I turned 30 last month, and for my present Alex took me to Washington D.C., another city on my list of “must visits” in the USA.
It doesn’t get the same exposure in the UK as New York, LA, or family friendly destinations like Florida, and it’s a shame it doesn’t as there is enough going on to fill several weeks of your time.
I have repeatedly made jibes since I moved here about the US’s relative lack of history compared to the UK, which have been accurate albeit rather mean-spirited, but there’s no doubt that the short history America does have is a compelling one, and Washington is the place to go to learn about it.
We focused our trip on hitting all the big spots and try to fit in as many museum tours as we could. There are 18 or 19 Smithsonian museums in the city, all free to visit, but we only had time for one, the Smithsonian Air and Space Museum which is jam-packed with historic aircraft including the Wright Brothers’ plane, and The Spirit of St. Louis (first nonstop crossing from the USA to Europe – completed by a Minnesotan, Charles Lindbergh).
The Spirit of St. Louis
I’m terrified of flying, but fascinated by flight, and this museum was well worth the time we spent there on Friday afternoon – I only wished we had a bit more. We’d spent the morning at the Newseum, a paid-for museum charting the history of American journalism. This was good too, with a moving section about the 9/11 attacks particularly fascinating, though I’d have liked to have seen a bit more about the Watergate story – arguably America’s greatest piece of journalism.
We’d arrived in Washington in the middle of the ridiculous snow the East Coast had been getting this past winter, which proved to be a major plus as it meant most of the places we visited were pretty deserted.
The National Archives
We went to the National Archives for a flying visit on the Saturday, and I’m not joking, we just walked right up to the Declaration of Independence, the Bill of Rights and the US Constitution. That’s not to mention seeing one of the few original copies of the Magna Carta, a copy of the Emancipation Proclamation, as well as copies of numerous pieces of correspondence and recordings of phone calls made my presidents past. I think this was actually my favourite place of all those we visited over the weekend. It’s one thing learning about the making of the country, quite another to see it there in print, and making out the signatures of those determining the future of what would become the world’s biggest superpower…and who showed a distinct lack of gratitude to their brave, pioneering British forefathers…
The Lincoln Memorial
Prior to this we’d taken a tour of the National Mall, starting with the phallic Washington Monument, before heading to take a look at the White House, the Vietnam, WW2 and Korean war memorials and the Lincoln Memorial – where the giant statue of Lincoln is every bit as impressive as it looked when I first saw it on The Simpsons. We took advantage of a free tour offered by Free Tours by Foot, and the guy we had was excellent in an over-the-top, cannot-contain-his-enthusiasm-for-history kind of way.
On our final day, which was curtailed by our flight home, I’d booked us in for a (again, free) tour of the United States Capitol building, another site filled to the brim with history (including details on how the British burned it down) and one that helped me get over my initial confusion at how government works over here. Even better was taking an underground tunnel connecting the Capitol to the Library of Congress – a fantastic building not least because of the famous Reading Room, which I’d wanted to see ever since watching All the President’s Men. It also contains an original Gutenberg Bible and The Giant Bible of Mainz – as we ticked off a few more historic documents before we flew home.
The Library of CongressThe Reading Room at the Library of Congress
I’ve always thought that one of the best things the UK Government did was making museums free in London, and Washington’s the same in that the best places to visit won’t cost you a penny. And if you don’t want to share your experience with thousands of tourists using selfie sticks, I definitely suggest you insist that it snows when you get there.
Sorry again for the extended break from blogging. This was an unsurprising consequence of my finding a job and coming home at the end of the day where the last thing I want to do is write more.
P.S. We managed to spend time on D.C’s metro train system without getting pushed onto the tracks by a shadowy, ambitious politician – another bonus.
I thought I’d knock out a quick blog before the end of the week seeing as we’re heading back to the UK for Christmas, and it would make me feel fairly glum to write about the festive season once our holiday is over.
So yes, it’s Christmas time and Americans do a pretty good job of letting you know about it.
