Saturday 5th April 2014

Vacations - Theme for April 2014 - [Continued from 31st March]

What follows is an excerpt from my short book, I'm an Alien?... that appears elsewhere on the site. 

It can be found at 

 http://www.amazon.co.uk/Worth-All-Your-Tomorrows-McGilvary-ebook/dp/B00EXR5MGS/ref=sr_1_1?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1412003174&sr=1-1&keywords=Worth+all+your+tomorrows

or 

 http://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_noss?url=search-alias%3Ddigital-text&field-keywords=Worth%20all%20your%20tomorrows

The excerpt displays what was the result of good planning. That is the secret to enjoying an amazing holiday break. Obviously, the vagaries of life and chance happenings cannot be planned for; but all in all preparing a platform that matches your tastes and inclinations, merging these with those of your partner(s) can bring great rewards. The other secret is not to be too disciplined with regard to time tables, meeting certain criteria and other hypothetical goals: ride with the tide! Be neither too tight nor too slack in what you chart out for the vacation. You will be richly rewarded by following such a course of action.

Later, I will include other examples from I'm an Alien? to show what I mean.

The Travelogue Begins

"In 1991, I made my first foray into the States, accompanied by my wife, Margaret. She was needed to keep me on the straight and narrow with so much to see and do. [From now on, forgive me if I switch between 'I', 'we', 'me', 'us' in the narrative. My better half has been with me on all my travels and it gets a bit of a habit to refer to what we both saw and did.] This first visit was followed by others: in 2002, 2003, 2005 and 2011. Hopefully, many more will transpire.

So, there was I, in the spring of 1991, face to face, for the first time, with a world that had always fascinated me.
Heck, during my RAF days I was almost drafted to Washington DC, but had just missed out; later I had contemplated enrolling as a student there. My wife tells me that she heard this from me, maybe just two days after we first met. 'Nuff said. So (to repeat myself) what was my impression of America from this visit? I'll give the verdict first and then tell you about the places and folk we ran into.

Ordinary American people—and I mean all—are probably the most courteous I have met in all my travels. They are friendly, good mannered and—on the surface at least—interested in you. However, 'Have a good day', though meant well, is rather wearisome.

In a first visit to America, the sheer space and dimensions are mindblowing, certainly for people from a small, crowded island like Britain (though we Scots do have the last European wilderness, so they say). But even after subsequent trips, the countryside seems just endless, going on for mile after mile, after mile. It does make me envious.

I also thoroughly approve of the care taken by so many to maintain its beauty; and I can only applaud the fact that no matter how humble someone's abode, an effort is made to make it look good. Having said that, I know you have the same 'couldn't care less' individuals that we do—characters who just have no pride.

The same limitless space has also led to carelessness: There seems to be no legislation governing the setting up of signs alongside the road; and dumps, huge brown earth lots, and wastelands are appearing more monotonously. What about all those old aeroplanes just lying about in acres and acres of desert? Progress? Bah!

The motels in America are first-class, well, most of them, anyway. (I'm going to forget that bad experience in Orlando, the one with the water-bed!!) Talking about beds, they are so big! I dearly love the king sized ones, though.

Then there are the road networks, they are very good indeed, especially the Inter-States; although there's perhaps a sameness about the rest-up places and eating joints: KFC, MacDonalds and the like. And why are the meals so huge? And what about the loud American voices you hear.

That being said, one of my most beloved, and abiding memories, is a vocal one: "Where y'all from?"—which issues from the lips of nearly everyone you meet—especially when in the southern states. Another, never to be forgotten sound, came from the lips of a huge black conductor. As the Amtrak train approached the Capital, he made his way down the passageway, shouting at the top of his voice, "Next stop Waaa—aaashington". It was great, and stuck a grin on everyone's face.

What have I not liked or missed? No castles, palaces, old stone buildings. When I say old, I mean medieval. No ruins, no monastries and the like. So many timber houses, usually of a clapboard design. The sameness of the food, on the whole it's bland—especially the cheese; eating on the run—where did that come from? It's not good for the digestion. When in restaurants, hearing every conversation within a radius of ten yards, like it or lump it. Calculated tips based on cost of food eaten, I am not sure about that development. Lack of knowledge, and in many cases, lack of interest, outwith the area in which the people you are talking to live. I am now used to driving on the right—having had to contend with Europe as well; also staying in lane; keeping a wary eye on the studs of the big trucks plowing up and down the Inter-States. They come tearing up behind you—at eye level when you are driving a Mustang; and they 'aint goin' to stop' for you or anyone!!

