Fordyce Maxwell: Great memories of US trip

THERE is no such thing as… as… um… jet lag, that’s it. There is no such thing as jet lag causing disjointed thinking, uncoordinated movements and sudden irritability. Ten hours San Francisco to Heathrow, “losing” eight hours in the process, didn’t affect me at all. I’m always like that.

However, I admit impressions are still a little confused of three weeks crossing the US from New York to Frisco by train and coach, via several spectacular cities and even more spectacular scenery.

City memories aren’t too confused. There’s only one Brooklyn Bridge to walk over, one statue of Liberty, one Capitol Hill and Library of Congress; at present there is an exhibition there of the several dozen books that “helped make America” and I realised I’d read about two-thirds of them – proudest moment of our trip.

At least until I mentioned the fact and someone not too far away murmured “Smart alec”; I think she said alec.

Likewise, only one Bean sculpture in Chicago, one Hollywood sign, one genuine San Francisco cable-car to cling to on the outer rail while posing for a photographer who advised the children wouldn’t thank me if I fell off on one of those serious downhill runs.

So cities I remember. But the vastness of America and the stunning quality of much of the scenery can run together. There is also much that is brown and bare, particularly as the country suffers its worst drought since the Dust Bowl 1930s. But tracking 280 miles of Colorado river from way above in a train close to the edge takes some beating.

The Grand Canyon is astonishing, but so is the lesser-known entrenched river meander – you can see why I took notes – at Goosenecks. As for the hairpin, hair-raising, drive to 12,000 feet in the Rocky Mountain national park, whatever coach drivers get paid, it’s not enough.

That’s why they, and millions of other Americans, rely on tips to make a living wage. If our trip had a downside, it was the relentless, demeaning, tipping, with 15 to 20 per cent expected at every meal, and contributions expected to every driver, guide and porter.

Yet the genuine friendliness and helpfulness of most Americans – a much better proposition on home ground than showing off abroad – is an abiding memory. As is the scenery. As are the cities. As is climbing into an Amtrak sleeper top bunk, something that should only be attempted by Olympic gymnasts – Liz didn’t like being sent up 
there at all. «