks the other side of the room that looks suitable.

Off I go.

Book in hand.

Looking academic.

Creeaak.

Pause.

Creeaak.

Pause.

Creeaak.

Pause.

Quiet as a church mouse I am not.

Reading desk is perfect. Back row. No neighbours and librarian has her back to me.

This is covert stuff readers.

As I’m settling in, a young lad enters the reading room and starts taking photographs from the entrance lobby.

Oh oh.

He’s been spotted.

Called over.

And admonished by the librarian.

Looks like she’s making him delete the photos from his phone.

He’s clearly not as subtle as me.

Can do subtle when I want to.

After she’s sorted him out, she disappears behind a screen.

Now’s my chance.

Few photos taken, the results of which are below. Far better than trying to take through reflective glass.

Job done. Book is deposited at the desk and off I creak.

Still a glorious blue sky as I walk down the Mall. Either side has an amazing array of Smithsonian Museums. More time is definitely required in Washington DC. The roads bisecting the Mall are full of food vans flogging crap food. Parked up nose to tail, each is blaring out its particular jingle in a cacophony of sound.

Half way down the Mall is the Washington Monument, the very tall obelisk you will no doubt have seen in films and on the news. This forms the central point of the long Capitol to Lincoln Memorial Mall, teeing off to the White House. Sadly, it’s closed for lift repairs but I imagine the views from the top are absolutely stunning, for you can go inside it.

As I’m crossing the road, hear a lot of sirens and see blue flashing lights coming out of the White House up the road.

It’s the Presidential Motorcade.

The advance motorbike outriders are taking no prisoners and telling cars to move over and stop, along with a middle aged woman on her bike, who hardly seems a security threat. They zoom by in a flash. Later find out it was President Trump and the Japanese Prime Minister going for a game of golf.

Continue along the Mall to the other end. It culminates at the Lincoln Memorial. Yet another impressive structure and built 1914 to 1920. Like some Greek Temple it stands high up with the statue of Lincoln inside gazing out down the Mall. As if keeping an eye on things. Very impressive structure and very impressive views.

Finally arrive at the White House. Had been to see it from the south side last night and it’s surprisingly far away. At Lafayette Square though, you’re a lot nearer and it’s a better photo opportunity. Secret Service on the roof with binoculars spying on everyone down here.

The footpath on the southern side is closed at the moment and a group of Americans tell me they’ve closed it as Marine One helicopter is about to take off with the President Trump on board. Which we see depart a few minutes later.

Have thoroughly enjoyed Washington. So much to see and do. Repeat visit required.

Tonight’s entertainment is an evening with Professor Brian Cox. The astrophysicist. I’d been to see him at Wembley Arena a couple of years ago. Then, 10,000 people had turned up on a Friday night to listen to a talk on cosmology. Tonight, the 2,000 seat theatre is pretty much sold out. Once again, it’s an excellent evening with stunning photographs and a brilliant explanation of blackholes, event horizons and singularity.

However.

The seats aren’t the most comfortable. Especially as have a tall obese America in front of me blocking my view (now I know how people feel who sit behind me normally) and an obese American next to me spilling over.

During the interval, having been fleeced and still reeling from paying $12 for a can of Stella, spot some free standing chairs at the back of the theatre with prime view, set aside for accompanying wheelchair users. Ask the very nice middle aged female attendant if, because of my height and long legs, I could possibly sit in one of the free standing chairs. I am politeness personified.

With the poshest English accent I can muster.

Americans go crazy for that.

She’s smitten.

We have a little laugh and joke.

I’m on to a winner here. I can feel it.

She fully understands my plight.

She says, “Because I like you, you can sit here.”

Taurean charm, you see.

And points to a red velvet covered chair with wooden armrests. The sort of chair you might put a VIP. It stands all on its own, with bags of space and loads of leg room. Cordoned off from everything else with a thick red velvet rope on brass stands. The sort you might find in a posh nightclub to separate the riff raff from the VIPs.

It’s very me.

Thank her profusely.

I’m feeling special.

Yeah. I know.

Special needs.

It’s a great evening.

Entertaining. Informative. Funny.

Bit like this blog really.