What about the wonders I have seen there? Have they lived up to my dreams and expectations? Of course they have. Seeing the coast of the North American continent for the first time, as the plane followed the Great Circle route: New Foundland giving way to the St Lawrence, to the New England coastline. It still lives in my mind. Ashland, Virginia: the railtrack running through the centre of the town, en-route to Richmond and the south. Hearing the 'Orange Blossom Special' as she proceeded northwards, replete with hundreds of tanks full of 'kindness and vitality' from Florida. The train took around fifteen minutes to pass through, until at last the haunting note of the whistle (one I had heard in countless screen Westerns) retreated in the distance. Realising this was the same track along which most of the Civil War had been fought. Visiting sites: redoubts, the same ones occupied by soldiers from the north and the south at various stages in the fighting. Gardens full of old stirrups, gold buttons, bullets; and examining private collections. Tracing a portion of Robert E. Lee's military movements; and scrutinizing the museum made over to him; visiting Appomatox and the realization of what it meant: that the Union would survive.

What else on our first visit: The journey to Richmond; to Jamestown; crossing the broad James River; on to Yorktown and Williamsburg; wallowing in the history of the birth of the nation that these journeys brought to mind. The expedition to Monticello, to pay our respects to Jefferson—and the thought that the Scottish Enlightenment was central to the views of this man and his fellows, those who had drawn up the Constitution; and that so many Scots had become Presidents and provided leadership in other fields, such as Witherspoon's contribution to Princeton.

 I will never forget our journey along the Blue Ridge trail, singing Laurel and Hardy's 'Lone Pine Tree' song; or the short trip to 'The Neck', a portion of land projecting out into the Chesapeake, where the old Scots traders bought the tobacco for sale and built warehouses for the crop—so long ago. I also believe what I was told by Virginians: that Stephen Foster's song, 'The Camptown ladies sing this song, Doo-da, Doo-da' originated not far from Ashland; that 'The Camptown racetrack five miles long, Oh, de doo-da day', was situated there. So, for a couple of days, I was singing: 'Goin' to run all night/ Goin' to run all day/I bet my money on a bob-tailed nag/ somebody bet on the gray.'

Then to Washington! What can I say? It was very, very special. We had seen the whole central portion of the city from the sky when flying in: the Capitol, the Lincoln memorial, the central plaza and waterway, the Washington monument; the Supreme Court, the Jefferson Temple and other beautiful, white buildings. I think what surprised me most, however, was the number of joggers—they were everywhere, and I believe a President or two could be found among them, showing off some skinny knees.

Without doubt, the most emotional visit was to Arlington. Rank after rank of white crosses, over dale, down through glades, mile after mile of well-tended graves: the never-to-be-forgotten dead from America's wars. It made me think of De Toqueville's remark from the eighteenth century, that America's power would be unbelievable if and when she applied herself to arms; but, it also seemed to me, as I looked upon this never-ending tragedy, at what a cost! Naturally JFK's eternal flame—and Bobby's grave alongside—created tremendous emotional turmoil inside me; as did coming to Audi Murphy's plot and seeing two old ladies plant Cherry blossom beside the two little American flags on his grave. It was a similar feeling when visiting the Korean War Memorial and the 'The Wall' that commemorates those who fell in the Vietnam War, whose names are inscribed there.

I think there were really only two things we disliked: In Arlington, American marines provided an eerie spectacle: marching with rifles in a fashion that allowed no natural bobbing up and down movement: heads remained fixed in one place in space and time, and each platoon glided along the paved floor of the Remembrance Auditorium. This manner of movement by such a formidable body of men was so eerily quiet and deadly, so full of intent, it made me shudder. The other disconcerting feature that sticks in the mind, were groups of black men in the city, gathered at corners, their liquor in brown paper pokes (only in America have we found this done). They were not threatening, rather the opposite, forlorn. (A similar picture would emerge in San Francisco, on a later trip: of black men rolled up in newspapers, sleeping in the doorways lining the public thoroughfare.)..." [To be continued]