The rest of the photos

As you can only put a few photos on the blog, I've put the rest (one or two I'm keeping for blackmail purposes) on a picasa site, follow the link to get bored out of your mind.
http://picasaweb.google.com/tubbymurphy/TripToAmerikay

July 29th. Grand Canyon.

Some sore bodies in Flagstaff this morning but everyone has their own particular cure. My one involves various liquids and some solid food – it’ll kill or cure. Willy has raided the medicine chest. We set off for the Grand Canyon, the route is a circular one and we chose to go up the western approach (180) through some beautiful forests which skirted the San Fransisco mountains. There’s a $25 entrance fee and then you drive along the southern rim for about 20 miles and return to Flagstaff by 89. It’s very hard to describe something so immense and beautiful. Everyone has seen pictures and film of it, but to stand on the edge of the Canyon and try to take it all in just takes all your perceptive skills. I took loads of photos but there is no way they can do justice – you’ll all just have to go there. It was very busy and there were people from all over the world there. As we left, there were a lot of stalls along the side of the road selling Indian jewellery but I desisted, having already got my patches, pencils and fridge magnets in one of the shops. Willy got more flattened coins for his collection but he’s suffering today, plus the fact he has vertigo ‘Que cojones!!!’, hungover and with vertigo, standing on the edge of the Grand Canyon. The drive back was through some spectacular western locations, desert plains with bluffs and canyons. This is Navajo territory so I believe and there are lots of settlements scattered around but the preferred architecture is pre-fab or trailer. I can only hazard a guess as to why, any theories out there? Back home and an early night in, draining the cooler, for Vegas beckons tomorrow and we’ll need our wits about us.

On the road

Don't try this at home

On the road to Flagstaff

Keep the sound off on this (it crackles)

July 28th. A day off in Flagstaff.

I can’t figure out what time it is, every clock tells a different story, the car clock, Betty, my phone, the computer and the bedside clock. I got up thinking it was 09:00 and went to have breakfast only to discover it was 07:00. I made my first ever waffle, not that it’s rocket science. The first job was to go and get Willy’s ‘Dickers’ boots, they cost about a quarter of what they are in Spain and another great thing is they have all the sizes even when I buy a t-shirt, when they say ‘XL’ they mean it. The we visited the Lowell Observatory, I always remember this place from my Collins book of the stars. The telescope here was the biggest in the world for quite a while. Our tour guide was a charming (Dutch?) woman called Maria who regaled us with stories of astronomers and their discoveries. There were quite a few star gazers around, Astronomers do seem to be a special breed, think Patrick Moore, it must be all those hours alone staring at the sky. Time to drop the car off and visit Barnes and Noble, the major book shop chain in the States. Willy picked up some stuff that he’d been looking for including a cool zip-up book cover. I was looking for the books that Pat had recommended but I think Amazon is the best bet. I was also looking for books on sausage making (my new venture), but no luck. Time to hit the town. First stop was Granny’s Closet for the happy hour, two pints, $5. Flagstaff is the summer camp for the Arizona Cardinals football team and there was a local radio station broadcasting from the bar with all the updates of the training schedule – sports analysts will analyse anything, anal being the word. Time for a quick walk around the town. It’s very picturesque Americana, a fine collection of eateries and curio shops, we have to pay a visit to a great retro shop on Aspen St. But valuable beer time is being wasted and Willy is getting tetchy and I’m a little dry. We hit Connor's for more happy hour beers, this time we tried a beer called 'Kilt Lifter' a Scottish style ale. I think we’ll be going back tomorrow, they have a fish race which I feel is my duty to report about, and the barmaids are babes. We went back to Moloney’s for some more pints of Skinny Dip, the barman (Brendon) had been warned of our arrival, it’s nice to feel wanted. That Skinny Dip should carry a health warning especially whe the barman tells us it's much better with fresh orange squeezed in. We visited a student type bar with snowboards and skiis nailed to the wall, this is where we had the shots of Jaegermeister which explains a lot today (the day after).We went back to Granny’s closet for the dinner special – Sirloin steak with all the trimmings for $9, I thought we were well behaved but Willy assures me that although we didn't do anything wrong, we were very happy and the charming Courtney and Kambria looked after us. Then back to the crib for the nightcap and to sleep with the TV on. Bliss.

