Canada

At the weekend, I took a 10-hour bus ride across the Canadian border to Toronto, my third trip to the USA's northern neighbour. The world's 216th most-densely populated country is sometimes overlooked as a possible source of excitement by the non-ski enthusiast tourist, but after my experiences, I beg now to differ.

It is not the scenery that I find particularly exciting (though I probably would): I've not battled bears in the Yukon, or Canoed up the St Lawrence River, or made a pilgrimage to the Field of Abraham. Though I love scenic Montreal and realise how difficult it is not to fall in love with the many beautiful Quebecan women, it is the character of the people that I find most interesting about Canada. Or to be more specific, quite how UNLIKE Americans, Canadians are.
Until relatively recently, I could not tell them apart. Of course, wishing to avoid offence, I would try and remember to ask people with North-American accents, if they were from the USA OR Canada (Americans being unoffended by this) But basically, to the European ear there's little difference between an Ohioan or Ontarian accent.

There are two key tricks to picking up a Canadian accent, that I have now picked up upon. First, the way they say words like about, house and out with an uh sound, rather than auh, as Americans do. The second key difference is their tendency to liberally sprinkle their sentences with the exclamation "eh"'. This is important. To generalise, Canadians (like we Brits) are less keen on being seen to show off excessive personal confidence. This national expression, illustrating a sense of diffidence, is indicative of it. Americans (generally) are positive, expressive and confident. This isn't necessarily a bad thing or a good thing, but it is a big cultural difference from Britain and Canada. Like Brits, Canadians have a more sober attitude, they are a bit cynical, drier in wit and not constantly peppy with enthusiasm.
The funny thing with Canada is that it is just up the road from America and these differences are more stark.

Canada has the large advantage over the United States of having had a good century's worth of extra fostering by the British Empire, before it became independent. This means that British attitudes are shown more obviously in things like Government policy (a more European style role of the state( eg health care for poor people). Other characteristics it shares are Imperial sized pint glasses (25% bigger than those in the US), pronouncing the letter 'Z' like 'zed', rather than the US way, zee. It still has the Queen as a Head of State (I can't understand why Britain still seems to want a monarchy, let alone why another country 3-6,000 miles away would want to retain it, but anyway) and it still has Elizabeth on all its currency.

An important aspect of the Canadian psyche is quite how anti-American they are - and unlike most of the rest of the world which has a more existential phobia to the US - it probably has a more legitimate motivation. Americans basically don't really care that much about Canada and often look down on it as irrelevant. They tend not to regard it as having much of a reason for being, other than being an American backyard. People in the US are extremely ignorant of what's going on north of its border. It was interesting in October (just before the US Presidential election) that there was virtually no reference in the US News media - at all - that Canada was in the middle of a tightly fought national election.

Talk to Canadians about the US, and you often get a sense of animosity. "Americans basically treat us like ***t", a drunken homeless man at Toronto bus station tossed my spare change back across the street at me when I said that I had no more money as I was heading back to New York. When I first arrived in a Gas Station in Quebec a few weeks ago, my toilet cubicle had the words "F**k of USA" drawn across it.

In the lead up to the Iraq war, when anti-Americanism was far more de rigeur, there was an interesting analysis of the Candian attitude in the Guardian and examples of it. Also, for obvious reasons, Candians abroad often have the misfortune of being mistaken for Americans. They must have had a few problems travelling abroad in the last few years: I remember riding on the Picadilly Line a few years ago with a school group from Canada. All the kids seemed to have very large Maple leafs stitched on to their luggage, presumably by their anxious teachers and school teachers, apparently keen - like the Red Cross painting their building rooftops during a bombing raid - to be clearly seen as neutral parties.

Well, things aren't so bad between the two countries, they obviously have a lot in common and need to get along, considering all the trade they do but this little neurosis is interesting (and quite amusing).

Any way, I have now been to Canada's three biggest cities. Torontarians describe their city as being "New York on dial up" which is still a massive exagerration of how exciting the city is. It's built up in the middle, (to me) surprisingly cosmopolitan with a big Chinese population and the city has a decent music and artistic scene (lots of good grafitti around the city). It's a much cheaper and far cleaner version of New York. It lacks the buzz of New York, the sense of urgency and energy you get on every Manhattan street corner, but in Toronto's defence, nowhere does. All in all, it strikes me as a pretty decent place to live.

Though I like Toronto, I greatly prefer Montreal in Quebec for a weekend visit. Scenic and pretty, a lot more spread out and laid-back than NY, but with a good variety of cultural activities and business life to make life more than interesting. I knew that it was the world's biggest French speaking city after Paris and Kinshasa but I was still a little surprised by quite how Francophone it was. Though there are English speaking nightlife enclaves and though McGill University is in the city and Anglophone, most people seem to speak French. The Quebecois version of the language has apparently got a few vernacular differences from that of France, and though they lack the Gallic flair and effusive facial expressions of French-French speakers, it is a surprising contrast from the rest of the country. Quebec has a very different sense of identity to the rest of the country, and only voted against independence by a percentage point during the 1995 referendum, Cosmopolitan Montreal was in fact decisive in voting against independence.

You can tell a lot about country by its politics. Canadian politics is often characterised as being more European and socialised. That said, A lot of American fiscal conservatives talk about Canada as a good model, considering the relative state of its own deficit. Canada worked hard during the mid-90s to pay a large deficit off by cutting government spending in certain areas. I can't help thinking that it was something to do with a more level-headed approach to spending. In the US, people there is a more optimistic attitude that you can carry on spending and having everything and as such, less aversion to debt than in the rest of the world. In the Bush years, the government started an expensive war whilst cutting taxes; in a different manner, but with the same mindset the Obama administration has pretended it can spend lots of money and cut tax unsustainably.

So, Canadians realistic and grounded in reality? A crude stereotype like all stereotypes are. But they generally are much more European and a trip to Canada felt like a weekend at home, after all this time in the US. Good cultural acclimitisation, for returning to GB at the end of Sep!

Difference number x - Shoulders toes and knees, I'm 36 degrees

On first arriving in the United States, one thing I simply failed to understand about the US is its clinging to incomprehensible forms of imperial measurement. Fluid ounces, Pounds etc caused me befuddlement; but evoking the most confusion, was the exclusive use of Fahrenheit during The Weather forecast. 40 degrees a COLD day, talk about a culture shock!

Granted, we Britons stick to a complicated mix of feet and metres, litres and our school teaching moved in to the logical world of Metric about three decades ago. Surely the country of modernity the New World could have moved on from something so anachronistic, by now?

Well, my opinion has kind of evolved a little - if only in regards to American dedication to Farenheit. The big difference between oC and oF is that Farenheit is it is a whole lot more precise - there are more Farenheit degrees for every degree of celsius (twice as many degrees F between boiling and freezing). I have found this really helpful in a city like New York where the weather changes like crazy - rapidly alternating, not just been seasonal extremes, but also between days and indeed, after hours.

