Table Of ContentTravels in a Tin Can
By
David Thomas
Uncut and unpublished edition 2007
Copyright David Thomas 2005
Contents
1. New York, New York
2. Harvey the R. V.
3. A bit 'Blair Witch' and too many hicks
4. Wherever I lay my hat…
5. Frisco
6. Rain or shine...or fog, snow, cold
7. Big and beautiful
8. Harvey, the knowledge
9. Death in the valley, life in the desert
10. Food part one: is that really what we ordered?
11. Big hole in the ground
12. Planes, trains and buses
13. A Mickey Mouse Christmas
14. Road trip
15. Don’t spare the (crazy) horses
16. Setting up Camp
17. Ragin' Cajuns
18. Are you being served?
19. The 'spirit' of New Orleans
20. Are you sitting comfortably?
21. Sunshine state
22. They're like living sofas!
23. Walk on the wild side
24. Keys-ee Living
25. Homeward bound
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Prologue
In September 2003 my wife (then fiancée) Emma emerged after an eight-year
sentence. The crime? Choosing to be a Clinical Psychologist. The sentence?
Studying for this career. Although Emma voluntarily took this path to
becoming a doctor, it was not with a full understanding of the lengthy
consequences of her decision. I think that if there had been a comprehension
of how long she would have to spend working towards her goal she might
have just torn up the UCAS form and embraced a promising career at Pizza
Hut. However, the fresh faced 18 year old who enrolled at York University in
1995 did escape Royal Holloway University eight years later and still with a
fairly fresh face.
In order to mark this return to freedom we decided to go away on
holiday – for 13 weeks. Emma and I had discussed going travelling for a long
time, and increasingly as her studies were coming to an end. In fact travelling
was the light at the end of the tunnel that helped Emma keep going through
her doctorate. She had certainly earned a rest and for my part I was ready for
a break too. For one thing, it is surprisingly all consuming when a loved one
undertakes such intense and lengthy training. Plus I could not let her go and
have all the fun on her own.
For our destination we chose the USA. There were two reasons for this
decision. One, we like the country and had a long list of places that we
wanted to visit there. Two, we did not want to do proper (hard) travelling. In
other words travelling with backpacks and one pair of pants, in countries
where we did not understand the language or the culture. America struck us
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as an easy place to cut our travellers’ teeth. Although as it turned out we
understood the language and culture only about 50% of the time.
13 weeks was to be our travelling time, not due to an obsession with
this unlucky number, but for a far more practical reason. Travel to the USA
without a visa is only possible for 90 days, so we went for 89. The longest
holiday we had been on before had been a three-week camping trip to France
to celebrate the end of our undergraduate degrees, so 13 weeks was a
serious step up from this. But then becoming a doctor warranted a little bit
more of a celebration – and a big bit more recuperation.
Of course 13 weeks also required a lot more than the customary four-
week allowance of annual leave. Now if Emma and I had been teachers then
this would not have been a problem (as teachers get about half the year off,
don’t they?) In fact finding 13 weeks of holiday was not a problem for Emma,
former student and currently unemployed. For me there were two options
available by which to secure a three-month holiday. Get a sabbatical from
work, or hand in my notice. Amazingly I was granted my request for an unpaid
sabbatical, and promptly handed in my notice a few days later. It’s a
complicated story, but basically I already had a new job lined up, due to start
three and a half months later. Having made sure that we both had time off to
go travelling, all we needed to do was organise the trip. ‘All’ being the
operative word.
Before we left England in November 2003 we organised our
accommodation for the first week, mapped out a route and secured our
transport for the entire adventure. Almost everything else we would book as
we went along. Although this sounds risky it was not really hazardous
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because our transport was also our home, a Recreational Vehicle (RV) (a
motor home). We named this our ‘Tin Can’, because we were convinced that
we would spend 13 weeks squashed inside it like sardines.
As you read on you will discover, perhaps unsurprisingly, that this book is
about our travels. I spent about an hour each night making notes about
everything we had done that day, although for the purposes of this book I
have changed the names of everyone we met. This is for protection of the
individuals concerned…and to avoid being called to court for slander.
Throughout the story you will notice that I follow the American
convention of assuming that people have very little general knowledge about
where places are. So, for example, I will write Orlando, Florida, rather than
just Orlando. You may find this at best trying and at worst irritating, for which I
offer no apologies. We had to endure this practise for three months, so why
shouldn’t you?
David Thomas
York, England, The World
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1. New York, New York.
Our adventure began in an airport, as most adventures do in this modern age
where crossing the Atlantic Ocean by boat is generally a pursuit enjoyed by
people with time, money or a phobia of flying. Birmingham International
Airport to be precise, at about 7.30am. In a generous attempt to help us pass
the tedious hours before take-off, staff engaged us in the delightful activity of
"the bag search". Security is, of course, increasingly important and we did not
have anything to hide, so I really should not complain. However, Emma and I
always seem to get searched when we are leaving the country. Five years
earlier when we finished at university and were heading to France for three
weeks in our car, passport control stopped us and they rifled through
everything. Everything in this case included numerous plastic bags of cash
that we had taped inside the car – through fear of being mugged and losing all
our money. OK, so perhaps they do have "just cause" to always search us.
