Our plan to minimise culture shock by travelling slowly is working. With just three weeks to go before we arrive back in the UK we arrived on the Eastern seaboard in Boston and glimpsed the ocean over which our adventure ends.
Perhaps understandably therefore, I felt a bit blue in Boston. Boston felt too familiar, too much like a city in England. After months of daily novelty and stimulation I wasn’t ready for the Britishness of Boston. Perhaps it was the rain, the squat brick buildings, the street names (Gloucester Street, Hereford Street) and the fact that people say, “Cheers!” It was a gentle reminder of what lay on the other side of the Atlantic.
Boston’s history is fascinating, again connecting us to home. It was the site of the infamous Boston Tea Party, when in 1773 Americans infuriated by rising levels of unrepresentational tax being enforced by Britain, rebelled by throwing 342 chests of tea into the sea (what a waste!). It was a provocative move that eventually led to war with the British, following which America declared its independence from the colony in 1776. No wonder then that Boston retains memories of its British past. But I’m sorry Boston, this time you are just too close to home for comfort.
New York City was next - surely I would find the stimulation I craved here. Of course, it didn’t
fail, how could it. But we did meet with April’s showers. Rain is a spoiler, especially when you have left your umbrella in a hostel in Hoi An, Vietnam. It dampened our plans for wide roving and forced us to slow down and re-evaluate. So we huddled in the Bowery Poetry Café and then set off for a tour of Grand Central station, the Comfort Diner and the United Nations headquarters.
One thing was for sure, I didn’t want to hang around our hostel - the Whitehouse Hostel on Bowery. This place used to be a 50 cent a night flophouse for newly arrived immigrants. A few of these residents remain, living in the same squalid, cramped conditions. The upper floors serve as the hostel where conditions are equally squalid and
cramped, but now cost $34 a night. With drunk, lost men wandering about, people having, “F*** you!” “No, no, no, f*** you!” fights in the small hours and the nocturnal dephlegmations (and who know what else) audible to all, it was a cruel comedown from the joys and hospitality of friends and Couchsurfing. Good job the hostel was in a great neighbourhood where an evening’s stroll takes you passed multiple hipster filled bars, fascinator wearing theatre goers and a film shoot and even provides some Gastrophonic Stimulation .
Despite the glamour and the grime, New York City just wasn’t as awesome as I remembered from my previous bumpkin visits. As a former Londoner, I couldn’t help but draw comparisons between the cities, for there are many. People rush around with the same focussed expression on their faces, the fashions are similar, the shops are similar, the international feel is familiar and it’s full of Brits - more than we’ve come across since leaving home last summer. Another reminder that we are getting closer to home.
We wanted to leave North America on a ship from Montreal to Liverpool, but the line was fully booked. Instead we opted for Philadelphia to Antwerp. Philly had never been on our original itinerary s
o I was pleasantly surprised by, and enjoyed, the city. Our fellow Megabus companions proudly pointed out all the ‘must see’ sights of Philadelphia - Independence Hall, Liberty Bell, Penn’s Landing - as we drove to the drop-off point. There was far too much to see in one day, but one day was all we had.
As home to one of the forefathers, William Penn, and once the second biggest city in the British Empire, areas of Philly have a decidedly British feel to them. The large, red-brick houses in the Society Hill area remind me of parts of West London and the streets in the suburb of Manayunk are reminiscent of a small, Welsh town. Indeed, Philadelphia used to be called New Wales and there are many Welsh place names remaining, such as Cynwyd and Radnor. There are reminders of the colonial past throughout the city - Unions Jacks pub and British Imperial Cleaners, for example. Philadelphia was also the home of great thinkers and activists. It was here that the Declaration of Independence and the US Constitution were written, signed and first publicly read.
For me it was the perfect place to leave from for Europe. We were to take a similar route to the fore fathers (albeit in in reverse) across the Atlantic Ocean.
I wonder if I would have found the East Coast cities more exciting had we headed west, instead of east, on our trip, if these had been our first ports of call. I believe I would. Although my enthusiasm for Boston, New York City and Philadelphia suffered as a result of visiting them last on our trip, they definitely helped me prepare for coming home. They felt a lot more British than many places in the US and reminded me of what lay ahead on the other side of the Atlantic Ocean. As a result, I feel that the return to Britain will be less of a shock. Now I have a week on the ocean to ponder this and come to terms with the fact that our worldwide wander without wings is drawing to a close.
