 | CANADA |
| CANADA |
NEW ENGLAND
So, there I was in Canada at the border with the USA.
The photograph that you see here on the left is actually taken in West Pembroke, which is in Maine, which is in the USA. Now, I'm either being "economical with the truth" about this photograph, that Randy Paynter guy is also being "economical with the truth" about reporting me to the CIA, or it could be that American border security is a total waste of time. I shall leave you to make up your own mind.
But while you're doing that, you can have another look at the photograph, and now you can see exactly why I like rural U.S.A. Here in someone's garden at the side of a highway is a 1920's truck - parked like it was meant to be here and that someone was going to come out of the house and drive it away. You don't see this sort of thing anywhere else in the world! (But, on the other hand, if you do, let me know where and tell me the times of the flights).
Back at the border post, I had had a pleasant half-hour wait in the freezing cold whilst some teenaged border guard searched my car and asked me some silly questions like "where did you get this passport?" and "What are you doing here?". I sensed however that this was not the moment to give one of my stock answers, such as "talking to you, you dozy t**t", like I did on another occasion when someone asked me a stupid question. Anyway, they agreed to let me in, so I was sent over to the cash machine in the border tax-free shop to get my $6 (and a cup of coffee and a sandwich at the same time), and b@ll@ck$ to the CIA.
BAR HARBOR
This is a photo of my fellow-lodger in the motel at Bar Harbor, Maine (and they were indeed lodgers, as the owner of the motel was caring for them for a friend).
But what with one thing and another, my stay in Bar Harbor was quite an unhappy time, and came to an abrupt end as my friends who work for an internet radio station were sacked on the spot (whilst I was drinking coffee with them) as the station was closing down. I know all about corporate America and how brutal it can be, but the manner in which they were sacked was something I could not take in. Basically "If you're free in 30 or 60 days I'll get in touch" and out of the door they went.
I sensed that this was not the time to hang around, and somehow wandering around Bar Harbor taking photos like a good tourist didn't seem to be the correct thing to do.
But one things stood out during my visit to Bar Harbor, and I don't know if this typifies the American mentality.
I've already remarked that in rural North America there is this "communal lights out" at about 21:00 and the whole place becomes deserted. Here in Bar Harbor EVERYWHERE was closed (I know it's mainly a holiday resort but there are still some locals, surely!). Eventually, I found a bar that advertised that it served food. So in I went, to find a handful of people in there, and to be told - "Yes but the kitchen closes at 9 o'clock". The guy there gave me directions to another bar/restaurant on the edge of town that was indeed open, and had maybe 7 or 8 patrons. Luckily, the kitchen was still serving so I was able to order a pizza, without cheese (funny looks from the staff there, that's for sure).
On leaving at the end of the evening, the waiter told me to "have a safe drive".
I replied that "you mean a safe walk" to which he gave me ever such a strange look.
This prompted me to add "you know, these things that dangle from your hips, We call them legs. And they have feet on the end. You place them one in front of the other alternately. That is called 'walking'". Anyway, off I went and there wasn't a soul about.
After walking maybe a mile, I noticed a girl walking towards me. When she got to within maybe 50 metres of me, she inexplicably crossed the road to the other side. This totally baffled me. Here we are - small town America, 22:30 - and she's afraid. Afraid of what? Now If she's have known me, then maybe she'd have had good reason for crossing the road ;-)
but she didn't know me.
I must admit - this had me puzzled for a while, and then I worked it out.
What was going through her head was that she was imagining what she would do to a lone female if she were in my place. That was spooky. She had this thing going through her mind that she would attack this lone woman. Now America is the land of the free, so they say. But this woman is certainly not free - she's a prisoner of her own guilty conscience and her own fear. She can't even walk the streets in her own home town in perfect safety for fear of what another American might do to her.