This might seem obvious of course - the idiot-proof beauty of Centigrade is knowing that a hundred is boiling and freezing is zero. However, with familiarity Farenheit is just as easy to understand. Once you have a few meteographical yardsticks that you can contemplate, it is easy to comprehend. Freezing is 32oF, in the Spring you need to know 50oF = 10oC , you know it's hot when it's in the 80s (87oF=30oC), 212oF degrees in water and it should be bubbling (that's boiling point) if you live in Canada in January, you know things are really bad when the two converge (at negative 40oC).

However, Farenheit is not so useful when your in the Kitchen: precision is not so necessary when you want to decide how much heat you need to bake a Potato, or more likely, work on your Pumpkin Pie. In that case, I recommend Celsius.

All about the money...

For a country so dedicated to the pursuit of dosh, it seems to me incomprehensible that Americans have such poor aesthetic taste when it comes to the design of their currency. The US "Greenback" seen in a thousand gangster movies, might well be iconic but it is also illogical and hard to understand - and not just for the jet-lagged foreign visitor.

Notes are all similarly sized and share ugly gray and olive green colours which makes them tricky to differentiate from one another. The unfamiliar foreigner often runs the risk of picking up the wrong note when searching through a fresh wad from the Bureau de Change and trying to pay for their service, a British friend once left $100 at a restaurant rather than the Ten Dollar tip he intended. Also, though I'm no expert on counterfeitting, but American notes don't seem to have much in the way of security features and could surely be copied more easily than Pounds or Euros. US Monopoply-board money also has an annoying tendency to stick together: I once gave away two twenty dollar notes for a hot dog in Little Italy, my protestations for the correct change were unproductive. It's not only the notes that don't make sense: the nickel coin (five cents) is actually - bizarrely - bigger than dime (ten cents).

Okay, after a while you do start adjusting to these things: you get to differentiate between the Founding Father designs of the notes and realise that the dime is differentiated from the nickel as it's a little bit shinier, but it does seem unecessary. For a country that built itself of on its rationality and logic it does seem, well, irrational and illogical. Maybe they could take a leaf out of the British book with our nice multi-sized and colourful currency.

The other interesting thing is the American reliance on the One Dollar Note. The BoE decided that it wasn't worth printing a Pound note back in 1988 but yet the US reliance on the single dollar note, currently worth about 60p, is retained. Why? Maybe it is because it is easier for bar staff who earn a dollar a drink served in their tip money (as is custom here)? Maybe the extra paper money gives a comforting illusion of wealth? Maybe no politician has the cojones to abolish a note with George Washington on it? I don't know.

The other thing worth mentioning here is the American Automatic Telling Machine (they don't talk about Cash Machines or The "Hole in the Wall". The experience of dispensing our cash costs Americans a lot more than us Brits. Almost all charge, unless you belong to a specific bank. The typical fee is about $1.50 to $3 in NYC whilst we only pay for the really rubbish ones in Cost Cutter when we are really desperate. On the flip side, there do seem to be more ATMs to find in NYC and the ones owned by the banks offer a few extra things, including info on your recent transactions. That said, I always shake the cover of any shifty-looking ATM I use, in case it has a card-cloning cover after my card got copied in London last Summer, and had £100 stolen by some guy in Kuala Lumpur.

Couch Surfing USA

“Oh my GOD!!! You’re staying with a total stranger, is that safe?!?”:
so was my Manhattan co-worker’s reaction when I explained that on a weekend trip away from the city, I would be couch surfing.

What is it?

Couchsurfing is a free web-based hospitality service that connects “surfers” with potential hosts who are willing to offer a place for strangers to sleep, for free. Following the recommendation of an enthusiastic friend, I am a recent convert to the World of Couch Surfing, and have now used it to stay overnight in Montreal and Virginia and plan to do it later in the Summer when I do more travelling. Couchsurfing is open to any one, anywhere and currently has a global membership of over a million and is probably the greatest thing on the internet (following the sinking of PirateBay.org!)

How does it work?

To join, members are required to set up a personal profile, including details of their hobbies and interests, information on their travel experience and a photo. Profiles are then authorised by other members to prove their legitimacy. The better the profile and the more complete it is, the more likely potential hosts are to accept requests of somewhere to stay. Members then use the service to send messages to other people in the CouchSurfing network and basically ask if they can stay with them. Members are typically most inclined to accept requests for a Couch to sleep on from people who tailor a personal message explaining why they would like to stay. Members can search hosts by city (eg “Boston”). No one is obliged to host, though they are encouraged to. The obvious advantage to MB interns is - of course - that it is free and therefore provides us a goods means for saving an extra part of our lavish salary, when we go around exploring the US. However, it is also a great cultural experience. In practical terms, it means that when arriving in a new place couchsurfers can immediately get to meet locals and quickly get useful local knowledge. The CS experience does not finish with a good night’s kip. Members also set up a range of services and events for other members. For example, they often offer rideshares to those travelling between cities and organise gatherings such as - for the NY Group, over recent weeks – movie-watching in Bryant Park, a Thursday-night bar outing and Sunday morning Dim Sum in China Town.

What’s the catch, why did no one think of this before?

Nowt. It took humanity a fair while to evolve far enough to invent the Internet – after all - and now it is merely a case of making the most of it. For Couchsurfing to happen, it requires a small leap of faith on the part of the host and potential guest. It rests on the optimistic and oft-doubted assumption of the innate altruism and generosity of people toward random strangers. Funnily enough, it works.

Inauguration Day 1/20/2009

Weeks later, I’m still finding it a little tricky re-adjusting to a world without George Bush. I am a bit of a skeptic when it comes to Obama: not about his competence or (generally speaking) his political platform, but of the inflated hype surrounding him. The man is clearly no Messiah and - whilst a vast improvement - I am sceptical of the many Americans who seem to think he will quickly offer an elixir for the profound problems created by his predecessor.

Nonetheless, his inauguration was still a unique event and acting on a whim and the promise of a space on a DC-friend’s bedroom floor – at the sacrifice of one of my ten precious Mountbatten holiday days - I decided to follow the crowd of 3-4 million and head to Capitol City.

After taking a lift with MVP Chinatown Bus, I was in DC / Viriginia area for three nights, arriving on Saturday afternoon. The city was packed, the whole weekend. I saw a bit of the concert on Sunday at the Lincoln memorial (including Springsteen, Stevie Wonder, Tiger Woods, Beyonce etc) from the distance, but most of the actual weekend was spent on non-Obama related activities (except trying to negotiate a route around police road blocks and through the huge crowds).

On Monday, I got on to the DC subway system at about 7.30, by which time it was packed. It turned out very well that I was only a few stops from the end of the Red Line commuter route, as it meant there was a little (emphasis on a little) space to squeeze in to the carriage. After avoiding suffocation and arriving at the Metro Center stop, I spent about an hour and a half working out a way to get on to The Mall itself, around the throng. People were making the choice of queuing for hours to go through the security check for the post-inaugural parade, or to watch the swearing in ceremony itself, but i worked out a way of getting to the latter after walking a long way around the White House (bumping in to CNN's Anderson Cooper en route).