July 27th. Albuquerque to Flagstaff.

Sunday morning in Albuquerque is like Sunday morning anywhere, empty streets with a few lost souls trying to figure out what to do with the rest of the night before. We headed West with a few stops picked up from the internet. Laguna was supposed to have a ‘Muffler Man’ the giant lumberjack statues that dot the west. But no. Laguna is like a town in the hills of Almeria or Murcia – adobe houses, a church, a post office and every yard with its obligatory abandoned car. Nondescript rubble, is there any other kind, filled in the gaps. We headed on to Grants, another town on ’66 where we had a late breakfast/lunch, I out-ate Willy for once. Some classic (I know I use this a lot, but I haven’t got my thesaurus with me) roadside cafes and motels, most of which are abandoned. We drove along the slab to Milan and then rejoined I-40 until Gallup, where we drove up and down this roadside town. It’s a great mix of the old and the new and it’s a survivor, there’s a big rail-head here, so that’s where all the endless trains come from. We started getting hints of desert, vast plains and scrubland, treeless buffs and gullies, quite spectacular western scenery, but I have to keep my eye on the road. As I said before, everyone tools along at about the speed limit, in this case 75 M.P.H. (just over 120 K.P.H.) so I slide in and out of lanes, letting a truck pass, bursting past a caravan, just keeping the fabric of west-bound traffic together, well, doing my bit, though I think, the car being King, the locals have the edge. I saw a sign for ‘Indian City’ a gift shop/trading post of old, selling Navajo jewellery and blankets. I realised it would be the perfect place to pick up some stuff for the ladies, it’s good stuff, so I told myself as I parted with the food and drink budget for the next two days but we’ll have to wait ‘til Christmas to find out, won’t we ladies? We then stopped off in another essential ’66 stop – ‘Stewarts petrified park’, it’s a very bizarre collection of shop dummies in various poses, petrified tree-trunks, an ostrich farm and a shop full of gems and polished stone some, or most of which was rather expensive, but I got out for $20. As we approached Flagstaff the scenery changed again, to a kind of mountain feel, with pine trees and mountains. As we drove around we could see that this place is a resort, both in winter with the snow and in summer with trekking and the Grand Canyon up the road. We checked in to another ‘Super 8’ and headed off downtown for a beer. Sunday night in Flagstaff is like Sunday night anywhere, the bars were empty but the ‘vibe’ in the town is very good, people saying hello as we passed, though it might have been out of fear what with the giant Willy ambling along and tubby trotting(?) along a few steps behind. We found another ‘Maloneys’ and set ourselves up with food and some more excellent local-ish brew. This one was called ‘Skinny Dipping’, but I desisted on jumping into our indoor heated swimming-pool. Meanwhile, Willy came up with a brilliant idea. As we are a day ahead of schedule he suggested we have a rest day tomorrow and hit the Grand Canyon on Tuesday. So tomorrows blog will contain details of a day off in Flagstaff, Arizona. We are on holidays, lest we forget.

July 26th. Amarillo to Albuquerque.