On the present occasion, as we stood on the verge of our adventure,
the bag that staff decided to check was the only one that actually did contain
some things that we did not pack ourselves. This was not drugs, guns, or
even nail scissors; no Emma's parents were sending us off with some
Christmas presents to enable us to participate more fully in the festive season
while on the other side of the world. At least the security officer did not unwrap
the gifts, however neither would she let Emma's mother whisper what the
contents were (why ever not we could not imagine!) Instead she insisted that
they be put through the X-ray machine. Fortunately the officer restrained from
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revealing their contents to us by saying things like: ‘Oh look, a hand-knitted
jumper, how lovely!’
Once we had repacked the bag we had to endure about two hours until our
flight departed - plenty of time to browse in the two branches of WHSmith and
get fleeced for breakfast. We also devised airport games to help the time pass
more quickly. Our favourite of these was to go to the arrivals area and then
take it in turns to 'arrive'. To do this you need to go behind the barrier with
your trolley and join the crowd filtering through from baggage claim. Then look
around with a vacant gaze as you approach the people waiting for family and
friends to arrive. Eventually you should spot your travel companion who will
be waiting with a large sign with your name on. If you are travelling alone then
we suggest that you walk up to a complete stranger and ask them if they are
waiting for you. Or, if you are feeling particularly friendly run up to someone
who is really arriving after a long flight and hug him or her like they are your
best friends. You may find that you will not be travelling alone for long. Or, you
may find that you get arrested and miss your real flight. Try it sometime.
The flight itself was fairly excruciating, consisting of eight hours of children
crying, and therefore a lack of the much-desired sleep that helps flights pass
more quickly. Well, I thought, at least there is television to watch. This, as it
turned out, was a misplaced hope. Television there was, but of a type to
endure rather than watch.
The film was "Monday Night Mayhem" (some "made for television"
movie about American Football) and this was followed by an episode of “The
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Beverley Hillbillies". Perhaps the airline was preparing us for American
television? In which case I was extremely glad that our campervan included
only a refrigerator and a microwave in the way of electrical appliances.
The flight was made more bearable by a question I heard a hostess
ask a passenger: "Would you like the window open?” I sat chuckling to myself
for hours following this question, until the same hostess asked me to 'kindly
keep the noise down or else step outside until I could regain my composure.'
Perhaps she does not quite grasp the concept of pressurised cabins?
We flew into New York because we had decided to spend a week there in
order to familiarise ourselves with the US way of life, the different time zone,
and of course to sample the sights, before our real travels would begin in the
campervan.
Our first hour on US soil could have been better. First, five minutes with
passport control answering questions about how long we were staying in the
country. Following this, the woman dealing with us informed me that because
my name is common I would have to be taken away for further questioning.
Emma was told to wait for me, probably thinking, "wow, he's hidden his past
well, I've known him 8 years". And I was escorted away by a large man with
an even larger gun.
I was taken to a small room resembling a waiting room in a doctor's surgery -
except without the pile of 20 year old magazines. It even had a receptionist's
counter – although this was about five foot high. There were about eight
people in the room, sitting waiting their turn and looking nervous, and the
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security staff that were conducting these additional interviews were armed
with large pistols. This was not the America I remembered - but then I had
only visited DisneyWorld before.
As I sat, feeling nervous but trying to avoid looking like I was trying to
hide something, I attempted to work out why the other people were being
questioned. First there was a man who was a career gambler, chatting to the
security personnel about Las Vegas and blatantly trying to smuggle his
winnings out. Next, a very burly guard took a woman who looked very uneasy
away to another room - obviously a Madame running a cartel of brothels
around the world. Several of the other people also looked like criminals – at
least to my untrained eye. And then there was me. Yes, David Thomas is a
very common name, but I believe the real reason I was taken away was
because I had not shaved for a week and therefore I too looked like a
criminal.
When my name was called I approached the extra-height counter -
more like a judge's bench - and with some trepidation I faced my interviewer.
Again I was nervous about appearing nervous, and that does not help.
However, within ten minutes I was back with Emma. Basically they just
wanted to check that we had funds to support our 13-week stay in the country.
And so I nearly blew things by saying 'Oh, we have $500 with us'.
The terse response to this from my scary interviewer was: 'That is hardly
enough for 13 weeks.'
To which I hastily added: 'Of course, we also have four credit cards. Please
do not shoot me.’
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At this my interviewer’s demeanour changed entirely: 'fine, we don’t care
about your debt problems. Have a nice day!'
Fortunately they did not interview Emma… our secret is safe.
Finally, having claimed our bags, we were stopped one last time to be
interrogated, this time by means of a somewhat bizarre quiz about the tourist
sights we were planning to visit. We must have passed, because we were
allowed to leave the airport. Perhaps they just wanted to make sure we were
really tourists?
Our next challenge was to get a taxi to our hotel. After careful research on the
Internet we had estimated that this 45-minute journey from Newark to
Midtown Manhattan would cost us $50. When we reached the queue for taxis
the man in charge told us it would be $60, plus tolls. The eventual charge?
$84, slightly worrying given our tight budget for the next three months. Our
first taste of the Big Apple? Sour. The American Dream? A nightmare.
Things did get better once we were inside our hotel, the oddly named "Jazz
on the Town by Habitat" (not, I think, the UK furniture store). First, we were
upgraded! From a trundle bed (?) to a three-quarter regular non-trundle bed!
Second, we found out that breakfast was complimentary. OK, so it was bagels
(huge boxes of them that were never replenished with fresh stock during the
week we were staying there) and instant coffee with creamer, but on a budget
everything helps.
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