I managed to find a place right by the Washington Monument and then braced myself for standing for three hours in a biting cold wind. I could have got a bit closer I think, but because the monument was on a high point, we had a good view of the capitol (albeit nearly a mile away). I would have actually needed the Hubble Telescope to see Obama himself. However, we had big TV screens so the action was relayed to us. The sound quality was fairly good, though the two speakers closest to us were about 3 seconds out of sync, so it was a bit hard to follow at times. Beyond that, I'm sure those of you watching on your computer screens at work, probably got just as good a view of proceedings as they happened.

The best moment (in my irreverent opinion - I've heard some Americans since saying this was distasteful, they're more deferential to their politicians) was Bush's arrival on stage, which was greeted by 4 million people booing - it felt like the ground was shaking. As we were leaving later on after the ceremony, there was a big cheer and wave as his helicopter flew over us toward Maryland and a Texas-bound jet.

There were the usual "Obaama-Obaama" chants, which along with the T-Shirts seem indicative a bit of a cult of personality and I find slightly OTT. However, I guess his personality is preferable to most political alternatives, so it's hard to complain exactly.

There was a great buzz at the point of the various Oaths. I think most people in the crowd weren't particularly interested in Biden, but - I couldn't help feeling that getting rid of Cheney was the most important thing – the personification of Republican malevolence finally gone!
Though the view was restricted even more than usual by a horizon of phone cameras in the air, I just about could see the stage as Obama was declared president, so in case I am ever asked, I can say that “I was there”.

I started working through the crowd as soon as Obama finished. It took an hour to get from grass to concrete but luckily managed to get to my bus stop in time to get a (earlier than booked) 2.30 bus back to NYC.

Crowds of that size are obviously a bit overwhelming in some ways. Completely different scale to any football match / post-concert crowd I have been to. The only thing that I have seen like it would be the 2003 protests against the War. Similar kind of sentiments on both occasions I suppose but a very different 'vibe'. Hard to believe how much has happened in a relatively short time period in between. I guess we will have to wait to find out what the next four to eight years will bring.

In many ways the day was only symbolic: The transition from the Bush to Obama era had taken place over many months as President # 43’s popularity gradually ebbed. DC and the world beyond it did not suddenly “change” around Noon of that day.

Nonetheless, vague historical periods demand tangible measuring points so that an era can be comprehended retrospectively. Correctly or not, 20^th January will inevitably be one of those key measuring posts for our era. So, for vanity - at the very least - I feel lucky to say that “I was there”.

An Amish Paradise

When explaining to New Yorkers that I was planning to visit Lancaster County for Thanksgiving Day weekend, I quickly got a sense of the conspicuous fame of this quiet corner of rural Pennsylvania. Three hours drive from NYC, the area around Lancaster City offers a fairly typical offering of small-town American life: quiet, spacious, ethnically (predominantly) white, church-abundant, moderately conservative and Republican voting, picket fenced, agriculturally rich, but with a twist. Lancaster is famous throughout the world - and particularly amongst the thousands of visiting US School children and tour groups - as the location of the largest Amish population in the country.

This was one of several things that persuaded me to join a group of about 40 international students – including 6 other Mountbatten interns - who traveled down to the area from Manhattan, at the end of November. Since arriving in the city, I had much about the notion of "two Americas" and the supposed cultural divide between New York and the other – "real" – America. I was keen to find out more for myself, particularly so as to properly celebrate "Thanksgiving" – that celebration of wholesome American values and a good diet. Fearing rickets, I also saw it as a good opportunity to get out of the shadow of New York’s large Avenues and lack of natural light and get some natural rural daylight!

Our trip was arranged by an organisation called One to World who run cross-cultural events in the New York area throughout the year. We only paid the price of our travel costs and gave our guests gifts from our home countries, in return for their remarkable generosity. Students can visit one-to-world.org for details of their other events.

We arrived in Lancaster County late in the morning of Thanksgiving Day Thursday. Every member of our group was allocated a local host family. I stayed with a couple called Don and Gayle who lived in a small town within the county called Lititz and had been participating in the cultural exchange program for about ten years through their local church. Their street really resembles Springfield’s Evergreen Terrace: the streets are wide, the gardens large and you would struggle to throw your door mat as far as your Mail Box located far down the driveway.

After arriving, I assisted in lunch preparation and meeting my hosts' grown up family. At lunch time, I got a good dose of Thanksgiving Day turkey – not too dissimilar to what we Britons typically reserve for Christmas Day, except a stuffing which seemed to be more bread-based accompanied with a serving of sweet potato and various examples of Gayle’s personal culinary-idiosyncrasies.

The big moment was of course my first ever slice of Pumpkin Pie. I did enjoy it. Given that 1.5 billion pounds of the fruit is cultivated each year by Americans and then excavated from their Halloween lanterns, I do understand that it might as well be eaten. Nonetheless, I wouldn't say it was quite as great as sweet British winter staples Apple Pie and Crumble. However opinions differ and it is clear that pudding quality is in the taste-buds of the beholder!

After a sleepy afternoon – induced by a saturated stomach and a soporific Football game – my hosts took me on a driving tour of the area. I soon got my first glimpse of the local countryside. The land in the area is richly fertile. The fields are deep greens and dark brown in colour and I was able to get a good sense of its agricultural side, as the magma sunset led to dusk.

That evening, I was quickly was acquainted with the area’s USP for tourism. The Amish people are a common sight on the area's roads. Horse-drawn carriages and buggies are frequently seen on its country lanes – a constant hazard, given they typically lack electric lighting.

Okay, a (Wikipedia assisted) historical explanation. Lancaster was the site of the original Amish settlement in the United States and today the "plain" Christian group in the area, numbers approximately 25,000. They are famous for their very traditional means of living, plain dress and general tendency to eschew most modern conveniences. The Amish wish to avoid perceived "temporal" and "un-godly" frivolities and instead live a life which is pure in the eyes of God. The Amish way of life has changed little since arriving in the area from Europe in the Seventeenth century, when they were initially attracted by William Penn's promise of religious tolerance.

Plain, dark coloured, their clothing is simple. Buttons (considered superfluous and showy) are typically not worn. I soon found out, whilst we were driving that evening, that Amish homes and farm houses can easily be identified by the lack of wiring to the central electricity grid and by their extremely long washing lines – which, in lieu of a tumble drier - stretch (I guess) about 20 metres up the side of their buildings. The danger of vanity in life is similarly respected in death - an Amish cemetery we passed was remarkable for the small size and simple font used on its gravestones. Their lands are ploughed by horses, rather than petrol driven machines, bringing to life images I had previously only seen on quaint paintings of pre-industrial England.