We checked out of ‘Motel 6’ and headed down the road to ‘Waffle House’ for breakfast. A small classic diner with waiters easing around, carrying pots of coffee or plates of food. At the business end was the short-order cook with a battery of waffle irons and grills in front of him as he effortlessly filled the constant stream of orders. We had orange juice, hash browns cheese and with bacon on the side and a few cups of scalding coffee, all for $15 – yummee. Back on the road again, we drive through wide open plains and then drop down onto another undulating landscape complete with obligatory bluffs, still fairly green but with the reddish earth peeking through here and there. One of the things that strikes me every day is the stream, every half hour or so, of trucks carrying military equipment painted in desert colours, heading East, just to remind you that there is unfinished business being taken care of. The first stop was Adrian, the halfway point on ’66 exactly 1139 miles from Chicago and Los Angeles. As we made a detour to Memphis and Dallas we passed the halfway point a while ago, but hey, lets celebrate. Next stop was Tucumcari a stretch of ’66 just off the main highway but wonderfully preserved, there are a few closed down motels and garages but there is a classic collection of roadside Motels and shops and quite a few people buzzing around as well, locals and travellers. We went on to Santa Rosa to visit the ‘Blue Hole’ apparently a 100 ft. deep, crystal clear swimming hole but there were no signposts (something which I’ve noticed, some curiosities are not signposted, shops, motels and restaurants are) and Betty didn’t know where it was, so instead of driving around for half an hour we headed on to Clines Corners, a place which cropped up in several books as a trading post and stop-off point. It still is but the Indian section is dwarfed by a shop containing enormous amounts of tack, some of which I will gladly show you on my return to Madrid. We then drove through some heavy rain which I can only assume was the leftover from Hurricane Dolly as she spent her forces meandering upstate. We arrived in Albuquerque (founded by the Spanish and named after the cork-producing town of the same name in Extremadura, Spain, a region where a lot of the Conquistadores came from). We checked into the cheapest motel yet - $50, but it’s within striking distance of the action, which takes place on Central and 4th. We weren’t allowed into the first bar, the gorilla at the door said something about Willy’s Ramones t-shirt but I think it had more to do with the fact that the mono cellular life-form had never seen a Spanish passport before, mind you, the conditions of entry were daunting – No known felons, no guns, no knives, no gang colours, no bandanas, no baseball caps on backwards… Just as well I suppose, so we took our custom across the road to Maloneys, a great bar with enormous beer mugs , close on a litre. As usual, loads of staff making sure that everyone was well attended, if this bar were in Madrid, there would be a third of the staff, embittered and grumpy, skiving off for cigarette breaks and with little or no table service, but I won’t go down that road. I noticed the doorman was ‘carding’ everyone as they came in and passing the card through some sort of scanner, as I had already had two buckets of ‘Fat Tire’ ale, a very pleasant brew, I decided that we were the best of mates so I asked him what that (the scanning) was all about. He said that because the legal age for drinking is 21 (you can die for your country at 18), a lot of people had forged IDs and the law were very strict on underage drinking. Apparently in this part of the world they are prone to fisticuffs and car crashes after a night on the sauce, now where does that remind me of…We left Maloneys and said goodbye to our new best friends, the barmaid was excellent – I saw her refuse a guy on no uncertain terms – it was only when we got out onto the street that Willy pointed out a long string of snot stuck to my t-shirt, I’d had a sneezing fit and thought I’d cleaned it all up, so much for credibility. We went up to a square where every Saturday there is some kind of ‘Summerfest’, a soul band was just finishing and all the food stalls were shutting up, it was still quite early, don’t ask me what time. Most of the stuff on offer was Mexican and South American which reflects the population mix here. We got a Pizza and back to the ranch for pizzas, beers and Saturday night live, though I must say the latter escaped me.