Now there is the U.S.A - they want go off to be the policemen of the entire world and send their armies to keep the peace in some far-flung corner of the world that no-one in the U.S.A has ever heard of ("Do you speak Belgian in Belgium?" is a question I've heard more than once in North America) yet people in the U.S.A are living in their own land in fear and in some internal mental anguish. They can't walk the streets in safety. So does it not make sense that they should pull back their armies from all over the world where people don't want them (like just about everywhere that isn't the U.S.A) and have these soldiers stand on the corners of their own streets so that people can walk about in safety?
"But hang on? Didn't they do that in the Soviet Union?"I hear you say
Well yes they did. And I've visited the Soviet Union often enough to know that one could walk about the streets in perfect safety in Moscow and Leningrad just because there were the soldiers on the street corners. You can't do it now that the soldiers (what's left of the Red Army) has been pulled back to barracks.
Now the U.S.A has suspended Habeas Corpus. It has suspended the right of privileged discussion with one's legal advisers. It treats its political prisoners in Cuba that it has kidnapped from Afghanistan like animals and as non-humans. It now wants to read everyone's private communications. It has done all this in the name of "security"? This was exactly the same reason why Communist Russia had exactly the same procedures - for "security".
So what I'm waiting for is for some high-powered American diplomat or politician to admit that "well, maybe, the Russians did have a point after all!" Imagine - the Americans spent 50 years to bring down a political system they detested - and then imposed that system on their own civilians. Now, that is what is really scary.
But the real reason why the Americans are there has nothing to do with security or peace. If you go back 150 years, you found the European nations colonising the undeveloped world like mad - and for 2 reasons. Firstly, to steal as many raw materials as possible from these nations, and secondly, to have a market to sell the finished product to. What the idea of "American peacekeeping" is, is in fact a way of ensuring that these countries have "friendly" governments in power who would be amenable to the idea of having tons of quarter-pounders and gallons of cola shipped to them. In other words, it's economic exploitation. Using American tax-payers money to create a climate in which American capitalists can operate to expand their empires.
The same reason really why America doesn't take any action on inner-city drugs gangs. Every time some drug-crazed junkie steals your television, you have to go out and buy a new one. That's what keeps the American economy turning.
"Meanwhile, back at the Starship" .... (yes, I'd just bought a copy of Jefferson Airplane in the local Walmart)
ELLSWORTH
The car that you can see in the photographs just here is a Plymouth Road King, and it is (or, at least, it was in early January 2002) for sale near Ellsworth, Maine. It was complete, but tatty on the inside as if a mouse had been locked inside, and a windscreen sticker gave the impression that it was in working order. Rather like the story of the scotsman and his kilt.
"I say - is anything worn underneath the kilt?"
"Och no, lassie. It's all in perrrrrrfect worrrrking order".
And while we're on the subject, in the mid 70s, Alvin Myatt and I were wandering through London on our way to a Led Zeppelin concert. It was the night the Scots had beaten England at football at Wembley Stadium. As we walked past a pub, two drunken Scots staggered out. They saw two young girls, probably about 12 years old and both promptly lifted up their kilts, crying
"Och lassies - it's trrrrrrrue!"
I don't think I ever ate a hot dog after that.
The Plymouth was a nice car all things considered. I have to say though that the 1940s is not my favourite period for American cars (I'm more a fifties fan, myself) but it only costs about $700 to ship a car from North America to Europe. Hmmm. This gives me ideas
At first glance it bears a close resemblance to an Austin A40 of the same era, or a Jowett Javelin, or a Peugeot 203. People complain that cars today all look the same - but then again so did European cars of the late 1940s.
So after taking a couple of photographs and having a good poke around the Plymouth, I returned to my car and set off again. However, I'd hardly gone 500 yards down the road before I was obliged to stop again.
Seeing this little lot here reminded me of the immortal words of Randy Mice Davies, who upon being told that her story of engaging in Ugandan discussions with a peer of the realm were being hotly denied by the peer concerned, replied with words that could be quite easily used for me in these circumstances "well, he would, wouldn't he?"
Now isn't this just your idea of paradise? Well, it certainly would certainly do for me! Nothing but old cars as far as the eye could see. It goes without saying that I was out of the car in a flash and into the sales office of the garage to track down the owner.