Those wishing to learn more will be interested in Harrison Ford’s 1986 movie “Witness” or Satirist Al Yankovich’s “Amish Paradise” (found on youtube).
From my understanding, the Amish have a reasonably tolerant attitude toward other cultures. Their church is dedicated to the principles of Ana-Baptism – reserving the choice of entering the Church through Baptism to consenting adults (rather than infants, as is the custom in most other denominations). As such, they respect the right of their children to marry into other churches (when they do, they typically join more moderate and local Menonite congregations). However, they take a tough view - and often shun completely -those who are Baptised in the Amish faith and then turn away from it. The Amish are also grudgingly acceptant of the large numbers of tourists who visit them, though upset when photos are taken of them.

After exploring Amish land more thoroughly the following day, it was hard not to be impressed by the calmness that this apparently anachronistic group of people went about its day to day life. To some the Amish are backward and masochistic. To others, the Amish present a flattering light on Christianity that – in (arguably) one of its most fundamentalist manifestations –it is so placid. Both perspectives perhaps have some validity. I was sure that despite its virtues, it was not a way of life I would personally be able to live by.

The rest of the weekend was spent exploring the other sites that the locals claim fame for. Lititz is home to North America's first Pretzel family (presumably brought over from the Swiss or the Germans sometime around the Eighteenth Century). This is of course a "Big Deal" and there's a museum and tour, which I lacked time for. Their chocolate factory meanwhile is – so they claim - unquestionably the greatest in the US, particularly superior compared to that produced by local rivals, Hershey's.

Our whole group came together on the second evening of the weekend. The area has a reputation for large appetites and, as such, we shared a big meal including its-world-famous-within-Lancaster chick-pea pie. Amongst the international factions of our large group, we each had to produce a presentation on our home country and national identity. Struggling to think of something that identifies us as British, we performed Danish Diva Whigfield’s Classic “Saturday Night” and also showed the slower locals whereabouts Britain is on a map.

On my final full day in the area, I took the two-hour drive West with my hosts Don and Gayle, to The Gettysburg battlefield. Site, in 1863, of the most significant engagement in the Civil War, I found it hard to comprehend the size and scale of what had happened there. Gettysburg was the furthest advance of the Southern Confederate force in its effort to assert its independence from the Northern United States – so that it could preserve the use of slaves on its agricultural-based economy. Four months later, President Abraham Lincoln used the site to (arguably) re-define the American raison d’être declaring the chance of “a new birth of freedom” and the necessity of a "Government of the people, by the people and for the people". Years later, Gettysburg’s empty fields and serene hill sides give little impression of what happened – but the quiet surrounding its memorials and its sites of bloodshed remains an eerie one.

On the Sunday evening we returned to New York. We were glad to have experienced another side of American life: quieter and less cosmopolitan perhaps, but fascinating, generous and hospitable also. The people I met operated at a slower pace of life than I had grown accustomed to in New York, but were more world-aware than I had realised also. The cultural divide exists – but is narrower than I expected. I came back determined to travel and extend my understanding as far as possible, in my remaining months in North America.

The last day of MJ...

I got back from work on Thursday June 25th to find out from BBC online that Michael Jackson was "seriously ill" and being rushed to hospital. The beeb was reluctant to speculate but various West-Coast media sources quoted his death. I zipped on to 'The Drudge Report' and it reported that he was dead. When 'The Drudge Report' says that you're dead, I thought, you might as well already be 6 Feet underground but, still, I dared hope otherwise.

An hour or so later, as I was walking through Times Square, heading toward nearby Hell's Kitchen, I assumed I would find some kind of confirmation. A sizable crowd had formed around the abcnews ticker-tape screen.

Times Square is New York's answer to Piccadilly Circus in many ways: it has massive florescent lights, nearby theatres, McDonalds, no locals and a million tourists. It is much bigger though and New Yorkers hate it. I don't like the tourists around it and that tacky stuff being sold:WTC statuettes, "I (L) NYC T-Shirts", dodgy-looking kebabs and too many people hoping to pick up a spare dime. Another difference is its huge military recruitment station right in the middle, replete with large red, white and blue lighting, something you DEFINTELY don't get on a prominent platforin central London.

Nonetheless, at the risk of being looked down on as a tourist myself, I can't deny loving Times Square. I always find it reasonably exhilarating to walk through - especially at night - and do so, given half an excus. It was here - well two condensed blocks of revellers away - in-8oc cold, that I started 2009.

Any way, that evening, lots of people were hanging around outside the abc studios, waiting for their news and giving their upset reaction to a large retinue of reporters. I went over and had a look.

They were on an area that had recently been pedestrianised with deck chairs and there was a real variety of onlooker: a black lady with a Southern-sounding accent hugging her son, some loud tourists, unmistakably from the English Midlands, and another family arguing in Spanish as they took pictures of themselves in front of the huge Coca-Cola advert screens.

Very suddenly, ABC announced with certainty that "the king of Pop is dead at 50" on its rolling news screen and the tears and upset were released in the crowd around me.

My love of "Beat It" notwithstanding, I never considered myself a great fan of Michael Jackson, but - still, somehow - I felt like the world was suddenly a lot more empty than it was before. A true star in his hayday and an endearing freak for twenty years since, he was truly unique and one for whom millions of us had an intense curiosity. Like with the passing of George Best a few years ago, his death gave an opportunity to erase his ugly recent past from our minds and to focus instead on the youtube-worthy artistry of his prime.

Fame-averse though I am, I could not say no to the lovely Romanian TV Reporter when she asked me for my reaction to the news. Struggling for a soundbite, I said something about him being an "unforgettable" and an "entertainer". I don't know of anyone in Bucharest, so not sure if I made it on TV, despite my efforts to navigate their website.

Enjoying a Happy Hour and cheap burger a little bit later, the sleepy bar I was in was shaken up as "Smooth Criminal" was put on the stereo and the people in the bar put up a collective cheer. Suddenly, joining other members of the premature dead crowd, he was able to sing from beyond the grave and his star rose.

Whilst there was some level of grief, there was no hysteria. New Yorkers don't really do sentimentalism, It doesn't have the time. They do have time for fair cynicism though. At the Pedestrian Crossing later, I walked behind two New Yorkers debating his relative legendary status. "Well he was The King of Pop, but at least Elvis was no paedophile..."

As I walked towards my Jersey-bound PATH train later on in the evening, I passed a Broadway ticket seller at 42nd Street who summed up the mood: "Jackson's gone but the show goes on".

I like(d) to ride by bicycle

Apart from the people I missed, if I were to be honest, after a few months in the USA, there were few things from my British existence I remembered well enough to miss. Aside from the people at home that I miss, there is not much that I have felt I have lacked.

My Mum and Dad's Cat (despite my being allergic to it), the Wright's Bar Mixed Grill, Premiership Football and 20 fl oz pint glasses, would probably rank amongst the top 'non-human' things. Nonetheless, with New York so exciting, the present has been too exciting to spend too much time analysing things that I miss.

One hole that I have not been able to fill however, is cycling. A catalyst for my homesickness? The thought of my two-wheeled friend, slouched - presumably rusting - in a dark corner of my parents' North Hertfordshire Garage.

