Addendum

The kids are firmly back at school and my Monday seems to be a coin-flip between housework and Super Mario Galaxy, so instead I’m going to tell you about some of things we didn’t get a chance to mention whilst we were on the road.

Did I mention we drove? Yes, we did. The four of us, in my small (US) / large (UK) RAV4. All the way there and back. Apart from when we crossed over to Nantucket of course. Four thousand miles and all I’ve ever done is describe what was happening outside the car. Amends shall be made. Immediately!

Firstly the children, for we shall start in the back. My goodness they were well behaved. Say what you like about them, and I do, but they are portable chaps and no mistake. Yes, they inconveniently asked to stop occasionally, insisting that they needed a bathroom, or a meal or a bed for the night, but bless them they did not utter a single “Are we there yet?” at any point. Okay, their noses were often pressed firmly against the screens of their Nintendo DSes, but they were happy to play with the volume turned down and we only had to cope with two vomits, both from William. Did you know there’s a variety of Febreeze just for cars? Marvellous stuff. Every now and then we would cross a river or a mountain range, or drive past Manhattan or the White House and we’d shout “Quick boys, look out your window!”

“Ooooh, that’s pretty,” Chris would call enthusiastically, sometimes without even looking up.

When they weren’t playing video games they would sit and play some imaginary thing with their teddies. For hours. It required special accents for some reason but I was trying not to pay attention. Another game they played used Marvel action heroes, supplied by Happy Meals we collected along the way. We soon almost had a full set but, bless, they didn’t know any of their names (we’re more of a DC household). So they made them up, a mixture of shrewd guesses (USA Man), wild fantasy (Mr Rock) and scrambled mis-rememberings (The Incredible Lump - often beautifully garbled by Chris to The Inedible Lump.)

Best of all, they weren’t fazed at all by the thought that we might, for example, spend the next seven hours driving. It hasn’t occurred to them that we might have been asking anything special of them and we took full advantage of this.

Meanwhile, what was happening in the front of the car? Well, apart from the Maintenance Required light coming on after only 500 miles, one wrong turn in the dark outside Philadelphia and the small matter of having to repeatedly park the damn thing in central DC it was all pretty un-stressful. Though, seeing as I did most of the driving, Laura may remember it differently. I found a lot of the journeys to be almost effortless, as if the road offered no resistance. It merely stretched ahead, frictionless, and we would drive and drive until the tank was all but empty, stop, fill up and then carry on, never having to change gear, hardly needing to steer.

On looooooooong journeys I did dabble with the Cruise Control, but I didn’t like it. Automatic transmissions may force the driver away from conscious control of a vehicle, compared with manual stick-shifts, but Cruise Control is altogether a step too far for me. My main complaint is (of course!) how everyone else drives. Some Americans seem to whack on the CC and close their eyes perhaps, resolutely sticking at one speed and in one lane for hundreds of miles. And this is fine until two of them end up side by side, or until Truck A travelling at 60.00 mph has to pull out to avoid going into the back of Truck B, doing 59.99 mph, and the two of them proceed to block the entire road until the former has finally and almost imperceptibly inched past the latter. Nobody seems interested in overtaking quickly and cleanly, or in taking the effort to regulate their speed themselves. At least undertaking is allowed here, and that helped somewhat with occasional frustration.

The only other remarkable thing about US highways that I can remember right now is the unusual but striking roadkill that litters the hard shoulders and the verges. Not buffalo, or alligators or armadillos, but tyres.

All across America, on nearly every road we used, we saw countless rubber remains. Shredded, exploded tatters of tyre everywhere. On some highways there’d be some every mile. It seemed very odd. Presumably they came from blow outs, but you’d think – given our mileage – that we’d have a statistically significant chance of observing the phenomenon ourselves if that were true. I did see one guy changing a wheel on the roadside, but his old tyre was still intact as I zoomed past. And then once, in Alabama I think, I saw an old guy in a high-vis jacket walking back along the verge picking up debris. I couldn’t resist the notion that this was his job, to slowly pace along all the highways of America, endlessly picking up the blasted bits of rubber.

For all I know he may have been leaving it there.


Some Recent Statistics:

• 90,000 mile service due: er.., somewhere around the Mississippi/Alabama border?
• Total photographs taken on holiday: 2019
• Additional fridge magnets found at bottom of suitcase: 1
• Revised total number of fridge magnets bought: 7
• Number of North Dakota plates seen since we returned to Houston: 2
• Number of active hurricanes/tropical storms in the Atlantic: 3
• Days since school re-started: 6
• Pages of homework completed by William: 8
• Next destination: Chicago, IL.
  
• Days until next trip: ...er, 12!
  

Hang On!

Wait, wait! We haven't told you everything yet!

I never mentioned the USS Constitution and I didn't tell you what the waitress said to me in Clarkesville, TN. There's a rant on cruise control that's been slowly coming to the boil for several weeks. There's probably others too so we may yet eke this out for a few more posts.

Final Reckoning

Trip Statistics

• Total miles: 4746
  
• Total states visited: 19 plus DC
  
• Total state license plates seen: 50
• Planned destination of next roadtrip: Fargo
  
• No. fridge magnets bought: 6
  
• Mike's favourite thing: Lincoln
• Laura's favourite city: Boston
• William's favourite exhibit: Origin of humans, Natural History Museum, DC
  
• Chris' favourite stop: Nantucket (and Bean, the dog)
  
• Mike's favourite meal: Thanksgiving sandwich, The Black Cat, Sharon Springs
• Laura's favourite restaurant: King's Arms, Williamsburg
  
• William's favourite activity: Watching baseball in Cooperstown
• Chris' favourite hotel: Home
  

Fast-Forward

In Boston we met an ex-pat Brit who had sold up and bought an RV - her life was now a permanent road trip, driving round and round the USA, never stopping but seeing everything. That's some retirement, but it would never do for me. I'd feel like a Flying Dutchman or, worse, the Littlest Hobo.

So, although there was still so much to do and see, we had to accept that we were going to miss things on our way home. For us America is a place where we can only snatch glances and moments. It was time to get home, as fast as the Highway Patrols and traffic would allow.

On Sunday we raced through Virginia and both Carolinas - all we saw was a steady rise and fall of road and trees as we furiously crested hills and tore through valleys until they slowly steeped themselves in shadows. We started across Georgia in the dark and saw exactly nothing of it until the impressive skyline of Atlanta finally appeared and we prepared to stop for the night.

Yesterday morning we slipped out of our final motel as efficiently as we've ever done it, motivated by the promise of our own beds, and the thought of our poor abandoned cat, Martha. Ahead of us was a twelve hour drive across five states.

We dispatched the last of Georgia and cut diagonally across Alabama towards the Gulf and Mobile, where the land suddenly changed. Connecting up with the I-10, the road that would take us all the way back to Houston, we found the highway cutting straight as a rule across bays and rivers, swamps and creeks. In places it rises from the moss-brown water on great concrete stilts - mocking the drowned trees growing all around us - and running for miles and miles before the land surfaces once again. The trees themselves are strange too: apple-green pines, their limbs splayed chaotically in all directions or odder still, unknowable trees draped in ivy or something similar, like shrouded figures. When these are pressed in close on either side with their frothy fractal outlines, the motion of the car lends them extra energy so that they seem to be great crashing waves of green, about to break upon the causeway. It's another breathtaking and alien landscape that is suddenly behind us, gone.

The mighty Mississippi river rudely breaks through all this, shouldering it apart. Over the river is yet another enormous bridge - they rise so high here - and getting across is massively symbolic. The river is still the dividing line in America between East and West. On the other side stretched before us the majority of Louisiana and somewhere, perhaps, even Texas. The road and the afternoon progressed steadily, just as we did, on and on until finally another river crossing meant we were back in our own state.

The sky was as grey as the highway by then, the air thundery. Rain clouds fumed overhead and then they too were left behind, boiling away to nothing in the humid Texan atmosphere. The evening shadows forced on lights and the freeway expanded in all directions to try and contain the city, to wrap it up although still far in the distance: Downtown Houston, faint and grey amongst the cloud.

