Splish Splash

So, then. America.

Aboard a spacious and comfortable jet plane, I flicked idly through the selection of movies and settled on No Country For Old Men, an action film set in Texas. A slow, yet gripping piece, which succeeded in throwing out more or less every American cultural cliché in the book. Guns. Drugs. Violence. Paranoia. Etc. As the shots rang out and the body count grew, I sat mesmerised and wondered exactly how America would fit the wild mental pictures instilled by years of cinema. As I pondered, the world turned inexorably several thousand feet below.

Vast open water became vast open ice sheets and arctic tundra of East Canada and Newfoundland. A beautiful wilderness of ice and stillness stretching out. Gradually, the wilderness became splattered with the telltale signs of civilisation. Roads, houses, resevoirs. Snow covered towns and cities below. Then another expanse of water as we crossed the mighty Lake Michigan, with patchy ice sheets clinging to its shores, and down, at last, into O'Hare Airport, Chicago.

Groggy and befuddled in the immigration queue, I clutched my green card which confirmed I had no intention of doing nasty things whilst in the country, nor had I ever engaged in any activity upon which the U.S. may frown, such as (genuinely) being a member of the Nazi Government of wartime Germany. A serious-looking military official scrutinised my documents and asked me a barrage of questions. How long was I in America? Had I been before? What was the purpose of this visit? Were my legs made of semtex? And so on.

Finally, with my belt and shoes in hand, I cleared customs and walked the long hallways and terminals to the gate. My connecting flight to Orange County was a much smaller craft, in many ways a glorified bus with wings. I took the aisle seat alongside a middle-aged woman and a younger woman in her twenties. Kathy and Dana introduced themselves to a scruffy and confused Brit and rapidly engaged him in warm and well-received conversation. Mother and daughter, they were travelling from Pittsburg back to their home in the OC. I can honestly confirm without doubt that I couldn't have found better ambassadors. They were genuine, interesting, interested and immediately put me at ease, as nervous as being so very far away from home was likely to make me feel.

Although I didn't feel that way. I was on an adrenaline high from the anticipation of California and the inertia of travel. We chatted for hours as the landscapes shifted. Snow and mountains homed into view as we crossed Colarado. The Rockies. Dana insisted we switch seats so I could enjoy the impressive vista. Peaks glistened white atop ash grey rock, creased like a crumpled sheet. This white and dazzling terrain soon gave way to the red and rocky forms of Arizona. Would we see the Grand Canyon? Yes, confirmed Kathy. The route brought us right across it. I gazed down at this enormous crack in the Earth and wondered if I'd ever laid eyes on a country so varied, dynamic, and indisputably beautiful.

My new Californian friends set about eagerly putting together a list of sites and attractions that would please a wandering tourist in the free time he had. Beaches, bays, drives, malls, cities, restaurants - a free and varied guide, kindly and thoughtfully drawn up.

In John Wayne Airport, Orange County, California, I bid the good ambassadors goodbye at the luggage belt and arrived at the hands of Matt and Arion, my two colleagues and companions for the California section of my trip. After having been awake for about 24 hours, I was feeling rather wired and cocky. Sleep? Pah! No time when there's so much to take in!

We drove to the hotel, dumped our bags and arrived on a consensus to go out for dinner. The Rusty Pelican at Newport Beach served the most delicious salmon I have ever sampled. Exquisite! And delivered with the classic American approach to service. Our waiting staff introduced themselves, enquired how we were, often informed us of how they were etc and generally maintained banter and smiles. In spite of any preconceptions I may have had of over-zealous, insincere fawning ("Yes, sir! Certainly, sir! Here is your meal! Have a nice day! May I suck your dick?" - Ben Elton), I actually found the whole thing very pleasant. There was no great rush to get the order down and bugger off, people actually seemed to fancy a chat and really find out how you were doing. Maybe it was the jetlag, I'm not sure, but I found myself charmed.

Shortly after finishing dinner, my brain found itself hurtling earthwards in a fit of exhaustion and Hollandaise sauce. Bed. Now. Go. Eyes drooping and head rocking, Matt and Arion sensed a lack of enthusiasm in me and declined the offer of dessert. Zombie-like, I staggered to the car and attempted to enter the drivers door. Matt looked at me with a mixture of puzzlement and pity. Oh, yeah. America. Other side. Got it.

Back at the hotel, I flopped out and marched around the back of the car to the boot. A sense of dread filled me as I opened it. Where were my suitcases? They weren't here? Where were they? I'm in the country a matter of hours and they're gone - I can't believe it! Again, a look of puzzlement and pity from Matt which quickly bubbled into laughter. They're in your room, you dope. You put them there not two hours ago. Oh. Yeah. Hmm. Bed!

TO BE CONTINUED...