Now, granted, I could have a bike here in NYC, but given my finances and given the various factors affecting my propensity to ride one whilst here in the "Big Apple", the idea of returning to two wheels cannot "fly" - at least for the moment.

The relative lack of cycling is a big difference in New York City. Far fewer people use bikes.

In London, it is a large part of the culture and an apparently expanding one. Green bike lines wind round streets. In built up area, you can actually overtake cars by weaving through gaps between revving engines; you claim safety in the slow crawl of the traffic around you. Last year we Londoners elected a cycling aficionado mayor.

There are differences between the two cities. The biggest problem for the humble Manhattan biker is the damn efficiency the NY grid system gives its roads. Unlike London with its ancient illogical spaghetti layout, of thin roads and bottle necks, New York traffic is typically divided in to Avenues of 4 lane traffic rapidly moving north to south, in straight lines and that means cars can actually drive and do so, fast. This means that the cyclist who thrives off lethargic traffic movement, is effectively shuffled off the road. The cyclist zealous taxi drivers are also quite a menace, frequently and unpredictably, turning on red.

However, it is changing. I was surprised how many green lanes of its own that there were running down Manhattan's streets. On the main roads, you see the odd person riding most times. Couriers and Delivery men use them quite a bit.

The other big problem here is the actual road surface. New York roads are in a similar state to those in Blackburn, Lancashire that The Beatles sang about. Though there are probably more than 4,000 holes, the real problem is their depth. London roads do have the odd grill or dip, a precarious hazard on an otherwise flat road surface here and there, but New York's are huge. Tarmac crevasses, drain entrances inches below surface level, crumbling tarmac, holes in the road dug like archaeological excavation. In short, I would not want to ride over one and bet my lunch money on my cranium remaining intact (helmet or not).

Nonetheless, this is not really the reason why I have not made yet a trip to a NY bike shop. Being a "Tunnel and Bridge" Jersey-ite, traveling with a bike to Manhattan would pose certain logistical difficulties and though a worthwhile investment if I was staying longer, a bike wont fit in to my BA luggage entitlement, once I eventually make the return trip across the Atlantic.

However, I miss a ride and might yet look at buying a second hand bike. Why? Cycling gives a sense of freedom and control that you cannot get from any other means of transportation.

I have been reading through the early chapters of Zen and The Art of Motorcycle Maintenance recently and Robert Pirsig perfectly describes this feeling of control (albeit from a Motorbike):

"You see things on a motorcycle in a way that is completely different from any other. In a car you're always in a compartment, and because you're used to it you don't realize that through that car window everything you see is just more TV. You're a passive observer and it is all moving by you boringly in a frame"

With so much to see of a city from the saddle, there is so much to absorb and from a position in which you actually know that you are part of it. Unlike Pirsig, of course, when on a peddle bike, you know that it is up to your thighs and navigational nous - rather than a petrol can to get you there and that makes it doubly thrilling.

Bikes can be annoying, of course. Taxi drivers, crunching gears and frequent trips to Evans bike shops for elusive but critical bike parts are a frequent difficulty. Then there is theft (I've had two stolen, one in London) which is obviously pretty disastrous. Still, through my University days, there was nothing better to pick up the adrenaline than to take a ride on my bike and it was the reason I got to know London so well.

I will miss NY pretty badly when I leave, but the Bicycle Buzz will be one thing offering some compensation.

However apathetic or lethargic you might be feeling at a particular moment, a bike is guaranteed to re-open anyone's latent adrenaline pipes. For those who have not experienced it, go out and experience life in a "higher gear".

The Sound of the Underground

The London underground and the New York Subway: Which is better?

Few things probably symbolise the greatness of a great city better than its subway/underground system: lots of people with a look of purpose, travelling at speed. Every city movie’s got to have a glimpse of a crowded underground railway system. A huge logistical infrastructure that only a big place could support.

So it is with London and New York: both cities produce thousands tourist-friendly mugs and tea towels with Underground / Subway signs. Designs illustrating the Beck Underground Map or showing the 4 Train to The Bronx, compulsory for any tourist who has been there and bought the T-shirt.

So how to compare?

First thing to remember is what London is built on: clay. New York is on Granite (much harder). This means London can dig tube lines 60 metres underground, whilst New York railway designers are forced to exclusively dig lines just below street level. London has plenty of these “cut and cover” lines, but they are generally the older, slower, more rubbish lines, like the District, Circle and Hammersmith & Sh*tty.

New York Subway Trains are bigger and faster. Their huge silver carriages, with the Stars and Stripes painted on the side, evoke movie memories and somehow look inately cool. They also have air conditioning. London’s deep-level tube level lines are too far underground and too narrow, so retrospective installation would be unaffordable. London summers are usually relatively more tame, but not if you’re deep down on the Underground, where train temperatures sometimes end up topping levels legally permissible for livestock.

Because it's dug only a shallow depth in to the granite, the New York subway is much easier to get to: exiting from a train, you’re only ever about 45 seconds from street level. A break toward surface-level is not SUCH a big hassle in London, but 2 sets of LU escalators loaded with tourists and City bankers, chip away at anyone’s time, not to mention decorum.

So, IMO, the NY Subway is much easier than London’s. if you’re going in the right direction that is. The problem is that unless you know it with a reasonable degree of familiarity, you’re often NOT going in the right direction. London treats its Underground users as if they’re idiots and therefore, so it’s pretty damn hard to get lost on it. New York MTA takes a slightly different approach to customer service. Train lines are defined with numbers rather than names. Signs on street level are barely existent and because of toughness of granite, don’t bother connecting station underground, so you need to ensure you are going in at the right entrance. Maps are harder to find and general signs to subway lines are seemingly contradictory and imprecise.

The classic New York rookie subway error is to mistake an “Express” Train for a “Local” Service. Both run from the same platform but only the latter stop at every station. If you’re not careful, the express train can take you 30 blocks from where you want to go, or take you in to deepest Brooklyn far from Downtown Manhattan.

The other thing about NY Subway is that there’s only one ticket zone, so once you’ve swiped into a station, you don’t have to dig your ticket out of your pocket’s nether regions to escape at the other end. Not a big deal difference, but something that leaves me relaxed.

I also think this makes the art of fare dodging / barrier jumping more common here. Occasionally you see people grasping the two sides of the barriers, pushing themselves up, pulling in their thighs and rocking over the turnstile (as per Doherty/Barat style in that Libertines video, though that was maybe the Paris Metro). Not seen anyone caught for doing this, but I have heard the NYPD don’t look on it too kindly.

Another thing I love about the NY subway is the live entertainment. New York subway has more communal areas underground and a huge range of entertainers use it to perform. This is in part a product of the City's tipping culture. I've seen a 12-year old pianist doing Beethoven, a Bag piper, Beat Box, as well as a host of different guitarists and break dancers in London. You get this in London too, though it is all more licensed and regulated and the range isn't so good.