Day 24: Atlanta GA - Houston TX

Home at last! Drive three hours, turn left, have lunch, drive three hours, merge right, drive two hours through the swamp, have dinner, drive two hours. The sort of distances that can be covered in the US with cruise control and automatic transmission make Brits pale (and rightly so - 800 miles in the UK is Glasgow-London and back, and not even the maddest people I know would try that). And yet, actually, it's not so bad - even with two small boys in the car. We were home by 8.30 (even after a small, ultimately unsuccessful detour to the only place we've ever seen a North Dakotan license plate). By now, we've unpacked, put the bins out, put some washing on, opened the mail, picked up the dead cockroaches (Mike), relit the pilot lights on the boilers (Laura), and heartily reconnected with the cat. Our lovely neighbours have bought us milk and top notch croissants for the morning - I guess the vacation continues for just one more meal...

I'll post totals and conclusions tomorrow; right now, it's just good to be home.

Today’s statistics:

• Started driving: 7.50 EST
  
• Finished driving: 20.28 CST
  
• Miles: 762
• New States: 3 (we nearly did a ten mile detour into Florida, but every second counted)
  
• Favourite place-name: Iota, Louisiana
• Tank fillings: 3
  
• No. of times tank empty light came on: 2
  
• Emergency rest room stops: 1
  
• No. of traffic infringement notifications in mail: 1 (it was Mike)
  
• Breakfast: Super 8 Motel, Atlanta, GA
• Lunch: Cracker Barrel, Moss Point, MS
• Dinner: Chilis, Beaumont, TX
  

Today's discoveries:

• Either google maps, our milometer, or my spreadsheet is wrong. I tend towards Google maps. It says our journey today should have been 793 miles, and that doesn't include the various small detours for meals and gas stations... A very brief google seems to imply this might be because the earth isn't a perfect sphere - ooh!
• Being able to put the clocks back an hour when you're an hour into a long journey home is blissful.
• North Dakotans just don't leave the mid-north.
• The cat has NOT been pining for us.
  

Day 23: Williamsburg VA - Atlanta GA

Too tired to amuse, emote, almost even simply record. Today started a long way away and a long time ago (and I'm not even talking about the revolution).

At least tomorrow we have nothing to do but drive. It was hard today to drag ourselves away from the quiet elegance and slick organisation of Williamsburg: we could have spent a week there. But the road and the cat call and now Texas is only three states away....

Today’s statistics:

• Started driving: 12.24
• Finished driving: 23.23
  
• Miles: 560
• New States: 2
  
• Favourite place-name: Fair Play, South Carolina
• No. of false sightings of North Dakota plates: 6
• Percentage of family loyal to King: 75%
• No. of "Are we there yet"s: 0
  
• Breakfast: Williamsburg Woodlands Hotel and Suites
• Lunch: Macdonalds, Somewhere, VA
  
• Dinner: Cracker Barrell, Duncan, SC
  

Today's discoveries:

• The town jailer lived well, on a good salary and rent-free in a nice house. Shame about performing the brandings, but otherwise, not bad at all.
• I haven't yet discovered the difference between apple juice and apple cider over here, but the latter is not alcoholic.
• The I-85 is a Good Road. The I-64 is a Bad Road.
• Atlanta would be worth a look in the light. Ah well, next time!
  

"Skip to the end..?"

The map shows our route home, from Colonial Williamsburg in Virginia to Houston, Texas. Today we knocked off the first 500-odd miles and have just rolled into Atlanta, Georgia in order to sleep. I was all for ploughing on through the night you know. At the end of a holiday there is a desperate urge to get home and we have it within our power to do it as quickly as we can - we're not reliant on the jet-stream or an airline to convey us. Tomorrow we'll get up EARLY, get going and keep going until the remaining 900 miles have been conquered. Assuming Laura will make me stop for lunch and dinner (must get home, must get home!) then we'll get back, finally, before midnight tomorrow. Hopefully.

Before the epic penultimate leg was undertaken, we squeezed as much as we could from a few more hours in Williamsburg. Our luck was in, as the historical re-enactors were able to recreate the entire War of Independence in forty-five minutes. First they read the Declaration of Independence from the balcony of the Capitol, with much whooping from the 21C tourists. Then there was some brief respite as Benedict Arnold, resplendent in his red Brigadier-General's coat, arrived to raise the King's Colours on the flagpole and reassure us loyal subjects that the rebellion was doomed. We braved the boos to shout "God save the King!" but it didn't seem to help much; General George Washington himself rode up straight afterwards and boasted how he was going to whup the British at Yorktown any minute.

Yeah right, good luck with that, loser!

Flagging...

This morning we crawled and fought our way to Williamsburg, or Colonial Williamsburg as it markets itself. The roads for some reason were dreadful and our juddering journey (only lightened by the spotting of a Hawaii plate) stole most of what would have been a magical day in the year 1775.

As it was we were able to enjoy the last hour or two here and it was thoroughly marvellous. Williamsburg is a small town now, but once it was the capital of the British colony of Virginia. By some miracle, and a lot of diligent restoration, 300 acres have been set aside and are presented as they would have looked on the even of the American Revolution. The Capitol and the Governor's palace have been rebuilt and the general effect is that of walking down a high street in a curiously spacious Georgian town in the eighteenth-century, albeit one that is full of 21C tourists.

As an historical recreation, it works on a much larger scale than others we've seen, with half a dozen working pubs and taverns along Duke of Gloucester Street alone. We had dinner in the King's Head and it wasn't just the food that was amazing with 18C-style furnishings, silverware and crockery.

But the most beautiful thing is that unlike the febrile revolutionary air of Boston or the pious native-bashing of Plymouth (and Plimoth) this really is British America, a crown colony on the verge of breaking free without having yet achieved it. Everywhere flies the Union Jack and very neat it looks too, but then we find this other flag, the one at the top of the page, and it hints at the troubles to come.

Spods and vexillogists amongst you will have already realised that it is the Grand Union Flag. It was used by the revolting colonists for a while before the Stars and Stripes was officially accepted in 1777 so it is, technically, a wholly American thing not to mention an act of rebellion in itself. But to us, British loyalists as it were, living in the New World, it seems to perfectly represent the colonial years. It's fascinating (and mischievous) for us to try and imagine how the colonies would have developed as part of the empire. Independence was not inevitable in the 1770s and 80s and some British mollification might have made the difference. And self-government would certainly have followed at some point and presumably much earlier than it eventually did in Canada and Australia. It's tempting to think that this flag would have done that other America suitable service as a national flag of a Commonwealth parliamentary democracy. But meanwhile, in the real world of 1775, it definitely sits nicely with the British-American community shown here in Williamsburg, with its Georgian sophistication and Virginian flavours.

I think we might even adopt it.

Day 22: Tysons Corner - Williamsburg VA

We spent the morning in gridlock, the afternoon in an episode of Cranford. Neither was completely comfortable, but one was a lot prettier. We have so far only really explored the Governor's Palace and the eateries here at Colonial Williamsburg TM, but we have tomorrow morning to try out the rest of this historical Disneyland. And to drive half way to Texas...

Today's statistics:

• Started driving: 9.40
• Stopped driving: 14.48
• Miles: 152 (the traffic was awful)
• New State License plates: 1 (just 1 to go! Come on North Dakota!)
• Favourite license plate: MR1DRFL
• Years travelled back in time: 235
• Backseat vomits: 1 (we were prepared this time)
• Brunch: Panera Bread, Dumfries
• Dinner:King's Arms Tavern, 18th century

Today's Discoveries:

• Adam was the best babysitter ever (not least because of the assistance given on Super Mario Bros 2)
• Today was "one of the days I'm never going to forget" (Chris).
• Chris hasn't quite grasped that we didn't actually go back to "the real olden days". This may affect the above statement.
  
