The USA Tour 2023

Ah, America, the country where sugar is considered a major food group, a nation of wide roads, large portions, and expansive views, Land my Forefathers. Or, more exactly, Land of my Father; Granddad was born in Lancashire so, familywise, I’m more at home in Lickfold, West Sussex*, than in Kinderhook, New York, but we’re not going there because…we’re going to America!

Well, actually we’re back. I could post while I’m on holiday, but I have an aversion to advertising an empty flat to the local burglary Facebook Group. We left on the 4th of October, returned on the 17th around 11:00 AM, and by 8:00 that evening we were already thinking, “Holiday, what holiday?” And so, a look back over the past fortnight, for your edification and amusement, and to remind myself where all that money went.

Redefining Flying

I am quick to point out the shortcomings of United, the airline we are forced to take on every US visit (it’s the only carrier with the requisite flights to and from Newark) so I would be remiss to not mention how this journey was not quite as bad.

United now offers a new tier service called Premium Plus where, for an additional fee (your ability or desire to pay this fee may vary) you get the type of seat and service you used to get about fifteen years ago. It is well documented that airlines have been streamlining the width of their seats and robbing you of legroom over the past decade or two, and now they give you the option of regaining that space. For a price. As such, this was all I expected: a slightly larger seat with enough room that my knees weren’t touching the seat in front of me. But what I got, to my utter amazement, was genuine value for money.

The seat was noticeably larger, and I was able to lean back without hitting the person behind me in the chin. My wife was served tasty vegetarian meals without a hassle, and I got my standard chicken-based meal, but they were served on a tray with a cloth napkin, a wine glass, and the offer of free drinks (including alcoholic). What’s more, we got priority in security—whisked to the front of the queue when we showed our boarding cards—and were allowed to board right after the first-class passengers and before cattle class. It was, as I have recently decided to refer to such experiences, a real Chick-Fil-A moment.

But more on that later.

The Visit

It’s been a strange year. We visited Shetland over the summer, where grey skies and cool temperatures are standard, only to find near 90-degree temps (30 C) and blazing sunshine. Then, on our recent trip to Cambridgeshire, that experience was repeated, and when we landed in the US, having packed jumpers and long-sleeved shirts in anticipation of autumn, it was 85 degrees. I’m not saying there’s anything to this, but we won’t be visiting Colorado in January; I’d hate to ruin their ski season.

The drive to and from the Albany area was, as usual, marred only by the first ten minutes out of the airport (using the SatNav, printed directions, and having made a practice run on Google Maps, I only got lost twice) and the final five minutes of the homeward journey as we, once again, struggled to locate the rental car return lot. Every year, that five minutes of stress hangs over the entire holiday, stubbornly residing in the forefront of my mind as soon as I manage to exit the airport onto the Interstate. It darkens the entire two weeks, and it would be easily remedied if the airport would put up signs that were: clearly visible, easy to read, not situated 10 feet in front of the turn you need to make at 50 miles an hour, and not change the route every time we go.

We did, however, manage to find the lot—this time without having to drive repeatedly around the airport—though it took the two of us to interpret the signs and involved several unadvisedly fast moves in crowded traffic as well as a near collision with a taxi.

The Visit, however, was fine. We stayed with my son in his two-bedroom flat, where the second bedroom is reserved for us. When we leave, we close the door, and it is never opened until we return. It’s sort of like a Time Share that we don’t pay for and don’t share, which gave me the notion that, if I left stuff there, I wouldn’t have to pack as much. So, I set about buying clothes, shoes, and other necessities to outfit the room with, until my wife began to get suspicious and asked if I was trying to tell her something.

My youngest son, the married one with the three G-kids, lives not far away, so we got to see them between hockey practice, ballet lessons, and other social engagements, and when they were busy, we visited friends and some of our favourite sites.

Then, after the weekend, when they all went back to work or school, we cut my son a break by leaving him in blessed solitude while we took a holiday within a holiday, out in the Finger Lakes Region, an area that, despite having grown up in New York, I managed to completely ignore. Until now.