Overtaking a house

You should keep the sound turned off as it's all crackly

July 25th. Vernon to Amarillo

Got up early and went for a walk around Vernon, a curious place which may or may not have seen better days. Most of the shops on the only main street were closed down, a gym with a boxing ring was up a side street and going up this side street I came across the residential area, a lot of the houses were boarded up and some of the vacant lots were littered with broken bottles. The houses that were still being lived in were making an attempt to cling on to some kind of normality, some had given up and were acquiring the collection of tell-tale junk that spells indifference – broken-down cars in the drive, plastic flowers planted in the garden, old car seats as sofas on the front porch, abandoned toys and overgrown gardens. We set off for Amarillo and the landscape is changing oh so imperceptibly, flatlands and fewer trees, cattle ranches and open spaces. We passed through some pretty towns, Childress, Memphis (not the Elvis one) and Claude with their shops, banks and people going about their everyday business. There were antique shops, a curious concept this in the States. Anything over three years old is considered an antique, well maybe I exaggerate but most of the stuff wouldn’t make a jumble sale although there were a few pieces of kitsch I wouldn’t mind having. We hit Amarillo and checked into a ‘Motel 6’, one of the cheaper chains but it’s good, clean and suits our needs though there is no fridge so we had to finish all the beer in the cooler. We then decided to visit some of the sites, most famous of which is the Cadillac farm where some chap – A millionaire called Stanley Marsh offered the space to a San Fransisco collective to come up with something, so they buried a row of Cadillacs nose down in a field. They have since been spray-painted by everyone and I think it’s the only thing that holds them together. We then stumbled across a wonderful bar and grill called ‘Applebees’ at 5630 West Amarillo Boulevard and we tucked into some delicious burgers and quaffed a few beers. It’s well worth a visit, a classic sports bar with great food, wonderful cocktails being concocted by Mike, the general manager and the charming Elena behind the bar looking after us. In fact we didn’t want to leave and debated abandoning the car along with the Cadillacs and chaining ourselves to the bar but sense got the better of us and we (I) dropped the car back to the motel and we walked about a mile to ‘Cadillac Jim’s’ a local Texan steak house and bar. When we got there the bar was in full swing with a band pumping out classic rock (‘More cowbell’ they roared at one stage), though they did mention Dan Fogelburg I don’t think they played any, the place was hopping with the Friday night locals, out for a bit of devilment. I realised that this is probably the furthest I’ve ever been from the sea – strange the ‘Amarillo effect’. We didn’t make it to 6th Avenue which is on old 66 and where all the biker and cowboy bars are, but Albuquerque awaits

Dealey Plaza

My trusty video camera ran out of battery at the crucial moment but the dependable Olympus has a video facility so here it is.

July 24th. New Boston to Vernon via Dallas.

After what was euphemistically described as a ‘Continental’ Breakfast – a bowl of rice crispies and a coffee, we set off for Dallas. As we were making good time we decided to stop off somewhere and look around as well as liberate some cash. Things are working out OK on the financial and timetable fronts though we might have a day or two of ‘DIY’ catering, or maybe not. Anyway we stopped in a place called Greenville which was just a long wide street intersecting the highway. It had a clutter of fast food places and a few non-descript shopping ‘malls’. I got the impression that it was some kind of accident that grew on the side of the road. Willy however, found a great discount store and added to his collection of shirts – He doesn’t want to be allowed to go shopping alone anymore. I got a ‘John Deere’ hat, one of those things that I just don’t know how I got by without for so long. Betty brought us straight to Dealey Plaza, the scene of JFK’s assassination in 1963. This was one of my dreams come true, to stand on the grassy knoll where Zapruder shot his famous film of the assassination, to stand by the picket fence where the alleged second bullet came from and to look up at the window from where Lee Harvey Oswald fired on President Kennedy. I was only six at the time but I do remember going to see him pass through the streets of Dublin in September ’63. We made our own American flags in school under the supervision of Mrs Doyle, my mother cut up an old pillow case for the flag. I wander. Up on the Sixth floor there is an amazing exhibition which chronicles the events and the various protagonists. The window area has been reconstructed, minus gun and spent shells but you can stand right beside the window and look down Elm Street and see the ‘x’s painted on the street where the bullets hit. Quite an experience. Unfortunately you are not allowed take photographs or film anything. Willy found a machine to make more flattened pennies to add to his, growing collection. I have decided to collect pencils, pins and iron-on patches. We then went for lunch up the road or ‘blocks’ as they call them here, but not before getting more t-shirts – ‘Don’t mess with Texas’ and my Texas Ranger badge, to a place called ‘Sonny Bryan’s on Market Street (302) where the charming Tammy looked after us with excellent onion rings and barbeque sauce followed by various meats and salads – just the job before a four hour drive. We set off with our objective being Vernon a town within a hundred or so miles of Amarillo, our next big stop and where we rejoin Route 66, I’m missing it already. I start reading ‘The Grapes of Wrath’ in Amarillo. We hit rush hour coming out of Dallas and I’m glad to say that no matter how big you (or the Texans) can make things, when everyone wants to go home at the same time, there is nothing you can do about it. The drive takes us Northwest and the landscape is beginning to change albeit very slowly. We were treated to a couple of wonderful sights which I wasn’t able to photograph as I was; a) On the Interstate and b) Driving but hopefully I can get some of them tomorrow or the next day or the day after that. One was the ‘mules’ I think there called, the curious bobbing machines which pump up oil from small wells all around the States. A strange sight, watching acres of these almost animal-like machines nodding at the ground like robotic grazing cows. The other was a very long train. Very long is a bit of an understatement, this train, two containers high, stretched away into the distance. I shall try and find out just how long they are. Finally and most picturesque was the sunset. It was a bit hectic driving into it, but as it sunk lower and the colours got more vibrant, it reminded me of what this trip is about – heading west. We checked into the ‘Super 8’ motel in Vernon but not before driving up it’s main street but the lights were out, shutters were down and nobody was home. Roy Orbison was born here, Willy reckons that moving to Memphis was the best thing he did. We went across the road (walking, though the guy in the next room drove) to the petrol station/deli and picked up some eats but the case of 12 cans of Busch lite cost $8 that’s just over 5€, are we being ripped off in Spain/ Ireland or what?