• The oft-sung about Sally Lunn is a bit like brioche.
• They didn't make left and right shoes in the 18th century - it was cheaper just to make them the same.

A Nightmare and a Dream

Yesterday was a very light day with scattered bursts of doom-laden heaviness.

We spent four hours or so at the excellent Steven F. Udvar-Hazy Center, the other half of the Smithsonian's National Air & Space Museum. It's right out by the airport which makes it a little bit of a drive from DC, but it's much more convenient for people who need to donate outrageously wonderful air/spacecraft as they don't need to perform emergency landings on the National Mall.

The place is full, literally from floor to rafters, with incredible and often beautiful machines. The highlights, if that is the right word, include the first space shuttle, Enterprise, an SR71 "Blackbird" reconnaissance plane and the Enola Gay, a B-29 Superfortress bomber that dropped the first nuclear weapon on Hiroshima. As you can imagine, this last provokes some sober reflection, not least on the part of the museum itself. In 1995 the plane was attacked by protesters who threw ash and human blood at the fuselage. The same exhibit was criticised by the Air Force Association who felt that it dwelt too much on the Japanese casualties and didn't provide enough context.

By accident, we caught two guides (both volunteers) giving tours around the plane. The first was a former pilot who had flown B-52s during the Cold War. He made a great deal out of the American casualties that had been saved by eliminating the need for a land invasion of Japan and he bluntly admitted that part of the importance of the mission was the fact that it was an experiment: both Hiroshima and Nagasaki were selected as targets because they had not been conventionally bombed before - the Americans wanted to know what an atom bomb would do to an undamaged city.

The second guide also made no apology for the bombing although he was obviously disturbed by the horrifying details of the attack which he relayed. He did make a significant effort to put these events into the historical context of the Second World War on behalf of visitors for whom a dozen casualties in Iraq or Afghanistan is considered appalling.

When the bomb detonated above the city it killed around 80,000 people instantly and around 100,000 died of radiation-related illnesses over the next five years. The entire war probably cost the lives of as many as 80 million people. Poland lost one fifth of its population, he said. He went on to outline other atrocities, like the fire-bombing of Tokyo by the USAF that killed 100,000 in one night, and Japanese war crimes in China that included the use of biological and chemical weapons on civilians. He didn't even mention the Holocaust, or need to.

His point (whilst not offering up an excuse for the use of the atom bombs) was that those years were a period of extreme and perhaps unprecedented levels of global violence. It is perhaps a tribute to our own, often seemingly apocalyptic, times that such events should feel so alien and incomprehensible to us.

"What you mean," says Laura reading over my shoulder, "is 'that such events only happen in Africa so we don't have to worry about them.'" And she's right.

Another thing Laura was right about (I know, twice in one day: uncanny!) was her idea that I should go with her to the opera on Friday night. I enjoyed it a lot. I love A Midsummer Night's Dream and I'm sure I'll never see it again sung so beautifully in such an intimate theatre as Wolf Trap. The orchestra washed up over the lip of the pit so that I literally had three double basses and two harps on the end of my row. This was wonderful, of course, and made the incredible sound-scape of the forest utterly immersive.

Day 21: Tysons Corner VA

Apologies for not posting yesterday - Mike and I actually managed to find a babysitter (correction, find someone who'd find us a babysitter - thanks, Kim!) and head out for date night. Or work, as it's sometimes called.

A low-key day had taken us to the Stephen F Udvar-Hazy Center of the Air and Space Museum. Fundamentally, this is an enormous maze of hangars filled with boys toys. There weren't many women there, to be honest - and all that had made the trip had small boys with them. Or bearded men.

That's not to say I don't enjoy looking at aeroplanes and a space shuttle. They're very beautiful pieces of machinery, and man's inventiveness is a constant wonder. But it's disturbing to be gazing absently at a beautiful silver classical plane and suddenly realise that it's the Enola Gay - the B-29 that dropped the bomb on Hiroshima. It seems to be in the wrong museum - surrounded by prototypes and privately-owned craft, this isn't a plane, it's a moment of history. I don't want to hear its story from a pilot; I don't want to hear it from an aircraft enthusiast. I especially don't want to admire it out of context. The plane's unsullied gleam and classic proportions are of course a reminder that acts are committed by people, not by the machines they create. But despite that, venerating and protecting this particular craft seems to me desperately inappropriate.

Today's statistics:

• Operas seen: 2 (if you count Pyramus & Thisbe)
• Swims: 1
• World War II initiation conversations with William: 2 (Hiroshima and kamikaze pilots. We did the holocaust last week.)
• Friends caught up with: several
  
• Breakfast: Hilton hotel, Tysons Corner
• Lunch: Macdonalds, Air and Space Museum
• Dinner: Cheesecake Factory leftovers in the hotel room / Wolf Trap bar

Today's Discoveries:

• We were building airplanes that could fly at 3 times the speed of sound fifty years ago.
• It seems fairly dubious (or at least very convenient) that the bombadier actually got a visual on Nagasaki.
• The Space Shuttle Enterprise was originally called the Constitution (after the ship we visited in Boston) before Trekkies got involved.
  
• Concorde's windows were that small to save money - the engineers worked them out to be small enought that, if they blew out, the pressure loss would be slow enough for the pilot to reduce his altitude sufficiently, so they didn't need oxygen masks and canisters.
  

Days 17 - 20: Philadelphia PA – Washington DC – Tysons Corner VA

I know, I’m a slacker. We’ve returned to Houston-like levels of heat and humidity, and I’m incapable of putting 200 words together at the end of the day. Doesn’t bode well, does it, reader…

I should always have known I would love the Library of Congress. The British Library, the Bodleian, even the ugly old obelisk UL of Cambridge – all are very dear to me. How could they not be? The Library of Congress has taken its place amongst those seats of learning (and it’s not just because of their pleasingly appropriate initials, though I do hope they expand their range of merchandise from the current baseball hat through monogrammed stationery etc.).

I can’t really work out why I haven’t been there before, but it was a joy to go there today. Classic building, glorious dome (rather less daunting than the Capitol opposite, but just as beautifully proportioned), perfect mosaic ceilings and glistening polished floors. The books are almost irrelevant. But there are two carefully monitored cases displaying some of their crown jewels. The first is a copy of the Gutenberg Bible – one of only three complete copies printed on velum (one of the others is in the British Library, the other is in the Bibliotheque Nationale – that’s got to be worth a visit one of these days). We saw a printing press in the farmer’s museum in Cooperstown – joining those dots was another eureka moment for William this trip.

Opposite it was a hand-written bible – completed less than 2 years before the Gutenberg Bible was printed. 15 months hard work (actually, that seems quite good going, seeing as it can take a volunteer in the Natural History Museum that long to remove the rock from just one fossilized tyrannosaurus leg-bone). It was very similar in size and weight – and in appearance, honestly. Gutenberg was clearly trying to recreate the mastery of his predecessors , who in their turn had been trying to be as mechanical and exact as possible.

Of course, Gutenberg did not suddenly equal mass production and global book ownership; there were many steps to come before that promised land. But one can’t help but wonder what the scribe of the Great Bible of Mainz thought if he ever saw a Gutenberg – did this new technology offer relief from centuries of back-breaking, eye-blinding toil, or did it nullify years of dedication and artistry? In the same way, the guide tells visitors today that they still HAVE a card catalogue but it’s not used, as everyone searches on the computerized database. In fact, few readers even come to this wonderful space – all the sources are online anyway. Are all the libraries of the world becoming like the Wren Library in Trinity or the chained library in Hereford Cathedral – beautiful, historic, inspiring, yet nothing to do with reading? Will that card catalogue itself be in a display case in centuries to come?