125. Ku Klux Klan burnt by grandmother’s house down

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Friday, 26 April 2019

Washington DC, USA

 

Weather forecast is not good so it’s a museum day and manage to gain entry at the last minute to the fully booked National Museum of African American History.

One of the most fascinating and interesting museums I’ve been too. After a 6hr visit still haven’t had time to fully see everything. Well worth a visit.

The recently completed museum charts the history of African Americans starting with the expansion of European trade in the 1400s, through to slavery during the colonisation of America, Independence and the Civil War, subsequent emancipation and segregation.

The British weren’t exactly whiter than white in their day either.

The museum is designed so that you start in the dark, gloomy and cramped basement which details slavery and as you progress up the different levels of the building it gets lighter and more roomy as African American history progresses to the present day.

It’s a lift ride down to the lowest basement level and told by the little lady lift attendant that you then have to make your way through the exhibits and up the various ramps to exit. However, after an hour or so, in need of lunch but still in the lowest basement level exhibits. Not wanting to traipse all the way through the one way system and up three levels of ramps to the museum café, decide it will be easier to get in the lift and go up three levels and I’ll be straight at the café.

Easy peasy.

Lemon squeezy.

Step inside the lift once the new batch of visitors have decanted.

Oh oh. Little lady lift attendant isn’t having it. “You can’t come in here.”, she says, “The lift doesn’t go up!”

Erm.

Not much of a lift then is it, I hear you cry.

An argument ensues.

“Yes it does!”, says I, “It has to. You need to get back up to collect the next batch of visitors.”

She has to think about that argument for a bit. Can see her little brain whirring.

“No, the lift only goes down. You’re not allowed to go up in the lift.”, she retorts.

“Why?”                         

“Because them the rules!”

Oh FFS.

She throws me out of the lift. Make my way through the busy tightly packed crowds up three levels to the café.

Muttering to myself.

Bloody jobsworths.

Many of the African American Civil Rights names of the 20th century you will know, such as Rosa Parks, Martin Luther King Jr and Malcom X, but there’s one name I hadn’t heard of until now.

Emmett Till.

There’s a long queue waiting to enter a small room with an empty coffin. Ask a young black woman what the queue is for and there’s a slight air of disgust that I don’t know about Emmett Till, until I explain I’m British and don’t know American history, and then she lightens up a bit and tells me to read the display behind me.

In 1955, at the age of 14, he was alleged to have whistled at a 21 year old, married, white woman, Carolyn Bryant, a store owner in Mississippi. She alleged that he grabbed her waist and uttered obscenities. At the time, this violated the Jim Crow laws, which enforced segregation between blacks and whites in the former Confederate states of the south. Emmett Till was from Chicago though and on holiday with family in Mississippi at the time.

A few days after the alleged incident, Bryant’s husband and his half brother went to Emmett Till’s relatives’ home and abducted the 14 year old, taking him away for a beating. They mutilated his body and then shot him in the head before sinking his body in the river. A few days later, the body was discovered.

At the funeral, Till’s mother insisted that his mutilated body should remain as is and be placed in an open coffin to show the world the horrific mutilation.

The two white men were quickly cleared of any wrongdoing by an all white jury.

A video of Till’s mother taken some years later shows her describing what she saw on that fateful day his body was discovered.

“His eye ball was hanging from its socket half way down his cheek.”

Just think about that for a moment.

A mother describing her teenage son.

No one should ever have to describe any one like that.

Decades later, Carolyn Bryant, the white woman, admitted that she had lied and that Emmett Till had not grabbed her waist and uttered obscenities.

As I’m walking about, overhear a young black woman talking to another black woman in the section highlighting lynchings and the Ku Klux Klan.

Wasn’t quite sure if I’d heard correctly so explain I’m British etc and did I hear right.

Told that the Ku Klux Klan put a burning cross in her grandmother’s garden once.

She then goes on to say, “A few years later the Ku Klux Klan burnt my grandmother’s house down.” This is in North Carolina. She further explains that her father is black but her mother is Irish and they got married in the 1960s when mixed race marriages weren’t exactly as socially acceptable as they are now.