Last but most worthy of mention, is their differing running times. The “City that Never Sleeps” is as restless and nocturnal as it is because of its 24-hour subway. Bars, late night entertainment, masochistic office marathons, can be extended deep in to the night in New York thanks to reliable late night transport. Hapless Londoners meanwhile, are forced to cram in to a midnight tube or wait for a Night Buses. Now London Night buses are an institution and facilitator of great banter, but when you're traveling late at night between Elephant and Brockley, in Peckham Traffic lights, there are fewer places you would less like to be.

The NYC MTA has its problems, primarily due to budget cuts arising from the recession. An Albany bail-out notwithstanding, fares have gone up and services have become less frequent, with a new East Side subway line construction delayed. LU doesn't have such bad problems. However, New York - thankfully - does not have to cower in the specter of one individual who was born to bugger up the lives of Londoners: Bob Crow.

Neti Pot - and maximising your lot.

I saw this article in the NYT the other day.

I'm not sure who came up with the idea of the Neti Pot, or if it was was taken from a Dick Cheney Water Boarding torture manual, but - the truly surprising thing is - it's actually quite reasonably widely practiced around here. Euphemistically, it's also called "Nasal Irrigation".

It freaked me out a little bit. The picture accompanying the article was not produced by a surrealist disciple of Salvador Dali, the videos on youtube prove that it is physically possible though the following might give you nightmares for a few weeks.

The videos on youtube make it appear suprisingly simple to recline your head a fraction a tiny bit and pour a mini teapot full of water up one nostril and down the other nostril. The translucent liquid swishing back out of the exit nasal passage looks implausibly bogey-free to me. Unlikely also seems to be the absence of choking induced by the manouvere.

The standard deal I thought city-dwellers (at least in MEDCs) make, before they retreat to the suburbs middle-aged, is that they trade off a few years of life by moving to an unhealthy polluted city, where they can play sport or go hiking so that they can pack more life in to the years that they have. Not so in New York: they are constantly trying to appear younger and healthier, fighting the inevitability of urbania with quackery, Gym Membership, vitamin supplements, soya milk and plastic surgery. Macrobioticism (something I initially assumed has a specific scientific name, really is the far more pretentious "long life")though has much to be commended for it. The fact is, it shows the kind of zest that New Yorkers have to fit more in to life, by extending it. Despite the Dorian Gray-esque aspirations, the aim is - essentially - a good one!

Doggy Bagging (Difference 5)

Went in to a New York Diner the other day with my visiting parents. After finishing my own food, and despite having zero appetite, I had no hesitation in taking my Mum's offer of taking her meal, because I knew I would be able to ask the Waiter for a "doggy bag".

In Britain, for some reason, there is a bit of a stigma associated with taking home your left overs. I think it suggests that you are a little stingy. When I worked in a waiter a few years ago, only one person ever ever asked to take the remained of their meal back home and I must admit, I gave them a bit of an odd look.

But fair play, it means good food does not get wasted, when too much of the food I cleared from the tables at The Three Moorhens during my Waiting days, went to landfill. Maybe it's because Americans have bigger plate fulls to start with, but hey. American utilization of resources 1, mutually destructive British snobbery 0.

Difference 4: Optimism

The biggest Trans-Atlantic dividing point? The Audacity of Hope. It is something that is pretty hard to quantify or prove, but to a first-time non-native visitor to New York, it is visceral.

Americans are optimistic, much more so, than their curmudgeonly British cousins, who in comparison, are the masters of cynicism. I am generalising of course, but like most stereotypes, it comes from somewhere.

Americans respectively "can do", "will do", "pumped", "psyched", or "feel good" at the most trivial of happenings, and at the most inauspicious of occasions.

Each morning, the curb side fruit-seller, the lobby security guard, the train conductor all wish me "a GREAT day" - in Britain, such a phrase would be considered an ironic sleight.
Speaking on the phone, with cold-calling salespeople, inquire positively about how we're feeling (reserved Britons, typically having a crap day, would never intrude in to the bitter truth).
The Mail man on my desk declares each morning, as he deposits post in our empty reception "mail, ON THE DESK" in a cheery way only Santa UK might be allowed, on December 25th. I could give more anecdotes.

The press is more positive, whilst the economy has been pretty messy of late, the US Media - without being panglossian - hasn't resorted to doomesday type reportage evinced in British papers like the Jeremiah "Daily Mail" and "Daily Express" (admittedly these are the two extremes). Even if the US was totally wrecked, or it worked in alliteration, it would not get away with the terrible glib headline "broken Britain" that so many talk about the UK.
Talk to Americans about the economy, the view is dim, but there is great faith in the ability of the market to eventually sort itself out. I saw an interview recently (on BBC) with a recently laid-off New Yorker and the remarkable thing was his cheeriness.

Talk to Americans about their future plans, they are positive and upbeat. The weather may be wet, but tomorrow promises to be better. Adverts from Alzheimers to Home Insurance to Obama hail "HOPE". The average American is therefore, from what relatively little I have seen, closer to Ned Flanders than Homer Simpson.

An interesting dividing point is American regard for their home town. It is a truth universally acknowledged that someone from Britain must come from a self-described "Sh*t hole": be it Swindon, Luton, Bradford, Cumbernauld, Buxton or Tunbridge-Wells. Books on GB's "50 Most Crap Towns" fly-off the shelves in to Christmas stockings and get re-printed every Yuletide. Americans, meanwhile, from Mississippi to Minnesota, Springfield Ill to Springfield Mass, beam positively about their cute home town. Some are more honest, but there are fewer complaints.

Okay, out of 300 Million people, there are a few people drinking out of half-empty glasses. Not all live the easy-wealthy lives that promote a belief a feeling of optimism. People who live in New York and are able to wake each morning to the sight of the Empire State are understandably more inclined to be upbeat. The difference is there.

The reason for hope? Americans are a nation of immigrants. Their population have inherited a culture from the self-selective adventurous people from whom they are descended. For many of these new generations seeking the American Dream, it is already half realised and spurred on by the knowledge that the present is better than the recent past and that improvements in life quality can continue.

Optimism and hope are not always a good thing however: misanthropy sometimes goes a long way. Americans often seem naive to European eyes, because optimism provokes people ot ask fewer questions about people's motivations. To British people, American positive-thinking and hope sometimes seem superficial and in-sincere. Why do Britons hate Americans? Well, when they sometimes do, largely because they are a different culture. Worse, because they speak the same language, they assume that they ARE the same culture, when they're not: as Oscar Wilde said I think "two peoples separated by a common language". Faced with American brashness, Britons are repelled and take Schadenfreude at their failures.

So, neither is perfect.

Obama's election campaign evocation of "Hope" and "Change We Can Believe In" would generally not work so well in more cynical Britain. (Well, emptyish words worked for Tony Blair in Britain, but maybe I can call that an exception to the rule.) In 2009, that would never happen.

Good or bad, optimism is something that I will miss when I leave America but I will try and ship some of it back to the Sceptered Isle!

