This Is Guernsey

When a friend calls up to ask if you fancy a six-month road trip across America, you’re going to say yes. And Nicci Martel was no exception, as she explains in the first instalment of her travel diaries TWO girls, one van and 6,000km of open road - this is the journey of a lifetime.

This is the great American road trip.

Starting in New York, ending in Los Angeles, with everywhere from the Rocky Mountains to the Sunshine State in between, an old pal and I are going on an incredible, good, old-fashioned adventure.

Who hasn’t pictured themselves zooming down an arrow-straight freeway in a convertible with the wind in their hair? OK, so in my case it will be a 17ft-long convertible sleeper van, but you catch my drift.

And which of us hasn’t toyed with the idea of doing a coast-to-coast trip across small-town America, with its picket fences and the occasional tumbleweed? The truth is, there is something iconic about the all-American road trip and with it forming the basis for countless books and films, it has become an established part of the cultural imagination. For anyone who has ever read any Hemingway or Kerouac, or watched Easy Rider, the road trip is an itch that deserves to be scratched.

OK, so this isn’t the 70s and America isn’t exactly the most popular country in the world right now. It’s a leviathan of a country, with a history of short-sighted policies that have had far-reaching consequences - Afghanistan and Iraq are just the tip of the iceberg when it comes to controversial foreign policy. Then there’s Bush Junior, a man considered to be so incapable that you couldn’t tell him apart from a bespectacled chimpanzee.

Politics aside, people are quick to slam the place for being tacky and soulless, while Americans themselves are criticised for being irritatingly full of self-belief, with seemingly no interest in the rest of the world.

The problem is, the USA does tend to project itself onto the rest us as if it were a commodity, or a brand - the biggest, boldest and best around.

But whatever the country tries to sell itself as, and the international community assumes to be true of it, there’s got to be so much more than meets the eye. Hurricane Katrina proved that much by stripping it bare, revealing the severe poverty that can be found within its own back yard. Getting a taste of the real America is exactly what this trip is all about.

The Thelma to my Louise will be my university friend, Hutch, and unlike that ill-fated pair, there’ll be no suicide or armed robbery on our trip (but if there is a God, please let there be Brad Pitt). Hutch hails from Wales and she’s as ridiculous as her hair is big. We lived together for three years in the UK, so I’m more than accustomed to her clipping her toenails on the carpet and talking about her bowel movements. Despite her faults, of which there genuinely are few, she’s one of the very few people with whom I could travel for so long and the only person I could take on this particular adventure.

The key to Hutch’s and my relationship is that we take things as they come. We pretty much thrive on the unexpected and spontaneous. For us, organisation and fun don’t tend to get along too well so whenever possible we act on gut instinct. It’s the reason we enjoy each other’s company so much and, I think, the reason she asked me to come with her. It is also the main reason why our route, although sort of planned, is subject to change.

So, the route. The USA is always talked about as a single unit, one entity, but when you break it down it’s comprised of 50 different states, many of which are bigger than the UK. How can an area that large have any sort of uniformity? That applies both culturally and politically, not to mention geographically.

This place has it all - the beautiful sandy coastlines, mountain ranges, snow, desert and rolling green hills. Just driving through it will seem like travelling through a junior school geography montage.

In all honesty I can’t wait for the Deep South. I know everyone thinks it’s full of hicks and republicans, but there’s something about it, especially New Orleans, that I find so alluring.

I can just smell the thick, humid air and hear the sonorous echos of sweet jazz and soul. Vegas is also high on my list, as is San Francisco. But what I’m most looking forward to is that crazy, friendly little town that’s barely on the map, that amazing view of the desert from the highway and that stunning bit of deserted beach that feels as if it belongs to only you. In short, the things you cannot plan.

This is the route, in a nutshell - New York up to Boston, Cape Cod across to Niagara Falls, back down the east coast to Philadelphia and Washington DC and on down to Florida, then along the south coast to New Orleans. Then we’re taking a tiny detour inland - in fact, we’re going to follow the Mississippi River all the way up to the north of the country to the Windy City, Chicago. It might sound a tad ridiculous, considering that’s a 2,000km detour, but there is a method in our madness.

We really wanted to visit Chicago - with its history of gangsters, prohibition and jaw-dropping jazz - but it’s in the middle of bloody nowhere. It’s right up north on the banks of Lake Michigan. But driving there all the way from the Deep South will give us the perfect opportunity to see some of small-town, mid-country America.

Following the river north gives us a chance to visit Arkansas, Missouri, and the Elvis Mecca, Memphis. And from Chicago we can drive back down south via the Rocky Mountains.

It’s here the route gets a little hazy, OK hazier. Instead of heading back south after the Rockies we could head north to Seattle, which is on the west coast. Then we could drive all the way down the south coast to our finishing point of Los Angeles. Or after the Rockies we could drive back down south, via Las Vegas, check out some of Texas, cross the border to Mexico for a few days, then mosey up to LA.

The possibilities are pretty much endless and the only limit is our imaginations… well actually, our wallets.

Did I mention we were doing this whole expedition on a shoestring? Between us, we couldn’t buy a garden shed. I’m a lowly journalist and Hutch, well, not even she knows what she does. I think she’s some kind of assistant’s assistant in a tent-making company - no wonder she’s tried to block out the experience.

So, at the mercy of our bank balances, we had to turn down hiring a pink Cadillac and opt for a very American-sounding Dodge sleeper van instead. That will be our home for what could be anything up to six months (it all depends on how long US immigration decides to let us stay).

From what I can tell by looking at it on the interweb, it’s got something of The Mystery Van about it - the wagon from the Scooby Doo cartoons. Inside it consists of basically one big mattress, a fridge and a DVD player, which is good because I’ve always dreamt of flying all the way to the States to sit in a van and watch films.

On a serious note, I guess it could be of some use when we’re camping in the Rockies and we need to block out any noises that sound unnervingly bear-like.

The van has limited facilities so there’ll be countless stops at petrol station toilets and a heavy reliance on camping site showers. That, for me, will be the hardest thing to cope with. Dirty showers and unkempt toilets completely freak me out. Mould, dirty plugholes and other people’s hair just leave me feeling queasy and I’m not even a tidy person - my bedroom is testament to that.

There’s also something about white bathroom tiles that makes my toes curl. I blame the film Psycho and its famous shower scene for that.

Well, the chances of me stumbling across immaculate bathrooms all the way across the country are beyond slim. I’m either going to have to get used to it pretty sharpish or put up with looking like a yeti and smelling like a cheese board.

As I’m sitting here writing this, it’s only three days before I fly to New York and I started packing this evening. I’ve got one of those backpackers’ rucksacks so I’ll look the part, but it’s not very big, which poses a bit of a dilemma - do I pack for comfort or for style. I know it sounds shallow, but I’m going to the Big Apple, one of the trendiest places on the planet. I don’t want to look like some frumpy, fleece-wearing hiker.

But at the same time - cute jackets and killer heels won’t keep me warm in a freezing cold van at night.

It’s a tough one. I’ve got a couple more days to deliberate so I’ll keep you posted.

This is the first in a series of features I’ll be writing Stateside. In the next one you’ll get to hear all about my New York shenanigans, in which I’ll be living in the heart of New York’s gay district, trying my very first corndog and finding out whether this city ever really sleeps. Wish me luck.

Article posted on 14th April, 2007 - 12.00am