July 23rd. Graceland to New Boston

Breakfast in The Heartbreak Hotel with a very mixed bunch of Elvis fans and their families and/or husbands, wives, boyfriends, children and me. Then off to the Graceland complex. It’s a kind of quasi religious affair with the strains of Elvis echoing through car-parks and shopping malls like some sort of high priest of Rock n’ Roll summoning the faithful to the temple, or something like that. We take a bus, literally, across the street, Willy was amazed. I keep telling him that people don’t walk in this country – the car rules. Graceland has been perfectly preserved as a shrine to Elvis, it looks as if he just popped out for a double cheeseburger. It’s a strange mixture of Southern colonial and 70s kitsch not to forget you’re walking around a dead man’s house. Ruins and Palaces are OK, those people are long gone but walking into someone’s den and the TV is on, well…He’s buried here, as well as his mother, father and granny so that part is very sombre as everyone files past to pay their respects and then it’s the bus back across the road to visit some excellent exhibitions with the inevitable merchandising shops at the exit of each one filled in the most part by tacky memorabilia, some of which I was only too happy to buy. There is a great collection of his cars, his white bejewelled jumpsuits that he wore on stage, his two private ‘planes and a brief exhibition of his time in the army. But time to move on. Next stop was ‘Sun Studios’ where Elvis recorded his first disc – a song for his mother’s birthday (which was actually a few months previous, but he wanted a break with Sam Philips, the owner) We had a great tour around this place and our guide was an enthusiastic young lady who was right into her music (I think her name was Cori, forgive me), she reeled off the names of some of the daddies of Blues and Rock n’ Roll who had recorded there – Jerry Lee Lewis, Ike Turner, Roy Orbison, Johnny Cash, BB King and I got lost. I started writing down names, it’s terrible when you realise how little you know about something that interests you, well in my case anyway with the memory of a small carp. We then headed out west, towards Little Rock, to see a WWII submarine, but we got there 15 minutes too late and the Navy is the Navy, Oh well. Then we headed for Texarkana with the idea to spend the night in Paris, Texas of the film, but Betty, our GPS had other ideas and sent us on a circular route. At about 21:00 we decided to call it quits and booked into a ‘Tex Inn’. As we paid and got our key I asked where the nearest bar was. The receptionist gave me a bemused, all-knowing, holier than thou look, not even a grin, and said we were in a dry county. This was totally beyond Willy’s comprehension and he’s still struggling with the concept. But at least it gave us time to start the new Blog and we’ve written down the various user names and passwords. Every cloud etc. etc. Though tomorrow we’re filling the cool bag up with ale should we have a repeat performance.