Perhaps understandably therefore, I felt a bit blue in Boston. Boston felt too familiar, too much like a city in England. After months of daily novelty and stimulation I wasn’t ready for the Britishness of Boston. Perhaps it was the rain, the squat brick buildings, the street names (Gloucester Street, Hereford Street) and the fact that people say, “Cheers!” It was a gentle reminder of what lay on the other side of the Atlantic.
Boston’s history is fascinating, again connecting us to home. It was the site of the infamous Boston Tea Party, when in 1773 Americans infuriated by rising levels of unrepresentational tax being enforced by Britain, rebelled by throwing 342 chests of tea into the sea (what a waste!). It was a provocative move that eventually led to war with the British, following which America declared its independence from the colony in 1776. No wonder then that Boston retains memories of its British past. But I’m sorry Boston, this time you are just too close to home for comfort.New York City was next - surely I would find the stimulation I craved here. Of course, it didn’t
fail, how could it. But we did meet with April’s showers. Rain is a spoiler, especially when you have left your umbrella in a hostel in Hoi An, Vietnam. It dampened our plans for wide roving and forced us to slow down and re-evaluate. So we huddled in the Bowery Poetry Café and then set off for a tour of Grand Central station, the Comfort Diner and the United Nations headquarters.One thing was for sure, I didn’t want to hang around our hostel - the Whitehouse Hostel on Bowery. This place used to be a 50 cent a night flophouse for newly arrived immigrants. A few of these residents remain, living in the same squalid, cramped conditions. The upper floors serve as the hostel where conditions are equally squalid and
cramped, but now cost $34 a night. With drunk, lost men wandering about, people having, “F*** you!” “No, no, no, f*** you!” fights in the small hours and the nocturnal dephlegmations (and who know what else) audible to all, it was a cruel comedown from the joys and hospitality of friends and Couchsurfing. Good job the hostel was in a great neighbourhood where an evening’s stroll takes you passed multiple hipster filled bars, fascinator wearing theatre goers and a film shoot and even provides some Gastrophonic Stimulation .Despite the glamour and the grime, New York City just wasn’t as awesome as I remembered from my previous bumpkin visits. As a former Londoner, I couldn’t help but draw comparisons between the cities, for there are many. People rush around with the same focussed expression on their faces, the fashions are similar, the shops are similar, the international feel is familiar and it’s full of Brits - more than we’ve come across since leaving home last summer. Another reminder that we are getting closer to home.
We wanted to leave North America on a ship from Montreal to Liverpool, but the line was fully booked. Instead we opted for Philadelphia to Antwerp. Philly had never been on our original itinerary s
o I was pleasantly surprised by, and enjoyed, the city. Our fellow Megabus companions proudly pointed out all the ‘must see’ sights of Philadelphia - Independence Hall, Liberty Bell, Penn’s Landing - as we drove to the drop-off point. There was far too much to see in one day, but one day was all we had.As home to one of the forefathers, William Penn, and once the second biggest city in the British Empire, areas of Philly have a decidedly British feel to them. The large, red-brick houses in the Society Hill area remind me of parts of West London and the streets in the suburb of Manayunk are reminiscent of a small, Welsh town. Indeed, Philadelphia used to be called New Wales and there are many Welsh place names remaining, such as Cynwyd and Radnor. There are reminders of the colonial past throughout the city - Unions Jacks pub and British Imperial Cleaners, for example. Philadelphia was also the home of great thinkers and activists. It was here that the Declaration of Independence and the US Constitution were written, signed and first publicly read.
For me it was the perfect place to leave from for Europe. We were to take a similar route to the fore fathers (albeit in in reverse) across the Atlantic Ocean.
I wonder if I would have found the East Coast cities more exciting had we headed west, instead of east, on our trip, if these had been our first ports of call. I believe I would. Although my enthusiasm for Boston, New York City and Philadelphia suffered as a result of visiting them last on our trip, they definitely helped me prepare for coming home. They felt a lot more British than many places in the US and reminded me of what lay ahead on the other side of the Atlantic Ocean. As a result, I feel that the return to Britain will be less of a shock. Now I have a week on the ocean to ponder this and come to terms with the fact that our worldwide wander without wings is drawing to a close.
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