Fairy lights (or, erm, Christmas lights, as they rather more sensibly, if less magically, call them here) adorn many homes now – more than I can remember seeing around the UK – and they range from the subtly tasteful, to the hilariously garish.
The bars are warm and welcoming, in contrast to the cold outside, with wreaths, frosted windows and lights creating a very cosy effect – at least from what I can hazily recall from my recent forays into the pub scene.
Radio stations are playing holiday music – one of them gives up its usual classic rock entirely and plays nothing but Christmas music from Thanksgiving onwards – and maybe even before then.
But it’s a different selection than I’m used to. There’s a lot of cr0oners, a lot of Michael Buble, a lot of bad covers of good Christmas songs. The only British songs to make it onto the airwaves being Last Christmas (great), Step Up to Christmas (also great), Do They Know It’s Christmas (meh) and Happy Xmas (War is Over)…(crap).
There’s no Pogues, Slade, Wizzard, Kate Bush or Queen, so I’m using Spotify for now to get my fix of musical sentimentality, before I become sick of them when we’re back home.
We did partake of some of the festive events going on in the Twin Cities, in between going to a few Christmas parties.
Minneapolis’ first attempt at a German-style Christmas market doesn’t seem to have gone down too well with the public, namely because they get charged $6 to enter following by a hefty price for a glass of mulled wine.
It certainly seemed a long way removed from the excellent Frankfurt Christmas Market I used to go to in Birmingham, not least because that was open access, whereas we just ended up in a pub because we couldn’t be arsed with the humongous queue to get in.
After this though, we had a much better time at the Twin Cities Model Railroad Museum’s festive night-time display in St. Paul.
I must admit, I do have a soft spot for model trains. I never got a set as a kid and I always wanted one for Christmas.
Now I’m 29 – going on 30 – and wandering around that museum and experiencing an unbelievably nerdish joy at seeing the intricate models, I don’t think I’ve ever been less sexy in my life.
I don’t care, it was brilliant, and I am going again next year. Hell, I might even buy myself a train set. There, I said it.
We spoke with a couple of the volunteers there and to one of them I described the link between the Isle of Man and the Island of Sodor (from Thomas the Tank). That was before she told us she was from London, so she knew bloody well where the Isle of Man was.
After the trains we went to a night-time Christmas light display in Phalen Park, St. Paul. There were about 60 different displays and visitors get to drive around the park viewing them.
It was fine, festive enough with some Christmas music on in the car. I would have much preferred a walking tour, but as the weather here is hardly conducive to walking, I’ll have to see if we can fit in a trip to the fairy lights in Summerhill Glen next week.
I’ll get a much better feel for the season next December when we’re planning stay in Minnesota, so this year it will be Alex who gets a taste of Christmas in the Isle of Man.
In my experience that mostly constitutes of sitting on my backside, watching Christmas movies and eating mince pies…I think I’ll make more of an effort this time!
I feel like I’ve put on about a stone in the past week.
Of all the holidays that America celebrates that Britain doesn’t – and there are many – Thanksgiving was the one I was most looking forward to enjoying.
I was well up for another annual tradition that involves a roast turkey dinner, and when I went back to Elbow Lake for the holidays I was not disappointed.
Pumpkin pie, cream and football.
Alex’s mum is a fantastic cook and laid on a big spread, albeit one a little different from the dinner we’ll be having on Christmas Day when we come back to the Isle of Man.
As is tradition, we went around the table saying what we were thankful for, and it’s fair to say that over the past 12 months given everything that’s happened, there were plenty of things I could have said. I chose to use mine to thank Alex’s family for the welcome they’ve shown me since I arrived and for putting up with me in the three months it took me to find a job.
On to dinner: and along with the turkey there was the customary mashed potatoes and gravy, roasted squash, this unbelievably delicious stuffing/dressing, and then – deviating slightly from the norm – a cranberry Jell-O sauce, and some pickled herring – a nod to the state’s Scandinavian roots.
