The Hindu Business Line : One for the road...

It was the author's first discoveries in the New World several years ago, during a childhood visit to the land that had eluded Columbus and was, by default, named after the "discoverer" Amerigo Vespucci. A land that the French referred to as "Unis" and gifted to it the most charming and photographed lady, "Miss Liberty". The first sight of Liberty Island from our Air France Jumbo made all of us exclaim and echo the words of Neil Armstrong when his Lunar module touched down on the moon: "Beautiful, beautiful".

Minutes later, the customs officer welcomed us all with a smile, and advised us to avoid muggers and anti-socials as he told us to "look straight, walk fast, hold a newspaper in your hand and do not look up at the skyscrapers"; the one warning that we resolved to heed when tasting the delicious Big Apple. The coldest Christmas in recent years, delightfully white with snowfall, but frigidly chill to appreciate the festive spirit, was a time when the North-eastern States flashed in hectic travel.

The "Garden State" New Jersey provided a memorable New Year and the District of Columbia added to the delights of peregrination. The Smithsonian was pure education, while the twist in the tale was provided by the magnificence of the Capitol Building, its splendid design done not by an engineer, but a medical doctor, William Thornton!

The Air & Space Museum, with the pioneering crafts "Kitty Hawk" and "Spirit of St. Louis" made our day, but what gave us kids a thrill was something that was small and exhibited at the Museum's entrance: a moon rock sample, with a "Do not touch" notice and a soldier standing guard next to it. We made a wager, taking turns to distract the "protector" and slip in a palm to touch the rock, but without much luck.

For one who thoroughly enjoyed the language of the Bard of Avon, American English, however, humbled this writer in myriad ways. During the Greyhound bus travel, the friendly driver announced that there was a "rest room" at the back of the bus for the comfort of passengers.

Sitting on the luxurious push-back seat, one wondered if there would be a plusher one on the bus, and the author visualised sofas and diwans in a room behind, only to personally discover that the "rest room" was, in fact, a toilet.

Smoking was prohibited during travel, and anyone with the vice would have been well advised not to ask for a "fag" at a store, since the response from the shop assistant would be a quizzical stare, and you would be misunderstood for being a "gay" person.

A far cry from what happened during this author's recent American visit, when springtime in San Francisco seemed to be auspicious matrimonial days; weddings were solemnised by the city Mayor at the Cisco Town Hall — only here, the weddings were of the same-sex kind.

The US is a land where more cars seem to have nameplates than numbered ones. As if adjusting to the left-hand drive is not enough, fumbling with gears while using your right hand seems to worsen your day.

The confusion is accentuated when you drive to suburban Canoga Park from downtown Los Angeles, seeking directions on the downloaded Yahoo map. It seems simple to refer to the guide, but where could one stop the car for directions, with other vehicles whizzing menacingly past you and with no soul in sight to help?

From the Universal Studios, the road is christened Ventura, but that seems to change with every intersection; the bold, arched sign in front of you at the next crossing says the road is Van Nuys Boulevard, one that changes to Sepulveda at the next junction, while the one after announces that your boulevard is now Balboa.

Eventually, the road turns to Topanga Canyon and when you finally reach the destination, the signboard says that the path was in fact "Sherman Way". Finally, my waiting banker friend helps me unravel this perplexing situation; at every crossing, it appears, the signboard identifies the road perpendicular to yours.

To further the confusion, he says his business is in helping NRIs make "wire-transfers" to India, all along effecting the transfers electronically; shouldn't it then be called "wireless" transfers, one asked.

Driving to Silicon Valley takes you along the scenic Yosemite Park. En route, well-irrigated farms proclaim that "food grows where water flows", while every town has a sign, mentioning its population and its altitude above sea level. One town board, however, makes us laugh; Minkler's head count is probably the smallest in California, numbering a mere 30!

San Jose on the Guadalope river is charming at first sight, but for the first-time visitor, driving alone to reach your friend's office would be truly trying, if his business is located at the "Alameda" road.

First you think you are heading right when you take the Almaden expressway, only to realise your mistake and then make a detour into Almaden Street, before you discover a policeman stopping you with a ticket for violating the "No Entry" sign that you did not notice. And, finally, when you land at the building that you had passed twice without noticing, searching for your friend's suite on the "First Floor" turns futile, before you are told that in the US, the "First Floor" means "Ground Floor".

This hearty laugh at the American experience begins with the approval of Uncle Sam's visa office in your city. The officer, if convinced about your bonafides, stamps his approval for your visit to his country. A glance at the visa stamp on your passport makes you smile. Your date of birth is printed, and below it, three printed words make you surmise that the official is a fortune-teller — "date of expiration"!

Picture by the author

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