Chick-Fil-A Moments

I promised to elucidate on this, so I’d better get to it before I ramble on.

My son is a bit of a fast-food connoisseur, so when a Chick-Fil-A emporium was erected near his flat, he was quite excited. And when we arrived, he pointed it out: it was the square building with a dual queue of cars, permanently backed up from the Dive-Thru windows, wrapping around the entire block. He told us, when it first opened, the cars backed up onto the highway and the police had to direct traffic. He was very keen that we go, and we were just as keen to give it a miss, but you can only come up with so many excuses so, one day, we went for lunch.

It was amazing.

My vegetarian wife, who had resigned herself to having a helping of french fries, got a bowl of macaroni and cheese that, to her surprise, tasted home-made instead of processed. I had a spicy chicken sandwich that was very tasty, and when I saw they offered chicken soup, I thought I’d try a cup. I should have ordered a bowl. It was, hands down, the best chicken soup I have ever tasted.

So, from then on, having an experience destined to be mediocre at best, only to have it exceed all expectations, became a Chick-Fil-A moment.

The Mini-Holiday

The first thing we did after booking into our hotel in Skaneateles (pronounced: Skinny Atlas) was go see Skaneateles Lake, because the hotel clerk assured us it was the purest lake in either New York, or the USA, or the world for all I know. What I do know is, I went down thinking, “Yeah, yeah, I’ve seen pure lakes before. This one can’t be any…” and I literally stopped in my tracks. It was the purest, most crystal-clear water I have ever seen. The photos do it no justice; this must be seen to be believed. It was, of course, another Chick-Fil-A moment.

The following day we went to the Erie Canal Path and museum. Sadly, the museum was closed (the hazards of visiting upstate NY after Labor Day) but the path provided a lovely ramble along the waterway, with many autumnal views.

It was so peaceful and bucolic that a lot of people have placed memorial benches along the trail. There are so many that I think the park service should be telling people to try a plaque or something before the entire path becomes one long line of benches.

On the other hand, the benches provide some interesting reading. Most are the typical “In Memory of…” type, but some are more whimsical, such as:

• The philosophical: “It is what it is.”
• The stoic: “Go with the flow.”
• The cynical: “Just my luck.”
• The loving couple: “We chose wisely.”
• And the lyrical: “I ran the race, laughed and loved, and touched the face of God.”
  

In the afternoon, we drove to Seneca Falls, the town purported to be the model for Bedford Falls in the 1946 Christmas film classic, It’s a Wonderful Life. The town boasts the It’s a Wonderful Life Bridge, George Bailey Lane, and the It’s a Wonderful Life Museum. The town itself, however, falls a little below the ideal of Bedford Falls.

The next day was another Chick-Fil-A moment. A friend recommended Buttermilk Falls State Park. It was near to where we were staying, so we went. While I had high hopes for it, I assumed it would be just another monotonously pretty State Park, but pretty, or monotonous, were not words I would use to describe it. The falls itself is not like Victoria or Niagara. Instead, it is a long gouge in the shale where a large stream tumbles and splashes over rock sculptures it has carved over the years.

It was a sunny but cool autumn day, perfect for the quarter mile hike up the rambling cascade, where every bend offered a new, stunningly beautiful, sight.

After leaving the park, we drove up the other side of Cayuga Lake to Taughannock Falls State Park for more stunning views, then on to the town of Trumansburgh, which one of the many tourist magazines we leafed through described as the quintessential American town, or something like that. Long story short: it wasn’t. It was just a sad, down-at-heel mill town. But the Gimme! Coffee Café served the best coffee I’d had in some time.

We had other adventures and visits, but those were the highlights. Suffice it to say it was grand catching up with friends and family and exploring places we had never been. But overall, it’s good to be home, because—as Dorothy will tell you—there’s no place like it.

* Yes, there is a town called Lickfold.