Bit of excitement mid-afternoon, the fire alarms go off with bright white strobe lights flashing (the sort that would give you an epileptic fit) and an automatic PA announcement booms out, “This is a fire alarm, please evacuate the building by the nearest fire exit.” Not been in a building with so many tightly packed people when a fire alarm has gone off and surprised how calm and slowly everyone moves.

But.

The fire alarm announcement is quickly followed by another ‘live’ announcement over the PA, “Disregard, disregard, disregard, fire alarm is cancelled. This is a stay in place warning. The National Weather Service has issued a severe weather warning for the area until 1515hrs. You are advised to stay in the museum.” Even though I’m three levels down in the basement, can hear thunder a few minutes later, so it must be bad. Tornado warnings also in force. Again.

The exhibits continue with the Oprah Winfrey story plus more levels of African American successes in sports, arts, culture, films and music but as the museum is closing soon, rapidly running out of time. Have been here 6hrs and not seen everything.

One of the most interesting museums I’ve visited.

Merely as an observation: all the staff are black and the majority of visitors are black. Not seen this many blacks in the other museums that I’ve visited in the USA on this trip. It’s like a pilgrimage, I guess.

It’s only when you see the museum and understand the long history of slavery and subsequent segregation that you start to understand the race problems America still has today.

Well after all that, dear reader, time for celebration. Was hoping to celebrate being 49 in the 49th state, Alaska. But, you know, dinner in a luxurious hotel in Washington DC will pass muster.

President Trump is known to dine at the hotel restaurant and as the First Lady, Melania, and I share the same birthday (I kid you not), she’s a fellow Taurean, half expecting to see Mr President and the First Lady on the table next to me.

I wish.

Convince myself they’re in the hotel as there’s a lot of security milling about and convince myself they’re all Secret Service. Not helped by a loud bloke on table near me saying that he was in the toilets when a Secret Service guy walked in. I’d assumed it was just now but it soon becomes clear that was an old anecdote.

They’re not in the hotel. They’re actually entertaining the Japanese Prime Minister at the White House.

Excellent dinner but served by the dullest waiter who isn’t exactly Captain Charisma. Half expecting him to jump off the balcony.

Anyway, dear reader, cheers.

124. You’ve made our day

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Thursday, 25 April 2019

Washington DC, USA

 

The Nottinghamshire village I live in has a doppelganger in Maryland. On Facebook, village residents are sometimes shown to be in Maryland, USA, rather than Nottinghamshire, UK.

Time to investigate.

It’s about 40 minutes east of Washington DC and so practically enroute. Think it will be a quick 5 minute photo opportunity then a scoot off to Washington.

It becomes a 2.5hr stop.

Drive down Sherwood Forest Road but come across a barrier. Clearly a private estate for residents only and can go no further. Until a resident pulls up alongside and when told where I’m from gladly lets me in so I can have a look. The estate is called Sherwood Forest and is a private members’ club, although anyone can live there. You have to join the club to take advantage of the facilities like the golf club, tennis club and private marina. For those that know, think houses in the Newstead Abbey grounds.

As I drive around admiring the houses and the lanes, quite by chance meet the gentleman that let me in. He’s a former Professor of English and taught English in various NATO bases around Europe, now retired. Told that the estate was set up in the 1910s as a writer’s retreat to escape the hustle and bustle, with accommodation being simple cottages. Over the years, the simple cottages have been knocked down and now turned into large family homes.

Directed to the club office and meet the secretary who is very helpful and interested to know that I’m from Nottinghamshire and Sherwood Forest. Given a history of the community booklet, which will assist in my forthcoming article for my village Newsletter.

For the golfers amongst you, the golf course is the oldest in the USA using sand greens, rather than grass greens.

Final drive around the loop named after my village and see a lady gardening so stop for a quick chat and explain what I’m doing and that I’m from the village in Nottinghamshire that has the same name. Really good and long chat and swap addresses so I can send my village information to her and her husband. They built their house here in the 1960s and have lived here ever since. It’s a really nice setting amongst the forest with the light filtering through the bright green leaves.

As I leave, she says, “You’ve made our day!”.

That’s me. Spreading cheer around the world.

Or did she mean I’ve made their day by leaving?!

Hmmm.

Time to drop the car off at Ronald Reagan Airport. 4,176miles across southern America in 21 days. Travelling by train next.

