I went to the US and realised the American dream is more of a nightmare - Alexander Brown

New York I love you, but you’re bringing me down.

When you come back from holiday, your first response to “how was it” should ideally be something positive about the weather, the food, or retelling a magical experience you had.

Holiday chat is supposed to be fun, frothy, and formulaic, with an emphasis on keeping it light, along with a strict limit of three pictures being shown in each individual interaction.

But having just come back from the United States of America, the so-called land of the free, I find the first thing I mention aren’t the incredible museums or food, but instead the extreme and widespread poverty that will linger far more than the bagels.

People sit in Central Park in New York City. Picture: Ed Jones/AFP via Getty Images

Now I know the UK is far from perfect, with our Government so keen to address poverty they changed its definition. But at least at the time of publication, there is some kind of welfare state.

Stepping off the subway after JFK, the first thing you notice is the smell, a deep sense of urine that follows you through every station, due to the vast number of homeless people living underneath it.

There are police outside all the gates, doing their best to protect and serve those outside, while the homeless rot underground with no welfare support, food or water.

Not that there is anywhere for them to go, with a city of 8.4 million, when it comes to offering beds for those in states of distress, having just 50 available, less space afforded to Scotland in Westminster.

How can such a horror happen, you wonder, as a bus goes past featuring an advert for a medical provider boasting about how many lung transplants it performs, urging passers by to ring for a quote.

If that isn’t enough, you’re greeted at every turn by posters of white men in suits promising to sort compensation if you’ve had an accident, which in a country where you’re only a hospital bill away from being homeless, is essential, albeit evil, work. Have you been seriously hurt and what’s my cut?

Then there’s the tipping culture, with an expected 20 per cent on everything, whether it’s a three-course meal or cup of coffee, because service staff are exempt from minimum wage. Tips aren’t a bonus here, but subsidised pay to save money for companies profiting from their labour.

That’s not to mention the guns, racism and assault on women’s rights spreading across the country.

Britain has extensive poverty, is gripped by a cost-of-living crisis, and needs a higher minimum wage, but there remains some semblance of pretence that we live in a society.

I, like so many others of every generation, grew up romanticising New York and the States and wanted to experience the city that never sleeps.

As it turns out, the reason it can’t sleep is because everyone has to keep working to feed their families, or if they can afford to do that, from the misery of seeing what’s around them.

I went to some brilliant museums, ate exceptional Jewish bagels, and enjoyed a baseball game, despite four beers being £70.

But my overriding feeling is one of sadness. I had a lovely time, thanks for asking, but it’s a failed experiment and I’d never want to live there.

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