The Land of the Free - NYC to Miami

New York Travel Blog

 › entry 10 of 16 › view all entries
Atlanta Airport.

George Carlin once said that 'When you're born, you get a ticket to the freak show. When you're born in America, you get a front row seat' and most probably an opportunity join the production. We met the first member of the cast at New York Bus station, although I think we may have met one of his colleagues at Atlanta Hartsfield-Jackson International Airport when clearing immigration. Having cunningly disguised himself as a member of airport security, he bounced both of his braincells together and deduced that I had the appearance of a terrorist and should thus be subjected to further pre-cautionary checks before being allowed to enter the airport. After rummaging through my luggage and depositing the majority of it on the floor, it became apparent that I was in fact an international drug-dealer.

What the BP Oil Spill did to beaches on the Gulf Coast and Florida.
He had the proof, (I was carrying needles), but just as our young officer was about to celebrate the biggest drugs bust of his career, common sense prevailed in that it was pointed out to him that a sterile needles kit comes as part of a first-aid package, and he was asked (by myself) quite how I had managed to use these to inject drugs when they were in a sealed pack. Sherlock Holmes this imbecile of a detective was not, and although apoplectic with rage for this unnecessary waste of my time, I restrained myself from verbally humiliating him. The reason for such anger was because it meant that we almost missed our connecting flight to New York.

If the security man in Atlanta was a candidate for best supporting actor, the aforementioned human being we encountered in New York Bus station was most certainly nominated in the best actor category.

Greyhound Bus.
After paying $115 for one room in the Vanderbilt YMCA in Manhattan (since my food poisoning in Bolivia, I had apparently begun sh*tting money) we arrived at NYC bus terminal ready to board a 32 hour bus to Miami. We grabbed some Pizza and occupied ourselves in the shanty-town of a seating area. The man introduced himself by coming over and clearing up our paper plates and coke bottles, which we generously thanked him for as we could have quite easily done it ourselves. Apparently this constitutes a form of employment in the USA, and at the time myself and Kev didn’t realise we had just partaken in a business transaction, or that we were expected to remunerate him for his services. Nothing about this man had provided any indication that he was ‘at work’, not his excrement stained and hole-ridden white trainers, not his foul breath which was a result of not having brushed his teeth since the Knicks last won anything, and certainly not his customer service as he burped and farted his way through every sentence.
New York Bus Station.
I wondered whether this was the type of guy who had caused the credit crunch by thinking he would be able to afford the mortgage on a $275,000 house with no deposit and a salary of approximately f**k all.

Between releasing gases from his body, he couldn’t contain his excitement when he realised we spoke the same language as him but the words sounded different. He had real difficulty in determining precisely where we from, although he was 100% sure that it was the UK, England, or London (readers in Europe will of course be aware that the three are obviously mutually exclusive). Seeking clarification, he stated that he wanted to check whether London was in the UK or whether the UK was in London. Unfortunately I lost it at this point, burst out loud laughing and made excuses to go somewhere else for a second to calm down.

Savannah Bus Station, home of the testicle washer.
Upon my return, Kev was explaining that London is to the UK, what Washington D.C. is to the USA. Exuding the confidence that comes with finally understanding a concept, the man told that us that he had thought we were from London from the beginning, not England or the UK. Still unable to control my laughter, I paid the man off with some Peruvian Soles, although I still feel a little guilty for not informing him that they had a value in the region of 10 cents.

At 6.30pm were boarded the bus and headed to Miami, via Newark, Baltimore, Richmond, Fayettville, Manning, Savannah, Hinesville, Brunswick, Jacksonville, St Augustine, Daytona, Orlando, Kissimmee, Ft Pierce, West Palm Beach, Ft Lauderdale and Miami North. I immediately realised that the journey was going to be long when I turned and initiated a conversation with the passenger next to me.

South Beach, Miami.
She was an elder stateswoman, but at that slightly irritating stage where they give you their own opinion on every topic before you ask for it. Case in point; she decided I was definitely going to be the victim of a homicide as soon as I’d informed her that our destination was South Beach.

I wasn’t nearly as annoyed with her as she was about to be with Kev when he joined the conversation, just as she was lambasting England for its lack of exports. I could only muster Fish and Chips whilst she was questioning me, but Kev thought he had the ace up his sleeve. He announced that BP (British Petroleum) was one of the best things to come out of the United Kingdom. Now, bear in mind that when this was said, we were in the middle of Florida (one of the worst affected states by the Oil Well Leak), this lady was from a town on the coast of the Gulf of Mexico (THE worst affected area) and Tony Hayward has just made THAT advert which had only served to heighten tension and feelings of hatred towards BP. Kev would have been better off at the departures desk trying to check a bomb into aeroplane luggage whilst reciting the Qur’an and wearing a turban saying Pilot. The lady fixed a death stare on him, of such magnitude that I wondered if she had died.

That said, the mood would was significantly lightened when I walked into a toilet at Savannah Bus Station to find a man washing his balls in the basin. Of course it isn’t inappropriate to stroke your penis and roll your testicles between your fingers in the sink of a public toilet. Might as well give your arse beard a trim while you’re at it. Before we arrived in Miami, Kev had found time to entertain another fine piece of work on the bus. 25, single, unemployed, and with two kids, she was eventually removed from the bus for being too drunk.

And with that we saw the signs for South Beach. Time to party in the city where the music’s on....          

 

Join TravBuddy to leave comments, meet new friends and share travel tips!
Atlanta Airport.
Atlanta Airport.
What the BP Oil Spill did to beach…
What the BP Oil Spill did to beac…
Greyhound Bus.
Greyhound Bus.
New York Bus Station.
New York Bus Station.
Savannah Bus Station, home of the …
Savannah Bus Station, home of the…
South Beach, Miami.
South Beach, Miami.
New York
photo by: herman_munster