Before I do, need to fill up with fuel and stop at a petrol station on the outskirts of Washington. As I enter the shop to pre-pay, realise this is perhaps not the best place for the tall white Englishman to stop. I am well out of place. For the first time in America, the cash desk is behind a protective glass window. A policeman stands behind it too. The locals are dealing in cash only and getting a bit loud and leary as they pay. There’s a lot of attitude in the shop.

Wonder how many guns there might be hidden. Realise that the hire car is the newest car at the pumps by a few decades. Glad to leave in one piece.

Bit of a treat for a few days, Trump International Hotel on Pennsylvania Avenue (https://www.trumphotels.com/washington-dc) is home for the weekend. Whatever your political persuasion, and no doubt the Trump haters will be disgusted to think I’m staying here (get over yourselves), it is an architecturally stunning hotel. Set in the former Post Office Building, it has perhaps the biggest hotel atrium I’ve seen.

Ah yes.

This’ll do for a few days and a very special occasion tomorrow.

123. Amish

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Wednesday, 24 April 2019

Gettysburg, Pennsylvania, USA

 

Who remembers the 1985 film, ‘Witness’? (I know, 1985!).

Starring Harrison Ford as a policeman in the Amish community in Lancaster County, Pennsylvania.

You do? Good.

Well a visit to the Amish community is worth a trip. Yet another fascinating insight. As you enter the region, you see small carriages being pulled by a horse, men working is the fields with their horses pulling farm machinery.

Along with the Mennonites, the Amish originate from Switzerland, and still speak German in Pennsylvania today.

Inside an Amish house is very basic. No wallpaper, just plain painted walls in mute colours. They don’t use mains electricity as it’s a connection to the outside world so everything is converted to battery power, or they use propane converted fridges, freezers, lights, heating and the like.

Their dress is plain and basic too. The women wear loose fitting dresses which are black or grey with a low key coloured undershirt and a white prayer bonnet. The men wear trousers with plain buttons, no zips and no belt but held up with braces. Shirts are plain white with basic buttons. Church is every other Sunday and the other Sundays are for meeting friends and family in prayer and singing.

They are free to leave the ‘church’ at any time until they are baptised and this does not cause any problems or friction within the community.

But.

Once you are baptised into the ‘church’ and then you leave. Whoa. That’s a no no. And you will be given the cold shoulder.

In death, they have a 3 day wake then you are buried in the cemetery with a simple gravestone which is the same as everyone else’s. No flowers as that means you’re special and in the Amish community you are all the same.

The Amish children go to an Amish school for 8 years where you’re given a basic education of reading, riting, rifmatic (I’m ejukated two).

Amish men grow a beard when they get married but no moustache and the married women don’t wear rings.

There’s no computers, iPhones, internet, TV in their lives. Some will have a telephone but this will be in a small kiosk on the edge of the property. So if someone rings you, they have to wait a good few minutes whilst you walk to the kiosk.

Some are embracing solar power and see a number of farmhouses with solar panels on the roof. The farmhouses are quite large and in good condition. They use horses to pull the equipment and get around places by using a horse and small black carriage. But it is OK to accept a lift in car if someone else is driving. They don’t ride bicycles as that means they could go too far from home but instead ride scooters (as in push along with your leg, rather than a motor scooter).

Most of the shops around have places to tie up the horse and carriage, just for the Amish.

The Amish tend to dry their washing out on a clothes line rather than tumble dry and every farm you pass has washing hanging out (it being a nice sunny day).

Stop and speak with a few Amish as I drive by. They’re really friendly. One young lad tells me that his horse was about US$2,000 plus US$6-8,000 for his carriage. An old fellow, with a long whispery, grey beard, tells me that his son now runs the farm and they’re planting corn and raising a dairy herd. A young woman tending her garden tells me that they socialise with non-Amish people and go out and hear about the world from them. Another man is ploughing a small field with his horses and says it will take about 8hrs to do. Hard work me thinks.

To the Amish, anyone that is not Amish is simply referred to as ‘English’.

Which will no doubt upset the French.

It’s a very simple, pleasant and chilled out life they lead.

And perhaps one we could take note of in our hectic, computer crazed world we live in.