Recent statistics:

• Miles: 277
• New States: 2
• Favourite license plate: MYMYLF
• Percentage of family buying hats in DC: 50%
• Number of major thunderstorms: 2
• Museums visited: 4
• Cathedrals climbed: 1 (they have elevators over here)
• Friends taken to airport: 2
• Breakfasts: Mrs K’s, Philadelphia; Au bon pain and Corner Bakery, Union Station; The Dubliner, Washington
• Lunches: Dairy Queen, Philadelphia; Food court, NASM; Garden Café and Cascade Cafe, National Gallery of Art.
• Dinner: Union Station Foodcourt (twice); Lincoln Memorial hotdog stand; Cheesecake Factory, Tysons Corner

Recent Discoveries:

• Washington has new visitor centres, even whole new museums since my last visit.
• Parking here is harder and more expensive even than London.
• You can recall the senate from recess for an urgent summer session and only need 2 people and 20 minutes to get it through.
• Not all icecream is good icecream, even when you’re 5.
• America’s lack of cynicism about its achievements and ideals is hugely moving. No wonder they wanted to distance themselves from the Brits.

Having our Cake and Leaving It

I know now that you can have too much cheesecake.

For dinner tonight we went to an ordinary restaurant chain (ordinary for America anyway) that serves fifty different kinds of cheesecake. They all sound delicious, promising exciting combinations and exotic flavours and there's a temptation to taste several rather than pass up a new experience. But when they arrive, the slices are bewilderingly enormous and I just end up uncomfortably stuffed.

This is something we have gotten used to on holiday as our normal day-to-day conscientiousness has been forgotten. But is also analogous to our experience of Washington.

For three days we have gorged ourselves, trying to fit in as many different monuments and museums and landmarks as possible, snatching just ten or fifteen minutes at this place, just to get a sense of it. Now we are stuffed, unable to move for all the marble staircases, interactive displays and audio guides we have enjoyed. But, unlike the cheesecake perhaps, there are no regrets. And what wonders have we seen today, our last day in central DC.

We got up early and braved an incredible rain storm so that we would have enough time for all the security checks that awaited us at the US Capitol. Their procedures are stringent but efficient, especially at 8.30 AM and we were very quickly inside the underground visitors' centre that was built in 2004. Then we had a tour about the crypt, the rotunda and the original Senate and House of Representatives chambers - abandoned when the Capitol was expanded in the 1860s. Finally, and following some goodwill from a clerk, we were allowed passes to see the current Senate chamber: typically we fall between two stools since US citizens can ask their representatives for admittance and foreign tourists just need to bring their passports. All we had was a Texan driving licence and a British accent but he took pity on us and we were soon heading through yet another security cordon.

The Senate, albeit in session, was deserted except for one man who hurriedly cleared his desk and left as soon as we had sat down in the public gallery. So we looked at the sumptuous blue furnishings, the polished chairs and tables. In front of us a French woman hurriedly caught an attendant's attention: she had found an anonymous-looking black holdall under her seat. The guy just waved his hand. "Don't worry," he said. "That's supposed to be there." We noticed that each seat had a bag underneath it and Laura managed to read a label. It was a business card for an "Emergency Preparations Logistics Manager".

(After a bit of Googling we found out the man in question is an expert in Biological Weapons who has been instrumental in shaping emergency procedures for the Capitol and the Library of Congress. So what was in the bag? Gas masks? Bio-hazard suits? "Probably," said Laura "some really reassuring pamphlets.")

Even that though, had an elegance that suited the building.

To avoid another set of security hurdles we took advantage of the tunnel that connects the Capitol to the Library of Congress. If the former is a sophisticated but sober palace, then the latter is - like the Natural History Museum in London - a secular cathedral: elaborate, decorated, romantic and cultured. A wonderful, amazing building. In one corner there was a Gutenberg bible. And the Gift Shop was well above average.

No time to dawdle though! We had to hot-foot back through the city, check out of our hotel, load the car and find somewhere to park so that we could let William see his blessed Andy Warhol at the art museum. There hadn't been enough time the day before. At school last year, William's class did a long project on 20C art and he had loved it, becoming absurdly knowledgeable. The information desk assured us - in response to his urgent questioning - that, yes, they did have a Warhol. So we made a beeline and it turned out to be one of his prints of Marilyn Monroe.

"Who's she?" asked William.

And very soon afterwards, that was that. We have left Washington and moved a few miles out so that we can do some outskirty stuff tomorrow. We've all had more than our fill, I think, but there's so much more left on the table for next time.

And unlike our restaurant, DC won't box up what's left for us to take home.

Walk and Talk / Are we nearly there yet?

It's busy here. Busy and hot. Whilst there are downsides to this (my FEET!) there are positives too - it makes the people-watching fantastic. Lots of people, of course, look like they are working for the federal government and they are everywhere, milling about the train station and Capitol Hill and the parks and coming out of office buildings. Always they carry phones and computers and they have the little plastic ID passes hanging from their necks or belts. They talk to each other in the street or down their phones and it drives me crazy because I don't know what it is they are talking about! They are in the loop and all I have is 156 episodes of The West Wing to fill in the blanks. Gah.

Anyway, here is today in similarly positive/negative fashion.

GOOD THING: The Smithsonian Institute is just one of the best things ever. Mr Smithson was English, loaded and decided to leave all his money to the fledgling USA so they could have some culture, learning and whatnot. Then he died and his executors had to post 100,000 gold sovereigns to the federal government in a box. Alright, 11 boxes. We did the Natural History Museum which was fabulous and sucked up most of the day...

BAD THING: ...which left us just a sliver of time to dash around the National Gallery of Art and see almost nothing. We're going back tomorrow, dammit.

BAD THING: There is just so much to see here. We're going to end up skipping the Jefferson Memorial, the FDR Memorial, the Newseum, the Spy Museum and goodness knows what else.

GOOD THING: Well, it's an excuse to come back. And we HAVE to get back on the road!

We have two more days here in DC but already I'm thinking about it. It's funny but sometimes it is the days where we just drive that I like best. The boys are so good in the car and it's just wonderful to actually see the land and the cities as we pass through. Also, I can't deny that I am looking forward to going home. I always reach this point in a holiday - I like to go out and SEE STUFF, but I wouldn't enjoy it if I had to travel forever.

We're 1500 miles from home but after Williamsburg our stops will be brief, to the point and forced upon us by exhaustion so we shouldn't take too long to get back to Houston. In any case the advice is to put our foot down through Alabama. I can't remember who told us that, but I shall treasure it always.

Washington D.C.

Somebody, probably John Adams, remarked that this was a stupid place to build any kind of city, let alone a capital as it is freezing here in the winter and disgusting in the summer. Well, we can vouch for the latter certainly. You might think that we were inured to it given our Texan residency but, of course, when we are in Houston we don't try to do anything other than sit in the fridge.

Today we managed a bit more than that, but bleurggh, was it sticky out there.

We breakfasted at Union Station (still lovely) and then jumped on a bus that took us all over. We got out here and there and did some tramping. We saw the White House (the outside at least - you have to give several months notice if you want to go inside apparently), Ford's Theatre, Chinatown, and so forth and then up, all the way to the National Cathedral.

Which is beautiful. It looks like a cathedral (gothic architecture, flying buttresses, big nave and so on) but it is all NEW and smooth and perfect. Best of all are the stained glass windows: they're rich and vibrant and modern. Utterly cool and made the place fabulous. When next in England I shall start throwing bricks so that the C0fE can do some sprucing up in this manner. Money well spent.

Then it was back on the bus and through Georgetown (more Britain), a very quick swing past Arlington and then once more to the Mall. Here, between the monuments, are some of the finest museums in the world and we spent the rest of the afternoon in the National Air and Space Museum (part one). This was very awesome - how cool are planes? Look! That's the original Flyer built by the Wright Brothers in 1903. And that's the Spirit of St. Louis. And that's, er.. the actual Apollo 11 re-entry vehicle. Crikey. And on and on and so forth. There's still part two of the museum, somewhere slightly out of town where they keep the big stuff like the Space Shuttle. Eeep!

Then with dusk drawing in we went down the Mall, past the Washington Memorial to the new World War II Memorial (again lovely). We cooled our feet in the fountains and then set off, finally, for the mighty temple at the end of the avenue - the Lincoln Memorial.