"Do you mind if I take some photos?"
"Sure - help yourself. If there's anything you want - just ask"
Now why don't you get people as friendly and helpful as this in Europe? Europeans have a lot to learn from the Americans in the area of customer service. Anyone who has tried to buy anything in a Belgian department store or deal with French Civil servants will know exactly what I mean.
So back to the plot. Back to the car, and out came the camera. Then off I toddled around the sales lot, helping myself (to photographs, not to cars, unfortunately).
But just look at them all. There are loads of them. One or two that I've seen before in the flesh (or rather in the metal), some I've only ever seen at the cinema, some I've only ever imagined, and some I've never even seen before at all.
Just like this International Scout, for example here on the left. I can safely say that I don't recall ever having seen one of these before now.
I thought that the snowplough on the garage front was quite a neat touch. I imagine that it would be having quite an amount of use just now, what with all this weather we were having at the moment.
Being a good European, I recognised the Volkswaged Kharmann Ghia in the photo on the left, but I wouldn't like to make a guess at any of the others. There were cars everywhere. I can safely say that I'd never seen so many old and interesting cars for sale in one place before, at least since the British Ministry of Transport safety tests came into force back in the early 1960s.
In fact, this record of so many old cars for sale in one place stood for a whole 9 months, before it was blown away in spades.
So after that, I went back in to say goodbye. I was given a tour around the inside of the garage, a free coffee, a free "Hemmings" (that has come in useful on at least one occasion and has been a useful tool of reference ever since) and a phone number of someone breaking a Jeep Commando that might have bits for my Ebro. The only thing I didn't get was the promise of a night of passion with the owner's daughter. That was rather a disappointment, but in the words of "Michael Hordern
So then I hit the road, destination Bangor, Maine.
Not that there was anything to see in Bangor because I found myself stuck on the ring road and couldn't get off until I'd passed the city centre. So all I had to do now was to find the most interesting way back back to Montreal.
I left Bangor, not by the interstate to Montreal via Boston as everyone advised me to do, but by Highway 2 through the mountains of Maine to Newry, then over the hills of New Hampshire and Vermont.
"In this snow? You must be mad!"
"Too right, mate!"
and here I was. And I'm glad I came this way. It's in my opinion the most picturesque road in all North America. I even took a little deviation over Highway 156. Now if I'd stopped and photographed every old car I'd seen, I'd still be there now (what a good idea)! And the views and the scenery and the rivers and lakes and forests were just so magnificent that no photograph could ever show you what I saw with any kind of justice. You have to see it to understand. Who's coming with me next time?.
But this is a really whimsical photograph. It was all so typically American. I'd stopped at this corner store to buy a coffee and sandwich and I was sitting on the bonnet (hood) of the car eating and drinking. In all this snow and the cold.
There were these big American trucks and whatever hurtling past, and there was the typical American store, and the typical petrol station opposite (out of shot) and here I was, up a mountain in Maine somewhere, miles off the beaten track eating a sandwich and drinking coffee. Me. I was born into a poor family - the kind of family that ordinarily would have no future at all, as some of my siblings will testify. Just what on earth was I doing here?
But on another note, look at the rear lights of the tractor unit and see how close they are together. This really confused me at first as I would close up on a vehicle in front, thinking that it was obviously some kind of slow-moving small vehicle, and then suddenly being confronted by an enormous Kenworth or Mack.
By now I was in New Hampshire and driving through the dark in the mountains in the snow over this really picturesque road (with "Volunteers" by Jefferson Airplane going full tilt) - just the kind of situation in which you can be excused for letting your imagination run into some kind of surreal ...er
"pillow?"
"No, not pillow, but I can't think of the word".
So that when I saw a collection of lights in the distance across a field of snow, all hazed in smoke, I had a sort of double-take.
What with curiosity killing the cat and so on, off I went to look.