You can stand under my Umbrella... (difference 3)

Mention to a New Yorker that you are from London and their line of small talk will inevitably turn rapidly to their perception of Britain's inclement weather. It never ever stops raining in London, so they will say. They watch Wimbledon every year. "How do you poor people cope? It must SUCK!"

There is a kernel of truth to this: GB has a tame Maritime climate; and the price Britons pay for innocuous winters are cool lame summers, where it tends to rain, steadily.

That being said - and London's rubbish weather notwithstanding - I think it worth pointing out the fact many people find surprising. London has less than HALF the annual precipitation New York has.

According to Wikipedia, 22.95 inches of precipitation fall each year on London, while on average, in NYC, it is 49.7 inches. That is a big lead. Indeed, New York has more rain/snow than Glasgow. Counter-intuitive?

The reason for this is that in New York it tends to come down all at once. In Winter, large "Nor'Easter" blizzards dump their Mid-western load with feet of NY snow. In the Summer, heavy heavy rainstorms (often jazzed up with thunder and lightning) conclude long periods of intense humid heat. In the UK it is far less dramatic and exciting, rain hangs around all year. It IS probably more boring - BUT, all being said, in London it does not rain as much.

This year has actually been a very extreme of this...New York has had one of the wettest June's in its recorded history whilst London began its first decent heatwave in quite a few summers.

...So Britons and Americans both use Umbrellas to shield themselves from the elements. There is a vernacular difference though. Americans don't recognise the term "Brolly". Not a big difference, I guess, but I do feel they miss out on the most appropriate term. This is also further evidence that British-English speakers use the language in a fuller, flexible more alacritous fashion than Americans, who merely seek to ape it.

Barack in Philly

It was often said during the Presidential election campaign that rallies for Barack Obama were like Rock Concerts and, from my experience, that was exactly right.

It was mid-October, and with about 3-weeks of two long years of campaigning remaining, I arrived in Philadelphia after a Friday night MegaBus ride from New York City, just a few hours before the Democratic Presidential nominee was due to speak in the city.

I had only come for a weekend of tourism, a look at the Liberty Bell and a photo on the Rocky Balboa steps, but soon found out about the city's guest. When I arrived that evening, my hostel dorm was peppered with fliers announcing his visit; people's excitement was pretty palpable with the details of his morning rally in the Northern part of city kept rolling off people's lips with enthusiasm.

It would be wrong to claim Obama zealotry was universal and I'll avoid being cheesy about it. After an obligatory Philly Cheese-Steak, I visited a couple of bars trying to impress people with my exotic accent; the first guy I spoke to - apparently reasonable and sensible-sounding - spent fifteen minutes railing against Obama AND McCain for being "super-Socialists". Something about the bail out. He then complimented me on Thatcher. After eight years of Bush, and despite some bizarre things he had to say, he proved in my mind, that intelligent Republicans actually still exist. He didn't put me off Obama though.

Though I got to bed not too many hours after midnight, I got up so early I felt like I had never slept. Unaware of public transport, it took me an hour to cross from the relatively salubrious historic centre, into some of America's roughest neighbourhoods and arrive at the end of a long queue for the rally, half an hour before sunrise.

Somewhat belatedly, I realised it was not a wise area to travel through solo: on each corner were offers for drugs, sex and not-so-subtle attempts to lure me off the sidewalk for some kind of mugging. Half a dozen blocks from where the future President would speak, the queue for the Methadone service was already snaking round the corner, in the pre-dawn darkness, hours before its 8.30 opening.

I arrived in line at 6am-ish, but two and a half hours before Obama was due to attend, the line of people was blocks-long and swiftly growing. A group of peppy, preppy, BudLight inebriated college students behind me reflected the common sense of incredulity: "dude, I thought we got here early!".

Ahead of me was an energetic Jersey Mother who was proudly boasting about all the previous Presidential candidates she and her apparently long-suffering ten year old daughter had hob-knobbed with during previous campaigns (Bill, Kerry, Cuomo etc). Not ALL American liberals are hyperactive and annoying, a few are relatively normal and others in our queue looked as lethargic as I felt, but the energy was almost overwhelming for my fragile British tastes.

So we waited for an hour in the darkness as the clock moved toward Seven.

Soon, as nigth music could be heard - a Stevie Wonder recording blaring from the still unopened auditorium told us that "Superstition aint the way". As I say - it felt like we were about to see Metallica. It's not just the crowds that give the event a Rock 'n' Roll feel. There were T-Shirt sellers and other merchants selling a full range of all kinds of memorabilia (official and unofficial). There were Porta-loos . There was the speculation of which catch phrases he might come up with: like the anticipation for the possible "Otherside" and "Under The Bridge" before a Chilli Peppers concert, so we wondered if he would come up with the "Audacity of hope" or "Yes We Can" (incidentally, we would hear neither). More sinister, a sense of nervous anticipation about getting in to such an event. Clearly no one wanted to think about the possibility of Obama's assasination, but I can't help feeling the attitude reminded me a bit of all the people who wanted to see Pete Doherty a few years ago, before any untimely cult-creating death.

Tickets or payment weren't necessary, but contact details and cell numbers were taken diligently from those attending, so that as many as possible could be persuaded to join in the massive canvass of the neighbourhood, later on in the day. The long crowd was ultimately squeezed through a surprisingly simple security check, aided by a ban on bags.

Though I was far from the front of the queue, the large platform area meant that I was able to get relatively close to the left of the stage. In the square I bumped in to two Obama volunteer friends from University in London. One I half expected to see, the other a total surprise, showing I suppose, the great deal of excitement for the election, even from the UK.

People had traveled from far and wide and represented a range of demographic groupings, but still, the vast majority were black and were relatively local. Philadelphia has a large, poor black population and is overwhelmingly Democratic. The rest of the state had in previous recent elections tilted perilously close to Bushite Bonker-tude. The campaigning goal in Philly was therefore simply aimed at boosting turnout as much as possible so as to neutralize as many Sarah Palin-voting red knecks in the rest of state as possible. It worked: 76% of Philly ultimately opted for Obama on November 4th and Pennsylvania's crucial twenty-one electoral college votes went with them.

There were numerous warm-up acts for Obama. Pennsylvania Governor Rendell talked about previous nearer misses and electoral agonies. A local Irish-American Congressman - oozing corruption - stood up to join the fun. A large Baptist choir sung and a local preacher made a prayer (skillfully timed to coincide with the the magma-coloured sunrise) and spoke of the redemptive possibilities of "Jacob's Son" Barack Obama. The religious element was obvisously a contrast from godless British politics, but the undeniable fervour it induced in people was exciting to (almost) be a part of.
I couldn't help feeling a slight sense of irony, half an hour after the same crowd sang along to SW's refrain "when you believe in things you don't understand you suffer".