DC is obviously full of literally monumental architecture, sculpture, spaces and lines of sight and so forth - but this tops everything. Walking towards it feels like a pilgrimage. Climbing the steps feels like being asked to meet a challenge. Approaching the statue itself is to encounter true greatness, to come close to something truly powerful and yet good.

Underneath is a wonderful little museum which commemorates Martin Luther King's "I have a dream" speech. It was installed in the early '90s after some Arkansas school children visited and were surprised that there wasn't one already. They raised the money themselves. Brilliantly, the exhibition shows how the Lincoln Memorial has been at the centre of so many different campaigns: not just black civil rights and abolitionism, but women's rights, labour rights, gay rights and on and on, all these battles that had to be fought, are still being fought, to wrest what should have been given freely from those that didn't know or didn't care that they were withholding them.

Whatever guff you hear in Philadelphia, or from the Founding Fathers about equality, these protesters didn't go and march to Independence Hall or to the Liberty Bell.

They go to Lincoln.

He sits and listens and stares up the Mall at the Capitol and he waits.

We spent the morning in Philadelphia - home of the famous icon of American independence, the Liberty Bell. It's a nice couple of blocks, chock full of what we would call 'Georgian' architecture - beautiful square buildings made of tiny dark red bricks with pretty triangles above the doors. Such surroundings are very familiar and very welcome. There was some other thing going on, something about the American's thinking up their own country or something but I couldn't really concentrate - I kept hearing this in my head and I spent the day largely waiting for a SPLAT that never came.

So, not so much a cheese steak as a curate's egg, but we were soon back on the road, driving out of the city over the most ENORMOUSLY HIGH bridge and then down the 95 into Delaware and Maryland. On the outskirts of Baltimore we went through the Harbor Tunnel. It's 7650 feet long, so long that the initial downwards slope soon feels flat as your brain tries to make do with the information it gets from the blank walls flashing past. Definitely worth the $2 toll. Eventually we came out the other end and ploughed along the interminable interstate corridor of leafy green before suddenly we were in Washington, the city magically unfolding itself from the trees as we rounded a corner. In the distance the white dome of the Capitol shone in the sunshine and it stayed there as we drove straight towards it, down the impossibly geometric boulevards.

We had time to stroll over to it before dinner. It's fair to say that it is much bigger than Arkansas' copy. Even walking around it was a chore for here it is suddenly swelteringly hot again as we head south. We just made it to Union Station before we melted and then I did melt because it is such a beautiful train station.

That was today then. I'm still holding back on the whole American Independence thing - I'm not sure where to pitch it. Also it is very difficult to think - the air conditioning unit in the hotel room is making a noise not unlike that which a pneumatic drill would make if you kept it in an old biscuit tin and hid it under your pillow. Argh.

Day 16: Boston MA - Philadelphia PA

A Five-State Day – and only 10 miles from the border into the sixth (the “Philadelphia” Motel 6 shares its nomenclatic optimism with “London” Luton Airport). It feels surprisingly right to be back on the road – the children in the back, good as ever (by which I mean actually good); music and conversation drifting up-front as the states fly by.

Sun was setting as we drove over the George Washington Bridge into New Jersey. The Manhattan skyline stood proud and we all wondered at its potency. It was a deliberate choice to miss that stop in favour of an extra couple of nights in DC – after all, we all spent a weekend there in March, and Mike and the boys haven’t seen enough of the States to indulge in re-runs yet. But still there’s a magical draw to the place, and it’s hard to avoid its magnetic pull as we drive past – even Chris feels a sense of belonging. “That’s the airport we came to on March 5th!” he cried. (Yes, I too had hoped Newark wasn’t his strongest memory of the trip). To catch a distant glimpse of the Empire State Building and know we climbed it together makes the city just a tiny bit ours.

I hope we’re creating hundreds more of these hooks for all of us. As we start the return journey, I’m beginning to realize what an extraordinary thing we’re doing.

Today’s statistics:

• Started driving: 12.37
• Finished driving: 21.22
• Miles: 314
• New States: 3
• Age of USS Constitution: 212 years
• Breakfast: Elephant and Castle, Boston
• Lunch: Panera Bread, East Greenwich, RI
• Dinner: Thomas Edison Service Area, NJ

Today’s Discoveries:

• The sides of the USS Constitution are “like oreo cookies”.
• New Jersey Service Areas want to get you back on the road with as little relaxation and ceremony as possible.
• We’d been lucky with the traffic so far.
• The I-95 isn’t as scenic as it looks like it should be on the map.
• 19^th century sailors used to dunk the ends of their neckerchiefs in wax and use them as earplugs.

Back in the saddle.

There's much to say about Boston and a lot of it is tied up with my feelings as an Englishman about the War of American Independence.

No time for that now, nor to talk about the USS Constitution - but tomorrow it's Philadelphia, Liberty Bell and then Washington DC so I expect I'll try and tie all that up together later.

But what's the rush? Well, we've got to get back on the road again! We're going south, homewards. Heading for Texas where it's 104F and the oldest thing in town is yesterday's Houston Chronicle.

In comparison, Boston is minty fresh. Our journey starts with a Batmobile-style swoop into the fabled tunnels of the underground freeway. The burghers of Boston decided to dig up the motorway and bury it under the city. It took years and damn near bankrupted them for all I know, but it is beautiful above and beneath, slick and modern.

Laura and I try to imagine what Houston would look like if they did the same thing. I can't - there'd be nothing left.

Then we're out and zooming down the 95 - it goes all the way to Florida you know - but we've picked it because it careers along the Atlantic coast out of Massachusetts, through tiny Rhode Island and then slightly bigger Connecticut. Unfortunately this part of the trip is disappointing - for a coastal highway, you sure as heck can't see the sea. Still, onwards! There's another 250 miles to go and two more states.

Suddenly we're on the fringes of NYC. The city springs up around us, grey, complex, literally multi-layered as split-level carriageways of cement and steel, bridges and tunnels interlace like an Escher sketch. We slide between the strata and then out across the double-decker George Washington Bridge, across the mighty Hudson River. Far off to the left is the Manhattan skyline - so close but it looks lofty and unattainable, a range of mountainous spires faint against the clouds where only eagles could perch.

Across the river and straight into New Jersey. A river of headlights washes against us from the other carriageway, bend after bend, mile after mile, tens of thousands of cars returning to the metropolis in this Sunday gloom. As we reach the Turnpike the sun breaks out from under the clouds and scatters gold across the squat towers and wintry hills of the Garden State, shining back off rivers and lakes.

The light fades. Then on into the dark we go, on and on, almost but not quite over the state line and into Pennsylvania.

Time for some sleep and a quick charge about Philadelphia then it's back on the road and off, finally, to Washington.

Whales!

Too tired to type. But here are some pictures from our boat trip out from Boston Harbour, into the Atlantic to see whales.

It was bouncy at first but settled down eventually. We saw minke and humpback - mothers and calves and all sorts. The boys have taken resolutely to referring to this as our 'whaling' trip, but no animals were harmed during the making of this blog, apart from the poor little French boys next to us who were very mal de mer.

Feel free to hum the tune from The Onedin Line, or perhaps Sailing By, which has just bizarrely started playing on my iPod. Yes, I am that cool.

Unsurprisingly, Boston is vibrant and lovely, the harbour is pretty and charming, the whales were spouty and taily and the sun sparkles off the gently swelling sea just so.

All in all, a good thing.

Day 15: Boston MA

I've always loved street theatre. As a child, I was always the girl jumping from her seat, arm ramrod straight to the sky the second the v-word was mentioned. I don't remember being chosen very often - but that's probably more a sign of how much I wanted to participate than any statistically proven unfairness.

It's one of the bonding ties between me and William; as a family we naturally divide the other way (Mike/William and me/Chris), but on this point the tables are turned. Chris hides in his father's trousers as the volunteers are rounded up - William sits bolt upright and his attention never wavers. I want him to be picked almost as much as he does. And, actually, he often is, to our mutual delight.