July 22nd. St Louis to Memphis

After Robin had made sure we weren't going to starve,we said our goodbyes and headed south, the faithful Betty guiding us along I55 South. Pat had mentioned some wineries and breweries in St. Genevive and we took the turn but after about 20 miles driving through some beautiful farmland we reckoned we had missed them, so back on the road. We stopped for petrol and I wanted to try out our new coffee cups, the ones with the plastic screw-on lid and a handle, so you can drive around drinking a coffee, just like on the telly - why you would want to do this is beyond me but anyway, I managed to flood the coffee machine and the counter, and the sugar etc. but they were very nice about it, I can notice a real 'twang' in the accent now. As we were making good time we swung off the road and ended up in a small town called Steele which might just be in Arkansas, it's a small farming town with one road up the middle and one intersecting. We visited a 'good 'ol boys' bar, wooden fronted, pitch black inside with gaming machines and pool tables. Flags draped the walls, some for the Marines, for the troops in Iraq and Afghanistan, for the Cardinals and for the local bikers gang, it was midday so there were only a couple of locals who were highly amused by our accents, we were highly amused by the $1 a beer. So we arrived into Memphis and Betty brought us straight to 'Heartbreak Hotel' which is at the end of Lonely Street. http://www.elvis.com/epheartbreakhotel/It's part of the Graceland complex and it's ELVISELVISELVIS, Elvis music and films running 24/7. Willy started getting very figgety at the proximety of The King and immediatly bought some classic shirts. We took the courtesy bus into Beale Street which is where it all happens in Memphis by the looks of it. Full of bars and live bands AND you're allowed carry your beer out onto the street. There were blues bands playng in the park, at the entrances to bars and of course on stage. The bars are all classics, dripping with memorabilia but I just wonder, how many guitars did BB King actually have? We saw a great Johnny Cash tribute band and scoffed a full rack of ribs - oh and we had a beer. Instead of waiting for the bus back we took a taxi and it was worth every penny. Having agreed on a price, he didn't want to start the meter, something about the boss's mother and taxes, we set off. He was more interested in talking to us than going in a straight line but we got home, but not before he had regaled us with his three Elvis stories, two of which I almost fully understood. We closed the hotel bar and then tried to get some photos on this. But neither of us can remember which e-mail account we used or which spelling of the password was used. I think breakfast is in order.

July 21st. St Louis.

Our last day in St. Louis and our wonderful hosts, Pat and Robin have a few more local delights to share with us. First stop was the ‘Route 66’ Museum just outside St. Louis on an old stretch of the original road. It had a lot of local history and memorabilia which helped put it all into a local context. Best of all were the two ‘gals’ who ran the souvenir shop as one of them managed to part a bewildered Willy of $5 to buy a ‘coin passport, a curiosity where, along the way there are machines which will flatten and stamp a penny as a souvenir of the places you visit. I do believe however, that at the end of the trip, Willy will have an impressive collection of flattened pennies.
At this point we heard some tragic news. We went back to pick Robin up and she was standing aghast in front of the TV. A young 21 year old, son of friends of theirs had just been shot. He was a paramedic and they were answering an emergency call. As he stepped off the fire-truck, a shot rang out and he was killed instantly. So a tall, handsome 21 year old college football player whose vocation was to help people in need becomes another victim. Wherever we live on this planet there are stories of this kind. Who will be the first to say ‘No’ – ‘Basta ya’.
We then headed off to visit the famous Meramac caves, one of the main tourist attractions along ‘66’, it is quite an elaborate cave complex with all the usual cave fittings – big chambers, stalagmites and stalactites, an underground river, bats and Willy. The high point was a ‘Son et Lumiere’ show to the tune of an ancient recording of ‘God Bless America’ with our tour guide frantically throwing light switches to add a percussive background. Then it was to embark on a brief river trip with a charming local named ‘Kim’, he was understandably very proud of the river (Meramac) and I’m sure he would have had some hoary old stories to tell if we had nabbed him later with a case of beer – he certainly looked as if he was no stranger to a can of ale. There were all these college kids on holiday doing what I can only describe as lolling around in the river, hanging off an inflatable dinghy and out of their minds, apparently it’s acceptable practice though someone had drowned the previous weekend. The Meramac caves has quite a bit of history as it was used a saltpetre mine during the civil war and was also a hide-out for Jesse James. We visited the ‘Jesse James museum and waxworks’ for a truly ‘66’ experience. Apparently, Mr. James was not murdered at the end of the 19th century, but lived on the ripe old age of 102, dying in 1951 but the jury is still out on that one. It was also a major dance venue in the middle of the 20th century where people would come out for a ‘Hootenanny’ a sort of ‘Ceili’, but the objective is always the same. We sat on the kerb of a petrol station and had some ice-cold beer in a man-sized can – bliss as the saltpetre was playing havoc with my delicate throat. Back to base where Robin surpassed herself again and produced what I call my ‘Death row dinner’ – T-Bone steak, Baked potato, Corn on the cob, Brocolli, Beans and a salad (Robin’s special secret dressing) – followed by her special ‘Banana split cake’ – bananas are only a small part of this delight as Robin manages to squeeze in pineapple and strawberries as well. I will be very sorry to leave these people tomorrow as they have been so warm, hospitable and kind to us, taking time to show us part of their city and state of which they are justly proud. Thank you very much Pat and Robin – words can not express our gratitude and I only hope we can repay your kindness when you visit Spain or Ireland – You have been warned!

