Backpacking on a budget across America

We started in New York. Where better and where worse to begin? This city is everything, a relentless assault on the senses. You can't not be alive here when your sight, smell and hearing are all constantly bombarded. Horns blaring continuously; people playing music on the street; the smell of hot dogs and pretzels from streetside vendors; music escaping from passing cars; kids screaming; people marching; sirens wailing; the subway trains rushing past below your feet; tacky neon signs for 59 cent stores; huge skyscrapers rising out of the ground into the clouds above; the hum of air conditioners; the buzz of faraway traffic; random hellos and goodbyes; friendly smiles; distant television sets; other people's cell phone conversations; the intense and crazy, insufferable, sticky heat; the smell of hot dust and hot rain; people sitting on the steps outside their homes; people sitting high up on the fire-escapes; sidewalk barbecues; ‘NECK FACE' graffiti; rooftop meals; the incred ible skyline; bright yellow school buses; yellow NY taxis; the harsh New York accent; weird and wonderful people walking the streets; Little Italy; Chinatown; moody Latino cornershop owners; outdoor book fairs; artists making and selling art; horns blaring continuously – this is just the beginning of New York. It hits you all at once and it doesn't let go and it stays with you forever. It's an addiction, stronger than heroin and without the repercussions. An incredible place to begin the adventure but also the worst, because we knew we'd eventually have to tear ourselves away.



We were there together for two weeks and my girlfriend had arrived a fortnight before I had. We were doing this on a budget, but she had more of a budget than I did, so I had to arrive later and leave earlier. We could have stayed in New York forever, and it was very difficult to leave. Saying goodbye is always the hardest part, and deep down, neither of us wanted to. If we could have done, I think we would both have given up our lives in England – our parents, our friends, our belongings – to happily start from scratch in the Big Apple.


We were staying with her aunt in Brooklyn, so it felt like we were living there anyway. We had our own space, our own key and our own personal tour guide who took us to all the cool places. On my first day, arriving bleary-eyed after a hellish flight at around noon, New York time, my girlfriend's aunt drove us around in her beat-up Cutlass supreme. We had a drink at a Café owned by Moby and later that night went to see Beat legend and personal hero Lawrence Ferlinghetti give a reading at the Gotham Book Mart. We got drunk on free wine and talked to hipster kids dressed in 1920s suits, a guy called Gregory who my girlfriend thought was going to kill us and a crazy, radical ex-hippy with avocado dip on his nose and all over his fingers which gesticulated wildly as he shouted about revolution, man.


A few days later we started hanging out with some musician friends we'd met at a Jeffrey Lewis gig. He's an incredibly talented songwriter, and I interviewed him for the zine I run in England. We sat outside on the sidewalk and chatted for 20 minutes in the sweltering heat before he began his set, then finished the interview off after he'd ended. His brother, Jack, also a musician, and his friends, adopted us into their scene, inviting the two of us to gigs and events all across New York. One was at the Cake Shop – a bar, record store and, yes, cake shop that's open until 2am every day. It's quite possibly the most incredible place in the world. But then it's in New York, so it's bound to be.


And because of all that, New York became our home. Never has anywhere so alien so quickly felt so natural. In two weeks we'd explored till our feet fell off, made some great friends, got lost on the subway for three hours late at night and knew our way around Brooklyn and Manhattan. It felt like we'd always lived there – our memories were of years spent there, not a fortnight. It still feels like years, even now, almost three months later.

But a fortnight it was, and one day we found ourselves rising early, catching the L train across to Manhattan and, rucksacks on our shoulders, walking begrudgingly towards the Greyhound Terminal on 41st and 8th, to begin the twelve and a half hour bus journey to Pittsburgh. We never said goodbye to NYC, just a fond farewell – there's no question that both of us will go back some day, probably for the rest of our lives.