It ain' awll bad, son...

Being on a budget, I thought nothing of accepting a 36-hour,3-flight journey in order to save a few pennies. Being on a budget, therefore, I take with grace the 60-hour epic that eventually unfolded.


After the first 10 hours I emerge in San Francisco. Grey, drizzling, cold. I actually find myself dreaming of the sun I left in London. I somehow entertain myself for 8 hours. Return to the airport at 10pm to be told one flight is delayed, another cancelled altogether.


Time to whip out the sleeping bag. Other travellers eye me with jealousy as I steal my first 3 hours sleep in 24 hours on the airport floor. A further 3 hours stretched over free seats on the plane and I can be almost be counted as awake when I stumble out in sunny Atlanta, Georgia.


My mind twists as I try to work out what day it is and what time my body clock is following. But in the third time zone in thirty three hours it is only 9am and I know better than to capitulate to the heavy eyes this early on. So I check into a hostel. Shower. Leave.


Despite the dragging mind, I'm glad I had this extra time in the states. It reminds me of why I'm not staying.


I still have a lingering sense of attachment to the American Dream. I still associate the ideal with the safety and love of my childhood. Its almost a forbidden vision of a possible future. And, goddammit, that makes it exciting.


As I child I believed I would settle in the Promised Land. As an adult I find myself torn between this dream and the rejection of the whole concept of the country. I simultaneously love and despise the excessive use of fast food. I hold myself back from the glitter of the malls. I don’t want anything they offer - but the advertising works so well.


But today I had a revelation - aside from idealism, a true reason why I can never settle here. A reason I can accept, and be at one with, without feeling like some kind of opinionated idiot. The clincher?

It starts when I realise I am walking the streets of Atlanta alone. My only pedestrian companions are the crazy and the homeless, of which there are an extortionate number.

And then I remember. 'Outside' is a strange concept, here.

Everyone drives everywhere. Every single shop has its own parking lot. The consumption of space is ruthless. I have been to city upon city, West, deep South, South East and North East and all of them sprawl, eating up the landscape. Away from small downtown hubs, sheer distance gives people no option other than be slaves to their vehicles.

And they are happy to. Billboards everywhere preach fear.

The first sign to greet me at the airport: "there are other ways to lose your life than dying".
The metro voiceover: "surveillance cameras cannot guarantee your safety."
When I tell the hostel people I will walk (*shock!) downtown: "Keep your hand on your wallet. Don't talk to anyone."

Everyone is scared of everyone else.

The answer to their fear is to keep behind doors - the airconditioned doors of offices, the sliding doors of shopping malls, the slamming doors of cars.

I feel like I'm in an apocalyptic video game. I walk the streets avoiding stumbling meth-twisted zombies, countering their approaches with English politeness and a smile that cracks my airplane-dry lips. I cast my eyes over the concrete Olympic Park and swerve to avoid Coca Cola World.

I'm almost relieved when my legs start to give way from exhaustion. I can legally (my own rules) go back to the hostel. I buy myself a pot of Ben and Jerry's and curl up in front of Friends.

Well, it ain't awll bad...