July 20th. St Louis.

My sleep patterns are all over the place, by about 23:00 I’m wrecked and I wake up at 06:00, which is OK because it means I can get my part of the blog up to date, Willy is writing his down and it will be transferred asap. After another wonderful breakfast – thank you again Robin. We went to a nearby shopping mall/centre or whatever, not one enclosed area but a vast village of big shops, one of which I know Dee8 would love, ‘Party America’ a humungous store dedicated to party decorations. We are trying to solve two problems – Willy’s camera has blocked and refuses to take photos and it is a serious camera when it does decide to work, the photos that appear are with my trusty Olympus – one of the best presents I ever got – though it has some technical shortcomings, but hey. The other problem is that we haven’t been able to connect to the Internet, my wifi card seems to work but then it won’t open mail or pages. I have spoken to some technicians and they don’t know how to explain it. A fairly global answer. We stopped by a coffee shop with wifi and lo and behold, after some tinkering around it started working. Today’s plan is to visit the Anhauser Busch brewery in town. It is the second largest brewery in the world and has just been taken over by Stella Artois or whoever makes that wife beating juice. The Busch family have been very benevolent to the people of St Louis, donating money to all sorts of projects and treating their employees very well, the big worry is what will happen now. Anyway, we went to the brewery and it is a showcase. I’ve visited several breweries in my constant search for the perfect beer and they are all working establishments, the smells, sights and sounds are the same wonderful sensual experiences (OK, so I don’t have to do a ten hour shift there), but this place still retains the original architecture, beautiful brickwork, wrought iron railings, colourful tiles all contrasted with the gleaming high-tech stainless steel vats, tubes, piping, valves and gauges..
Of course the big stars of the show are the enormous Clydesdale draft horses that appear in the Christmas TV ads. They are huge and are treated like football stars – no that does not mean they cheat on their wives, have a drink problem or abscond to Ibiza with a lap dancer. There are also two docile Dalmations who are part of the team. Apparently it was their job to scare away other dogs, small children or rats that might have got in the way of this particular wagon train.
Off to the hospitality suite for our complimentary two glasses of brew, in our case a ‘bock’, very tasty and indeed tasting of more. Hunger was making its presence felt so we headed off to an Irish bar on Washington Street called ‘Tigín’ (Little house in Gaelic) of course there was nothing little about it. A brand new (8 months) bar with all the high-tech trappings and little or no soul, not like Mc Gurks, but it was drawing a crowd and I’m sure will carve it’s niche. We had some burgers, they DO know how to make good burgers and Pat had a spectacular salad, definitely the best call. Then it was time to visit the ‘Arch’. This massive stainless steel arch dominates the city and symbolises (though not it’s original intention) the line between the ‘Old’ East and the ‘New’ West, this was where the settlers passed through on the various routes west in search of a new life, gold and a decent Marguerita. I took the teeny little tram, more like a pod, to the top. There was no sensation of height as you don’t see any thing on the way up and at the top it’s totally enclosed, rather like what I imagine the gondola on an airship is like, but it is an excellent view over the city and the mighty Mississippi. Back to base and some serious sofa.