Then Obama arrived. I had a good view as the silver Jeeps of his motorcade swung in from the street and in to a large tarpaulin placed behind the stage. Then came a 10 minute high-anticipation wait as his Secret Service agents got to work scoping out the square. The Mall Parking lot - revealed in the rising sunlight - covered a massive area, Obama's lectern was surely visible to rooftops and windows a hundred metres in all directions. Vantage points of this kind were closed though and agents equipped with super-sized binoculars kept an earnest eye on them. Ominously, behind the stage was a stretcher, just in case. Like in the movies, the secret service were super-slick and dapper-dressed; unlike in the movies, they were not needed and Obama walked forward safely.

The next thing was delirium. Though there were dozens of people in front of me, he probably came within 10-15 meters of me. He was a bit taller than I expected and even skinnier, but looked as fit as anything. If you had not been aware of who the most famous man in the world was, you would have thought he was a 28-year old recent college graduate, all set to run a marathon.

So what did he actually say?

Well he kind of promised everything. Britons are more cynical and wouldn't have allowed Brown or Cameron to declare they could "change the world". However, the current (inept) and future (oleaginous) British PMs aren't Barack Obama and our cynicism is (IMO) a big part of the reason for what we are stuck with.

Obama went on to wheel out some of the usual platitudes with things like: "together", "hope", "progress" and stuck together with Ziegler-worthy three-part lists and negative-positives. Given the uncertain problems of the world and the realities of politics, a lack of specific solutions was sort of understandable I suppose, or at least, deserving the benefit of the doubt.

On the specifics, he did actually say some slightly concerning Protectionist things about "keeping jobs in America" and leaving Iraq-asap. Overall though, his speech was largely agreeable and he talked about affordable healthcare, support for the old and a realisation of the higher education "dream". Amen to all that (as the crowd responded).

Well intentioned, but deliverable? We'll see...

Wearing my new Obama T-Shirt, soon after, I walked through Philly and thought about some of these things. Looking perhaps uglier in full daylight, it did feel hard to imagine how four or eight years of BHO could fully solve the injustice of this corner of the city of 'brotherly love'. Nonetheless, the city was obviously right to view him as the most likely person to give it a helping hand. For me, personally, I felt for one of the first times in my life that a dream, even with flaws or even possibly without foundation, could be an intrinsically great thing in itself, simply for the joy in invoked in people: "bliss it was to be in that dawn alive".

# 2 Difference: If life gives you lemons

Okay, the first proper difference that I will mention between the two countries is the existence / non-existence of this (at first sights) apparently humble and unexceptional brand of fizzy drink.

My first can of Mountain Dew was late one evening in the Summer '07, when I first visited New York City. It was an epiphany.

Growing up in GB, I came to know lemonade as the ever-sweet, ever-reliable, but ever so slightly boring soft-drink staple. The kind of thing to have at a School disco when you're 13 and want to get to sleep by 11pm by avoiding the caffeine of coke. It bubbles benign and transluscent in bottles of Schweppes, Tesco value, 7-UP and Sprite etc. That was what I thought.

Mountain Dew is also a "lemonade" in name, but really closer to a form of rocket fuel. It seems to contain a tonne of sugar and gives a powerful kick of caffeine. So much so, the caffeine version is banned in Canada. If spilled, you will notice that it has a luminous greeny-yellow colour, similar to the radioactive stuff that oozes out of Mr Burn's Springfield Nuclear Power plant. A bottle of it - the true the blissful saccharine, with yellow stained mouth and beaded bubbles twinkling at the brim (as Keats might say) - is enough to give quite a buzz and a night of insomnia.

Though Britain doesn't have Mountain Dew - parent co Pepsi withdrew it after 2 years of poor UK sales in 1998 - it seems (from wikipedia research) that it may be re-launched next year, or even this year in GB.

Though Britain lacks Mountain Dew, it is one lemon-flavoured drink up on America: the ever-reliable sore-throat analgesic, Lemsip. My throat was a little painful the other week and I was forced to trek across Manhattan to Brit-themed shop Myers of Keswick, which is apparently the only shop in town that sells the stuff (also where New Yorkers should go for their Weetabix, Marmite, Tea, Chocolate Hob Knobs and Cornish Pasties). Americans have a range of their own elixirs for colds, as well as various soothing drinks, but they are not quite the same. Lemsip is somehow a cult symbol of Britishness I feel ; something to do with our stoic attitude to dealing with chilly weather and colds. After all, our erstwhile Poet Laureate Andrew Motion used to drink it each morning he sought a satisfactorily grim muse to express the feelings of the nation.

Outside Britain, it is sold in Australasia but apparently not used in most / any of the rest of Europe (I remember my German exchange friend being very impressed by it when he had to deal with a cold on his trip to England) . If any of my US colleagues are ill later with a cold, later in the year, they can have Lemsip protection, as I've put my left-over sachets in our office kitchen cupboard.

From Dark Water (and difference #1)

*FURTHER CLARIFICATION* In case you're worried, I don't use "Dark" Water because of some kind of residual teenage angst.

My name (Douglas) comes from the Scottish Gaelic Dubh-glas which means "Dark Water".

When I was younger, my charming elder brother would often refer to me during my formative years with reference to "Muddy Puddle" - a sobriquet he incorrectly considered synonymous with the Celtic root of my name.

Douglas seems to be relatively common in this part of the world, compared to southern England, where it is very rare.* Apparently it is particularly common amongst the "older' generations (I've noticed quite a few lawyers have it).
Despite its relative lack of novelty, I still meet New Yorkers who INSIST on telling me the man with / without a spade joke (as if I've NOT heard it One Hundred Thousand times before). I also get the Doug theme tune sung to me occasionally and I also get inquiries about my girlfriend Patty Mayonnaise and dearest pooch Pork Chop.





*US v UK difference #1, More people called Doug/las*

Greetings from New York

Six months of business, procrastination and rarity of muse killed off my previous efforts at putting together a blog about what I've been up to since I arrived here.

However, I have decided to try again and to put some things down on a (relatively) frequent basis.

Just so it's clear, I am aware of the potential pit-falls of these kind of travel / life abroad blogs. For example, I've previously read those that use very flowery and pretentious language to over-state the excitement of a self-evidently interesting experience. I have also seen those that assume people will be interested in every tedious waking activity a person might undertake, simply because they are in an interesting town several Time Zones away. I'll try and bear these dangers in mind.

With these thoughts in mind, I'll try not to talk too much about what I had for breakfast (except to describe my Bagel addiction), my trips to the Pharmacist (except to say its called 'Duane Reed', not 'Boots' / 'Superdrug') how many hours sleep I might get (except to repeat cliches that this is one thing that supposedly never happens in this city) and I will leave it for the MSNBC website if you want a daily NY Weather update (except to say how erratic and strange it seems for someone used to Southern England's temperate climes).

Though the idea of being in New York seems like a good "theme" for a blog, without a clear structure, it's possible I might end up
I think I will structure it around a list of the differences between New York and London /GB. The British like to think that they're just like their cousins across the Pond, this isn't exactly true and I will try to explain why with a list of differences between the two. Will attempt to update it every day and build up a list of a hundred examples. Shouldn't be too hard to put that together! I will also try and fill these in with a few posts on specific interesting things I have been doing.