Somewhere along the line I learned that it was cool not to want it so much - that putting oneself forward made one the butt of jokes and potential mockery. I stood back, biting my lip, sitting on my hand.

Maybe that time will come for William, too. Or maybe he'll remember how his Dad did press-ups in public and held Giles the Jester aloft, and maybe he'll learn to toss machetes on a tight-rope to put himself through college. I'd like that.

Today’s statistics:

• Whales seen: 5
  
• Munchkins bought: 50 (this is not a Wizard of Oz reference)
• Percentage of family taking part in juggling display: 50%
• Oldest house seen: 330 years old
• Percentage of Freedom Trail walked: 10% at the most
  
• Number of times lied about nationality: 0
  
• Breakfast: Dunkin' Donuts, Boston
• Lunch: Quincy Market, Boston
  
• Dinner: Ned Devine Irish Pub, Boston
  

Today’s Discoveries:

• William and I can be uncharacteristically awed and thrilled by nature. Chris not so much.
  
• The boys haven't inherited my tendency to motion sickness.
  
• Chris has a Canning's luck at cards.
• Some Bostonions should learn about Calcutta if they want to know about a British "massacre". I'm rather sanguine about our colonial history here, just because we were so much worse elsewhere.
  
• I am an Aunt! Congratulations Tom and Crystal.
  

Day 14: Nantucket to Boston, MA.

We have peaked. Turned a corner. Crested the hill.

Having left Nantucket, there is the undeniable sense that we are now homeward bound. Sure, we're 2,000-odd miles from home and we've 12 more days or so in which to see Boston, Philadelphia, Washington D.C. and goodness knows where else - but it is now impossible for me not to see our own house at the end of the journey.

Laura disagrees with me. And she can't remember today's mileage. So, I get to make up:

Today's Statistics:

• New States: 0
• New Licence Plates Spotted: 0 (At this rate we'll be going home via Bismarck, ND).
• Games of UNO played on the Nantucket ferry: 2.
• Ounces of prime rib steak served per portion at dinner: 32.
• Balloon sculptures (hats, dogs, swords and so on) accumulated: 5.
• Number of scary clowns: 1.
• Breakfast: Canning residence, Nantucket.
• Lunch: picnic aboard the ferry.
• Dinner: Durgin-Park, Boston.
  

Today's Discoveries:

• Inexplicably, the gift shop at the Plimoth Plantation sold enormous wrought iron keys.
• Even more inexplicably, Chris wanted to buy one and would accept no substitute nor brook any argument.
• It is possible to dine in a restaurant in Boston that is older than the Republic of Texas.
• One of the Pilgrim Fathers went to Peterhouse, Cambridge.
• Boston is still enraptured by the American War of Independence - we have been advised to pretend to be Welsh, Australian, anything other than English if we do not want to be teased mercilessly by tour guides.
• William thinks my description of the execution of Guy Fawkes is the most disgusting thing he's ever heard.
• 90% of American trees and plants are not native to North America. Now think about how we complain about the grey squirrel.
  
• A 40,000 year old oral tradition entitles you to a unique perspective on the most recent 1%.
  

"No, I don't want a Mayflower fridge magnet, thanks."

Farewell Nantucket! It was back to reality for us today and back to the beginning of America again as we explored the Plimoth Plantation.

Remember the Mayflower? That was 1620 and ended with 50-odd sickly English people on the Massachusetts coast. Whatever became of them? Well this place explains. In the woods above the modern city of Plymouth, an historical recreation of the settlers' community has been built. Like the replica Mayflower it is staffed by actors who are committed to selling you the notion that they ARE the Pilgrim Fathers and that it IS the year 1627.

Well, as an intellectual exercise this is all very entertaining. It's fun to talk to these people in their characters and to walk about (uninvited!) inside their dingy wooden houses or to watch them sewing or thatching roofs. It's certainly interesting to listen to their stories. But at the same time it is a deeply painful experience: the traditional smug pilgrim version of history is shattered by the rest of the installation.

Two hundred yards up the hill lies a recreation of a Wampanoag settlement: a series of wooden structures of different sizes, like Anderson shelters, stand around a forest clearing. They're made of a frame of arched sapling trunks, overlaid with sheets of cut bark and lined on the inside with woven hangings and animal skins. The village smells of wood smoke.

The employees here are not actors, nor do they believe that it is the year 1627. They are Native People and crucially they are able to explain what life was like before the Europeans arrived and what happened afterwards. It is not comfortable listening.

We entered one long house. At the far end sat a slight young woman in native clothes. She spoke calmly, slowly, interminably about the injustices done to the Wampanoag people, about the strengths and innocence of their culture and about how they were utterly destroyed by the English.

That word stung me, because I've never thought of those settlers as English. In my mind they are American because they left- if they had been English they would have stayed behind! I've been referring generally to them as 'European' so as to not let the Spanish, French or Dutch off the hook, but the devastation wrought on the Native Peoples of North America has always been -as far as I was concerned - an American crime.

Of course, this is self-delusion. The English colonists, with their economic concerns, were quite happy to put a price on human suffering to ensure profit, just as their American great-great-grandchildren would later do with slavery, just as the British would do in India, or Africa, or any other of a dozen places around the world. The terms English/British/American or European are interchangeable and meaningless. What is true is that these terrible crimes have always been perpetrated by people like us against people who were also like us.

The woman carried on speaking and we carried on listening, transfixed. The silence in that room was horrible. We nodded, Americans and English alike. We nodded sadly, we nodded sagely, in contrition and culpable.

We nodded because there was nothing we could say.

Ten ways in which Nantucket is like Britain.

1) It is an island. Okay, Britain is not an island - but it is lots of islands and some of them are very small like Nantucket. We recreated a scene from Lilo & Stitch today, driving from one side to the other. You turn a corner, bam: there's the sea again! We could see it from the pub we had lunch in, as if it was waiting for us. In fact, it started creeping up the road to get us but I'll come to that later.

2) It was globally important in the 19th Century and is now just a pleasant speck in the Atlantic. Ha ha ha. Had to say that.

3) Driving. Oh my gosh, roundabouts! How cool are they? People of Britain, do not take them for granted! Houston does have one but it is really just a big circular road. Here there is one but it is the centre of the entire traffic infrastructure for the island, like some British motoring totem. In Massachusetts they call them 'rotaries'. This is interesting, but still wrong. Also there is a killer one way system around Nantucket town which made me feel right at home. Interesting fact: there are no traffic lights on Nantucket.

4) Parking. Hmm.. Small town.. Narrow Streets... Tourist Trap... One Way System... And American-sized cars. Say what you like about Houston, but you could get the Queen Mary into most of the parking spaces I see. Let's just say I made Laura drive today.

5) The Weather. There was a COLOSSAL storm today. It rained knives and forks and the thunder seemed to be cracking about twenty feet off the ground. Now, we have some pretty sensational downpours in Texas not to mention the odd hurricane or two, but oh my giddy aunt this was COLD! Cold rain? Ugh! That's not right at all. Rain is supposed to be warm, any fool knows that. Why, to put up with COLD RAIN, you'd have to live somewhere like, oh, I don't know...

6) The Weather. It was such a fine morning, sunny and warm with a slight heaviness in the air. Then, far off, the thunder started to peal. By the time we were trying to park for the second time (it is difficult with these itty-bitty spaces) it was already raining hard. By the time we had all got out of the car it was torrential and with it came a sea mist that began to choke up the narrow streets. There was an awning a few metres from the car and we dashed for it. We had the parking space for an hour so we had to do something - maybe one of us could slosh up the street and try and find somewhere that might do us lunch? Yeah, right But wait, what's this building immediately behind us, under whose awning we are trying to shelter? It's a pub! We were saved!

7) Pubs. Opportunities to slink out of an evening and find bars is limited when holidaying with smallish children. But there's always lunchtime. This place wasn't really a pub, it was a bar. But it was a very pubbish bar. Very pubbly. In fact, if it wasn't called "Cy's Bar" and something else like "The Dog & Duck", or even "Cy's Pub", then I wouldn't even have queried it.