It was an incredible mansion place hidden behind the steam given off from a factory place, yet it was so impressive with rich cars parked outside so, wearing my jeans, Arctic jacket and furry après ski boots, I went inside.
There was a man just inside the door, dressed in a penguin suit and looking terribly self-important, so I approached him.
"Excuse me, sir, but can you tell me what this place is?"
He looked at me down his long nose, and pulled himself up to his full 5 feet 4 inches.
"This, sir, is the lobby".
(Sounds of silence for 30 seconds. It's not like me to be lost for words).
"Well, yes. Quite," I replied ("dozy ****, I've already worked that out for myself" I added, under my breath). "I thought you might give me a bit more information than that"
He thought for a minute. "Well, there are bedrooms upstairs ......"
So eventualy I worked out that it was an hotel (the Wilderness Ski resort hotel, no less). So, to upset Penguin, I reckon I'd book myself a room here. I tracked down the reception area and asked about the prices.
"I think all the $200 rooms have gone. I might have one at $300 still" said the receptionist
Now, as you know, I'm all for a good joke, but paying that much money just for the sake of annoying Penguin puts it way out of my reach. Remember that I'm a tourist on the "Economy Package".
COLEBROOK
So I carried on up the road instead in a Canada-wards direction, and after about 20 miles found myself arriving in the small town of Colebrook, New Hampshire, just before the Vermont state line. Just past the crossroads in the town centre heading north there was a kind of hotel with a couple of motel rooms round the back. This was my kind of place, so I stayed here instead.
For supper that evening I found the local restaurant, which was the pizzeria. So I went in. And everything stopped - and everyone turned to stare.
"yes, folks - I'm a stranger".
So I sat down and ordered. And I was quite well-looked after too. No complaints. But what I couldn't get over was that every time someone paid up and left, the waitress would then tell all the other customers what they'd eaten, how much they'd left, the size of the tip and so on. The idea had probably never occurred to those customers she was talking to that she'd be saying the same kind of thing about them to everyone else just as soon as they'd left the restaurant.
CARL DREGA
Mind you, of course, Colebrook has what they call a "certain reputation", and given the events that I have recounted above, it's hardly surprising. It was the site of a pitched battle between what passes for law and order here in New Hampshire and the legendary Carl Drega.
Drega, who lived just down the road in Columbia, had fought the law in the best Bobby Fuller
Probably thinking "in for a penny, in for a pound", his next action was to lay waste the personnel of the local judge's office, before stealing the police car and heading for the hills, along the way blasting at anyone who might possibly resemble a policeman.
He holed up on a hillside not far from the town and, using the police car as bait to entice more law officers to the vicinity, wounded three more officials before finally being killed.
I must admit, bearing in mind my own altercations with Crewe and Nantwich Borough Council, I can understand perfectly well what must have gone through Drega's mind. At times, I felt the same way, and I could quite easily have run amok in Delamere House with a loaded revolver if one had been handy. Petty officials in local authorities have an enormous amount of power, and any perverse minor official with a grudge can wreak havoc on even the most inoffensive person, as I know to my cos. And my problems only lasted for 10 years before I took flight. Drega's went on for 25 years or so before he snapped. I shudder to think how long I could have coped with what he had and what I had before I too had no resort other than to give them all both barrels, had I not fled the country when I did.
A book has been written
Next morning, I was up and about quite early. I seem to be able to do that quite easily when I'm in North America. I reckoned that I'd go to the petrol station to fetch myself some coffee, and take a few photographs.
I remember being quite surprised when I opened the door to my room, and about a foot of snow fell in. We seemed to have had quite a pasting through the night, and it was still coming down now.
Well, you can see from the photograph that those comments are something of an artistic licence, in fact, but you get the idea from the amount of snow on the car. There wasn't any at all on the roof last night.
From the top end of the car park there was this really impressive view of the mountain in the background all covered in snow. I was thinking to myself that this would make a really nice Christmas scene. You have to admit that the view is pretty stunning.