July 19th. St Louis.

OK, so you can’t keep this up all the time. Some very delicate bodies around this morning but thanks to the charming Robin and her nursing skills we are soon munching through egg and sausage pie, bacon and eggs, toast, juices and buckets of coffee – true comfort food and a true angel is our Robin, thank you. Once our personal hygiene was taken care of we set of for the baseball game. Yes, we are going to a baseball game - another experience. So we go to Busch Stadium to watch the Cardinals play San Diego. It was the experience. First we drove through south St. Louis (Carondelet Park) where Pat was born and where my good buddy Jerry lived. We bought the souvenirs and the beers, stood for the National Anthem and ‘Play ball’. I won’t go into the details of baseball as I still have to learn a lot of the plays but suffice to say the ‘Cardinals’ made a comeback in the 5th inning thanks to the wizardry of the batter Pujols. The Cardinals really won thanks to the fact that Pat, Willy and myself had jumbo hot dogs. We then took a drive out to see some of the original ‘slabs’ of Route 66 and drove around looking at the wonderful scenery that is the Ozarks. Burgers and sweetcorn on the porch and off for the sleep of champions.

July18th. Chicago to St Louis.

Wonderful breakfast in ‘The Best Western’ Countryside and as usual we exchanged pleasantries, curious, because both Willy and myself are normally the early morning Neantherdal grunt type. Packed up the car and set off on the first leg proper, the data was fed into Betty and she directed us in her dulcet tones along I55 towards St Louis. I drove through one of the toll bridges without paying, the cash desk being off the main road, so I sailed through oblivious. I now await the outcome of my first felony in the States (probably something off my credit card). The thing about driving in the States is that everyone bowls along at 65 m.p.h. and there isn’t the lunacy we can get in Spain of people weaving, speeding and flashing their lights at you. Lane changing is seemless. The trucks are, of course, impressive, massive 18 wheelers, immaculately polished and towering above our tiny Chrysler. We arrived into St Louis and after a few wrong turns – no fault of Betty, we arrived at Pat and Robin’s house. Another fine example of how proud people are of their houses. Beautifully laid out, tastefully decorated and very comfortable. The back garden stretches up into a small wood and during the morning and the evening, deer come out and feed from small trays of corn that Pat leaves out for them. Sitting in the back porch a tiny hummingbird hovers at a container filled with some sweet liquid which ensures their daily return. Squirrels dart around and Harry, the tiny terrior and king of the jungle races after them sending them shooting up trees or into the undergrowth. It was time to go and meet Jim because we were going to another party. Jim lives in another beautiful house and as everywhere, we were given the tour, going back to my tiny attic in Malasaña won’t be easy. So we end up in ‘Mc Gurks’ so named after one of the characters in the song ‘The Irish Rover’, there are connections everywhere. Mc Gurks is one of the most impressive bars I’ve ever visited. http://www.mcgurks.com/ It started off as a small bar a few years ago and the owners have bought up adjoining property to turn this into a massive bar with a huge beer garden. Inside there are all kinds of subdivisions and smaller bars. Groups of people are eating and of course quaffing beers. There are so many staff and no-one is left unattended. I met the head barman, Johnny Mac Ateer from Donegal who has been there for 16 years and is part of the furniture. We had a special reserved area and all Jim’s family and friends started turning up, this was to be a Friday night bash ‘par exellence’. I won’t go into too many details about people but just to say that everywhere we go, the welcome is so warm and open. I found myself being dragged (willingly) from table to table to meet up with family as well as people who had visited Madrid over the years. A special word of thanks must go to Beth (?), our waitress on the night, she was outstanding and everywhere I turned there was a pint waiting. The band kicked off, a good solid Irish pub band who had them joining in and doing the occasional experimental jig. There was a minor altercation at the end of the night when some young bloods argued over the favours of a young lady, it ended on the street with St. Louis’ finest intervening – just like on the telly. I ended up on the back porch with Pat, having a nightcap smoking a cigar and putting the world to right. As you do.