8) The Weather. So we grabbed a table at the back of the 'pub' and there's a window there that looks down a back street and improbably there's the sea at the end of it, lurking. Then after a few minutes I notice that the sea isn't just in the harbour any more, it's seemingly spreading up the street: cars are ploughing through 15cm of water, tourists in flip-flops and t-shirts are standing ankle deep in.. the sea. Later, when we got back outside, we found sand spread across the town, churned up by the storm and - what - rained down again? Huh? (Another interesting fact: during the Second World War the USAF trained pilots here because the weather in Nantucket (fog, rain and so forth) was a better match for Britain's than anywhere else in country.)

9) The Weather. So, we went for an ice cream and (ultimately) headed for the beach. Okay, so the tempest had passed - things tend to blow over very quickly here - and suddenly the skies were blue once more.. A perfect British Summer evening with only a couple of stiff G&Ts between us and dinner.

10) Everyone here is obsessed with the weather.

Day 13: Nantucket, MA

This is the beach at the end of my Uncle's road. It's only really accessible via a couple of wooden staircases down the cliff - all privately owned. The one we used is accessed by wandering across someone's front garden; the people who own the house have invited their neighbours to help themselves. Completely lovely. I know myself well enough to know I'd never be so unselfish.


Today’s statistics:

• Storms weathered: 1 (but it was a big one)
  
• Games of Hide and Seek played: 1 (but it was a good one)
• Sunsets watched: 1 (but it was a beautiful one)
• Donuts eaten >1 (no justification needed)
  
• Percentage of family paddling in the Atlantic: 100%
• Breakfast: Canning residence, Tom Nevers, c/o Downyflake Donuts
• Lunch: Cy's and The Juice Bar, Nantucket
  
• Dinner: Canning residence, Tom Nevers
  

Today’s Discoveries:

• Sometimes a waffle cone can be a tool, not an extravagance.
• Always check the obvious hiding spots.
  
• No-one really understands the rules about mortgaging in Monopoly (though of course I pretend I do).
  
• An outdoor shower can turn a chore into a delight.
  

Headmatter

This is another wonderful place. Touristy and busy, sure - but full of its own character and not at all manufactured or falsified.

In the morning we went down to the Surfside beach and watched the boys get hammered by some enormous Atlantic waves. The water rolled in, dark-grey and bottle green, before thrashing itself into white rags upon the shore.

Fabulous and invigorating, but not sustainable. Houses, and indeed a lighthouse, have been threatened by the erosion of the ocean-facing coast. The lucky ones have been moved, but some landowners have ended up possessing nothing more than a sandy bluff a few decades on.

We couldn't last until lunch. We went into Nantucket Town and gawped at the beautiful houses, nearly all covered in the island's distinctive grey wooden shingles. The town is pretty and dotted with designer boutiques as well as souvenir and gift shops, but it is the island's previous prosperity that built the picturesque streets and homes, and underpins its modern attractiveness.

Settled from mainland Massachusetts in the 1650s, the islands had been inhabited by the Wampanoags and other Native Americans for over a thousand years. The name Nantucket means the 'Faraway Land'. The waters around the islands were rich with sperm whale and the Europeans hunted them and became rich from trading in the resources they harvested from the creatures. By the early nineteenth century Nantucket was the centre of the global industry of whale hunting and - the local waters having long since been emptied of cetaceans - their ships sailed all over the world.

It was in the Pacific ocean, in 1820, that a whaling ship called the Essex from Nantucket was rammed and sunk by a giant sperm whale. Twenty-one men made it off the ship in three longboats. Eight were eventually rescued 95 days and 1,500 miles later, but not before they had been forced to resort to cannibalism. They returned to Nantucket and some even went back to sea on other whaling ships. Later a young sailor named Herman Melville heard the story whilst serving on a whaler and resolved to write it up.

Moby Dick was published in 1851, but at the same time Nantucket's whaling industry was being fatally undermined. A fire in the town was devastating in 1846 and the Californian Gold Rush tempted away a high proportion of islanders. The harbour was silting up and then, in the early 1850s, oil was struck in Utah. The cheapness and availability of oil and kerosene killed whaling in Nantucket.

Today the island thrives on the summer season that brings thousands of temporary residents and thousands more tourists from the mainland. The Nantucket Whaling Museum, where we spent the afternoon (can you tell?), is a perfect example of how the island's rich history has been recycled and repackaged to nourish the visitors. It was fascinating although often disgusting - but I'll spare you the gory details.

Day 12: Nantucket MA

A morning of beaches and breakers, and then a trip to the Whaling Museum. Perhaps an unbeautiful history for this stunning place - and yet somehow the odds didn't seem overwhelmingly in the humans' favour. 3-4 years at sea; 60 whales; that's only just over one a month. And considering how tough some of those months were, well, I'm ok with it. More amazing is how anyone ever found that rendered scrapings from the inside of a spermwhale's head made a phenomenal base for French perfume. No other whale; no other part of it - just a spermwhale's head. You've got to think there's was some considerable trial and error in that discovery. Makes you wish you knew what else they'd tried (or maybe not...).

Today’s statistics:

• Castles built: 1
• Lighthouses visited: 1
• Percentage of family jumping waves in the Atlantic: 75%
• Days at sea in small whaling boats eating comrades: 0
  
• Dogs in house: 5
• Breakfast: Canning residence, Tom Nevers
• Lunch: Stubby's, Nantucket
  
• Dinner: Canning residence, Tom Nevers
  

Today’s Discoveries:

• Nantucket, like Suffolk, is eroding; the Sankaty lighthouse was moved 400 feet inland in 2007.
  
• Puppy labradors and puppy chihuahuas don't necessarily mix.
• Nantucket means "Faraway Land". It was reputedly formed by a giant kicking off his moccasin in his sleep as it was full of sand.
• Cash is King where icecream is concerned.
  

Day 11: Lenox MA - Nantucket MA

The job of an historic actor is a strange one. We met some extraordinary performers on the Mayflower 2 today. One was obviously incomprehensible to anyone who wasn't first language English - and probably to a lot of people who were - with his carefully studied vowels and his naviga-si-on. The boys certainly needed simultaneous translation. Another spent more time wondering at William's lack of respect for his father and looking bewildered at the mention of Thanksgiving than she did explaining who she was or what she was doing (to be fair, why she was on the boat three months after the pilgrim fathers had arrived and set up camp was a puzzle they hadn't really thought through). Is it a joy of spontaneous involvement and improvisation, or is it permanent isolation as one can never really relate to the people coming through the door (although one must rely on them completely - if they don't play their part, the show is over before it starts). Is it a chance to really research a time and place, or a constant restriction to one point of view?

Maybe it's just that today's examples were extremely talented, but I can't help but think that there are men at home in Plymouth tonight combing their anachronistic facial hair and practicing their 17th century expletives, in the hope that eventually they'll be promoted to Captain.

Today’s statistics:

• Started driving: 10.02
• Finished driving: 15.35
• Miles: Not sure, sorry - forgot to check the milometer, and the car is now 25 miles away on the mainland.
• Ferries: 1
• Children sold into apprenticeship on a 17th century ship: 1 (almost).
  
• Favourite placename: Mashpee, MA
• Breakfast: Seven Hills Inn, Lenox
  
• Lunch: Hotdog / icecream stands, Plymouth
  
• Dinner: Canning residence, Tom Nevers
  

Today’s Discoveries:

• It's probably worth waiting till iPhone 5.
• Coffee oreo icecream should never be overlooked.
  
• Nothing is better than lying in bed at night and hearing the sea.
• Upside-down houses might be better even than coffee oreo icecream.
  

'Things founded clean on their own shapes / water and ground in their extremity'

Yesterday we peeled ourselves away from Cooperstown, slunk into the car and tried to make our way through the world, leaving that lovely, peaceful and friendly place behind. We didn't get very far. At the far end of Lake Otsego is a State Park and we were compelled to stop and park and try and capture it once more. You can't, but at least, in the age of digital photography, you can happily take forty or fifty pictures in an attempt to lend as much weight as possible to the experience - mighty now - that will soon be a merely a flimsy memory.