As for the motel, 30-odd dollars it cost me to stay here. Well well worth the price, I reckon. Much better that 300 dollars they wanted from the Wilderness Hotel and Ski Resort, don't you think? Remember that I'm a tourist on the "Economy Package".
I headed for the street and wandered off in the general diriection of the petrol station for a coffee. It was cold, and I needed something to warm me up.
You can see just how cold it is by looking at the stream that passes under the roadway here. The steeper the stream, the faster it flows and the less chance it has to freeze, and this was quite steep. However, where the stream had slowed up due to the friction from the banks, it had frozen solid. Yes, it was quite cold again this morning.
But it was really nice walking through the snow in Colebrook, as we don't really get very much these days in Europe, what with global warming and all that. That is something I find really sad. I miss the snow that we had as kids.
Now as you can see, Colebrook looks like a nice, typically pleasant American mountain town, which indeed it was. It reminded me of the kind of place where the Waltons would live. It was small, rural and inward-looking. The kind of place where everyone knows each other's business.
I could quite happily live here. Because of the injuries I received in a serious car accident in 1987, I often forget what it is that I'm doing. If I lived in Colebrook, the neighbours would know, alright.
I liked Colebrook. It reminded me of Pionsat, the nearest small town to my farm. Yes, definitely my kind of town.
When I was adding a link to this page in April 2006, I happened to look at the petrol, or maybe I should say gas prices in the photo on the left, which you can see clearly if you click on the thumbnail to see a larger version. I had just reviewed a news bulletin that contained a photograph that showed prices on that particular day. The prices are not far short of three times as much.
You see, one thing the Americans and the British haven't learned is that each time they have a war with the Arab nations, they may well win a battle but the Arab nations win the war. The Arabs just increase the price of oil. This causes a recession in the west. Businesses close, hundreds of thousands of people in the USA lose their jobs, their homes, all that they own. It happens every time.
In order to keep the economy going, the country has to sell off its assets to foreign companies to generate some kind of cash reserve. This is rather like burning down the house to keep warm, as ultimately there will be nothing left to sell. Then there will be devastation.
Meantime, instead of the dividends being paid to American shareholders, they are paid to foreign shareholders. So the money floods out of the country even faster. And each time you buy the goods and services of these companies, then your money flows out of the country. Your country gets poorer and poorer, while the oil producers become richer and richer. And you Americans and you Brits haven't cottoned on yet. You would have thought that the politicians would have wised up to it by now. Instead of kicking the Arab nations about, make friends with them if you need the oil so much. Alternatively, do something about independent renewable energy.
Some of us are already taking steps to make ourselves independent of imported fossil fuels, as you can see here and here. I've been banging on this drum ever since the mid 1990s. One day, people will start listening to me.
Still, no time to worry about that right now - time to hit the road. There's still a long way to go, the weather's looking bad, and after all, there's only so much to see in a small town like Colebrook. And just as everything looks nice under the sun, I reckon everything looks nice in the snow too. I'll probably be terribly disappointed if I were ever to come back here in the rain.
I left Colebrook and drove across the river, then headed north along a minor road for several miles. Then, at a crossroads in Hereford, Vermont, I came to what was quite literally the turning point in my journey. You can see quite clearly in the photograph on the left there's actually a sign pointing to Montreal, Quebec. And that, of course, is in Canada, and where I was going to catch a plane back to Europe.
So much for Randy Painter and the others who said I'd never be allowed in. Either my quick visit to the U.S.A. was a triumph for free speech, or it was a condemnation of the shameful state of affairs of the American border patrol and the CIA.
As it was, the border guard who was supposed to be watching the crossing was asleep in his hut and I had to wake him up in order to hand in the visa that I had obtained at Calais. So much for an alert and vigilant control of the nation's borders.
Don't forget, it was all of 15 weeks since Mohammed Atta and his friend had made the USA security forces look like the Keystone Cops. Isn't all this security talk just unbelievable? I'm convinced that the Americans and the British are making up all this terrorist nonsense just so that the control freaks in power can snatch back everyone's personal liberties.
On that note, I crossed back into Canada.
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