122. Gettysburg

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Tuesday, 23 April 2019

Gettysburg, Pennsylvania, USA

 

Gettysburg.

Most of you will know the name.

Famous for the Civil War battle and Abraham Lincoln’s subsequent 272 word speech, which gave meaning to the sacrifice of those who died.

The battle between General Lee for the Confederate South and General Meade for the Union North took place over 3 days in July 1863. Eventually won by the Union on 3 July 1863.

51,000 soldiers dead, wounded or missing.

In three days.

51,000.

Although the Civil War continued for two more years, Gettysburg was the beginning of the end for the Confederate army, who, under General Lee, eventually surrendered at Appomattax in April 1865.

The battlefield today is big business. Set over thousands of acres, there’s a self drive tour, a bus tour, or a private guide tour. Interesting museum with many artefacts and photographs but the highlight is the cyclorama. Have been to a number of cycloramas around the world and this is, by far, the best of them. The immediate foreground is a real model of the landscape with cannon, grass, and other such things which blends in seamlessly with the cyclorama so you get that sense of it being real.

Along the self drive tour are monuments to each regiment that was placed there, cannon showing the artillery positions and yet more monuments than you can shake a stick at.

Following the Gettysburg Battle in July 1863, Abraham Lincoln made his famous speech at the cemetery in November 1863.

In addition to all that, nearby on the edge of the battlefield is the former home of President Eisenhower. First came to Gettysburg during World War 1 to train tank commanders and returned to live there. The guide, knowing I’m British, lovingly points out the signed photo of Queen Elizabeth II. And a photo of Churchill. The house is kept as it was in the 1960s, after Eisenhower had retired. Quite basic and small inside. Cracking views across the farmland to the Appalachian Mountains though.

Thoroughly interesting day.

Yet again.

Though you’ll be pleased to read that that concludes your American Colonisation, Independence and Civil War tours.

121. A taste of England

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Monday, 22 April 2019

Gettysburg, Pennsylvania, USA

Well, dear reader, have some exciting news.

After 3,500 miles of driving through the United States.

Finally.

I drove up a…

Steep hill.

I know.

Exciting isn’t it.

Not only that.

I also drove along a…

Twisty country road.

It’s pure bliss.

Not a straight road in sight.

This is more like it.

Proper driving.

I know now why American cars don’t have good suspension. They don’t need it. They only tend to drive in straight lines.

The countryside area of Virginia, west of Washington, is so nice. Rolling, lush green countryside, country lanes, fields, farmland, dry stone walls, farms and white painted fences.

For the first time in America, I’m reminded of England. Forever England. Guess this is where the Washington elite live, given the size of the houses and the upmarket feel to the place. It’s all very…manicured.

To the west can see the Appalachian Mountains rising slightly above the general landscape. Finally, an American landscape that’s not pancake flat!

Arrive at the Best Western Gettysburg (https://www.gettysburgbestwestern.com/). Have had a 15 year aversion to Best Westerns since a grotty experience whilst working in Scotland.

The raffle prize at the local ice hockey club was a meal and overnight stay at the local Best Western. The joke was that the second prize was two nights at the local Best Western. Against my better judgement, am staying here ‘cos I only booked it this morning and it was one of the few decent places left and got rave reviews.

Am in need of laundry and think it’ll be the usual case of leaving a bag for housekeeping to collect and do.

But not in this hotel.

It’s do it yourself.

In the hotel guest laundry room.

For the princely sum of US$1.50 for a 30 minute wash, US$1 for powder and US$1.50 for 30 minute dryer, I can get all my washing done. Fortunately, it only needs a freshen up.

So.

There I am.

Of an evening.

Doing me laundry.

The last time I used a launderette was whilst living and working in Germany in the late 1990s. My colleague and I were based in the company flat for what was meant to be three months so never felt necessary to buy a washing machine. Our weekly trips to the local launderette were amusing at times. One of us once left a teabag in our shirt pocket (don’t ask!) with disastrous consequences. And who could forget washing a red towel with white work shirts. And blowing up the spin dryer because a pair of undies got caught in the rotating mechanism and jammed it up. Ah yes. Boys on tour. Colleague is reading this and laughing at his antics.

Oops, sorry, did I just suggest it was him and not me?