I'm convinced that there is something profound and cathartic in such places, these boundaries between land and water. There's more to it, surely, than just sea breezes; shorelines, like mountaintops, induce clarity. They are opportunities to stand at the margins of one's own life and gaze out over another world of sky or water.

It's something that seemed somehow to be entirely missing from the Berkshires, and specifically Lenox, Massachussetts where we stopped last night. It's a feeling we have recaptured in spades today as we eventually hit the Atlantic coast.

Maybe Lenox would have benefited from a good lake or mountain. It struck me to be a superficial kind of a place: very nice to look at but hardly very practicable. It was all a little rarefied. Our hotel seemed typical. It was beautiful, a real English manor house with dark wood panellings and staircases, echoing halls and twisting corridors. Miss Marple would have felt right at home, as indeed did we until we realised that all the electrical sockets were hidden away under the bed and that the Internet was marginally more inaccessible. Our room was beautiful, but somewhat lacking utility. Walking around the town I wondered if this was part of a greater and deliberate disengagement with a wider reality.

This morning we had no qualms about leaving and managed to get on the road so early that we were able to improvise an unscheduled stop. Heading for the Nantucket ferry, we diverted to Plymouth, MA where the Pilgrim Fathers (TM) arrived in the Mayflower in 1620. They were by no means the first Europeans to settle over here but their eventual encampment is still the oldest continually inhabited English community in North America.

A lot of what we have driven through so far as looked like England but suddenly we are somewhere that feels like the old country. For a century and a half this was part of Great Britain and the street that runs along the harbour would not be out of place in Plymouth, Devon. Here the overlap between the United States and the United Kingdom is tangible.

The physical manifestation of this connection is the Mayflower II, an exact, life-size and working replica of the original ship that brought those proverbial ex-pats to the New World. This ship was built in the 1950s and sits moored at a jetty in the middle of the sea-front. It is small, but extremely satisfying. One hundred and two settlers lived here for many months before, during and after the sixty-six day Atlantic crossing, and some of them are still aboard. Okay, they're actors, but they are very good, delightfully unflappable in their parts and very informative. Their accents too are mesmerising, recognisably English but with pungent whiffs of Ireland and America to make them seem exotically olde worlde.

We spoke at length with an ol' sea dog, be-whiskered and leather-skinned who had worked the crossing as a Second Mate. Compared with the stifling reverence that we had encountered at other historical landmarks (the Alamo, anyone?), he was beautifully sardonic, pouring scorn on the religious fervour of the settlers and convinced that within a few months they would all be dead. As we left him, he hailed a newcomer and asked him where he was from. 'Boston', came the American's reply.

"Ahh," he purred. "Out of Lincolnshire, are ye?"

It would seem that the ol' dog was on to something - the flight of the Pilgrim Fathers (TM) was not so much about religious freedom as it was about economics and enterprise. When they hatched their plan to quit Europe, the pilgrims were not being oppressed in England, but living in the laid-back non-judgemental town of Leider in the Netherlands where they had been for more than a decade. Unfortunately, they could no longer afford the high cost of living there and, furthermore, weren't comfortable with the idea of their children growing up Dutch. They entered in to a deal with the Corporation of Virginia: their passage would be paid and they would spend seven years working off their debt, at the end of which they would be given 100 acres per adult - well worth the trouble. Half the 'pilgrims' were ordinary Londoners on the make and most of the money for the expedition was put up by the Church of England. Bad weather meant that the Mayflower never reached Virginia and they disembarked at Plymouth. Aboard ship the settlers had suffered one death and one birth, but the physical exertions of the crossing (mainly puking their guts up for two months straight) had taken a toll on the 102 - within four months, 55 were dead.

We'll be back to see how they got on when we return next weekend, but we had to leave Plymouth and drive to Hyannis, on the tricep of Cape Cod, to catch the ferry to Nantucket.

It's a very impressive service - a sleek white catamaran that blasts its way across Nantucket Sound in an hour - and it was wonderful to be out on the water and to be buffeted by the salt air. An hour was just long enough for the boys to become bored with having to behave but we were all excited to clamber off at the other end where we were met by Laura's aunt, Jane, and driven off across the island to their utterly beautiful house. The ride through the town hinted at narrow, cobbled streets and ancient houses which we'll explore properly tomorrow, but for now we are delighted to be here, both at the very end of America and its beginning: water and ground in extremity.

The wind that savaged us on the ferry is now a fresh sea breeze that pours in through the dark window, whispering of the ocean and sleep.

Day 10: Cooperstown NY - Lenox MA

To the casual observer, there's no reason why I should like Lenox so much less than I like Cooperstown. The buildings are just as beautiful; the countryside rolls just as effortlessly, the white church spires stand out just as strikingly against the clear blue sky, There's even a charming lake (though it's a little squat). I wondered whether I was just sad to have moved on from somewhere which could become my favourite place, if I didn't watch it too closely.

I think I figured it out as we wandered the streets looking for dinner. There's nothing real about this place. No hordes of families supporting their sons' baseball efforts. No young families at all, really. Cooperstown Main Street hides some cheap souvenir stalls, a CVS and a NY pizza joint behind its clapperboard storefronts. Lenox is all boutiques and antiques. A place where people come to get away from life, not to live it. I'd rather see "My son / daughter / grandson hit a home run in Cooperstown, NY" t-shirts on the pavement any day.


Today’s statistics:

• Started driving: 11.08
• Finished driving: 15.35
• Miles: 131
  
• New States: 1
• Favourite placename: Esperance, NY
  
• Hotels stayed at with no wireless: 1
• Random private dwellings pretending to be B&Bs: 1
  
• State parks visited: 1
• Ludicrous desserts ordered: 3
  
• Breakfast: Our apartment
  
• Lunch: Black Cat Cafe, Sharon Springs
  
• Dinner: Church St Cafe, Lenox
  

Today’s Discoveries:

• You're not allowed to pump your own gas in New Hampshire.
• The Thanksgiving Everyday sandwich trumps all others.
• It doesn't always matter if a waiter mishears you.
• I prefer [bark]shire.
  

Day 9: Cooperstown, NY

I think I am writing Laura's post today. I think that's what I am doing. Laura is working again this evening and - to be honest - we haven't done much today so one post should cover it admirably. Today was our last full day in Cooperstown and we enjoyed the chance to take things very easy. This morning we found a new mini-golf course to explore and managed to fit in some delicious ice cream before the sky filled with lovely cool-grey rain. Afterwards, with everything freshened up and the town smelling of the flower-filled gardens that line the streets, we wandered down to the lake and watched the ducks. We would have watched some more baseball too if the rain hadn't returned, but we didn't mind.

Tennessee and Virginia were both as hot as Houston, so being up here in the north with some cool weather is lovely. Tomorrow we're back on the road and heading even further, out towards the Berkshires, Boston, Nantucket and the Atlantic.



Today’s statistics:

• Percentage of the family scoring holes-in-one: 75%
• Percentage of the family shockingly not enamoured of cheesecake: 25%.
  
• Number of ducks spotted: 4
• Number of Wi-Fi hotspots linked to: 3
  
• Number of couples causing chaos on the forecourt of the petrol station by arguing over a map spread across the bonnet of their car whilst other customers queued up to get to the pump they were not even using: 1 (not us, either)
• Favourite placename: Feckit, NY
  
• Breakfast: Our apartment
• Lunch: Our apartment
  
• Dinner: Our apartment!
• Number of today's statistics made up: 1
  

Today’s Discoveries:

• Christopher sat and watched the washing machine in the laundromat for the entire 12 minute programme after I asked him to keep an eye on the countdown timer. So his powers can be harnessed for good.
  
• Lake Otsego is just as beautiful in the rain.
  
• None of us really wants to leave Cooperstown.