I was completely stuffed, but not stuffed enough that I couldn’t cram in a slice of pumpkin pie with cream and a glass of whiskey eggnog (basically custard in drink-form, why has it taken me 29 years to taste it?!), not to mention a turkey sandwich later that evening.
Me cutting down the tree.
Thanksgiving signals the start of the Christmas period in America, and there has been a noticeable ramping up of festive activities and decorations since the weekend.
While thousands of people were singing their carols to consumerism in the Black Friday sales, we carried out another tradition of Alex’s family – choosing the Christmas tree.
This was no trip to B&Q though, in true National Lampoon Christmas Vacation style they chop down their own from a tree farm about a 50-minute drive away.
Alex and I on the sleigh/cart ride.
As it was my first time I was given the honours to do the sawing, once we’d selected one of the few pines left in the lot. It didn’t take too much effort to saw through, and I was rewarded for my efforts by the eight-foot tree collapsing directly onto me as it fell. I didn’t even have time to shout “Timber!”.
The finished product
The tree lot also had a gift shop (of course) filled with everything Christmas, and there were also horse-drawn sleigh rides around the nearby woodland.
Well actually, the sleigh was more of a cart, they didn’t expect there to be so much snow by this time of year. Thanksgiving was one of the coldest on record, reaching the equivalent of -24c where we were, so needless to say I was fairly rigid on the back of that cart.
The rest of the weekend was spent, for me, working, lazing about watching Christmas films and briefly helping to put up some fairy lights. Like I say, Thanksgiving kicks off the Christmas season, and I’ve rarely had a more festive weekend.
Between now and Christmas though, a bit more fruit and veg, a little less cookies, beer, cream-based drinks and desserts, turkey, stuffing and gravy sandwiches, egg-bake and bacon might be in order.
It’s been more than a month since I last posted – sorry about that, I know how many of you hang on to my every word – but I have good reasons.
Two days after we got back from L.A I had a job interview, followed by a seven-day trial period for the position, during which I was then offered the job, which I started three weeks ago.
So the weeks that followed involved the process of finding, securing and moving into a place in Minneapolis – a period interspersed with a very enjoyable visit from my mum and stepdad Robin, so as you might imagine things have been fairly hectic.
We ended up looking at about eight or nine apartments in different parts of the Twin Cities. We rejected them either because they were too expensive, because they were too much of a commute for me, or because they were smelled of smoke.
Our living room.
The first one we did actually want was the biggest dump of all. It was covered with litter, discarded clothes, and a litter tray full of cat crap. It stunk, but beneath it all there was a decent apartment, it was very cheap and an easy commute for me.
Unfortunately we snoozed, and we lost, someone else got in there before us, so when we saw a place in south Minneapolis that was only slightly dearer, far better kept, and with a bus stop across the road with a direct line into the city center, we didn’t hesitate.
Alex already had a fair few bits of furniture from her previous place in Cambridge, that her former employer had kindly shipped over to the States for her free of charge. We also received a lot of kitchenware for the wedding, so in my head I figured once we found out first place it wouldn’t take much to turn it into home.
Turns out I was wrong, it’s been more than seven years since I first got a place of my own in England I forgot how much stuff you actually need to buy.
The kitchen, complete with Ikea cart in the middle.
Although we were mostly fine for bedroom, kitchen and dining furniture, we were sorely lacking in the living room, so in the past month we have been dotting around the cities picking up, among other things, a couch, a coffee table, a lamp, a TV unit, a rug, a kitchen cart.
Those are the fun ones to buy, what is less fun is all the many things you don’t realise you need until you move in, like bins, dustpans, brushes, ironing boards, tools, toilet rolls holders etc. It’s got to the point where we are sick to the back teeth of shopping.
Another big problem is that for the first few weeks we didn’t have any internet (which also contributed to lack of blogs), and this finally got sorted on Saturday.
On either side of our new TV I’ve placed obstacles so the cat can’t climb behind it.Hermes.
We followed this up on Sunday by buying a TV in the pre-Black Friday sales, which was pretty much the only thing I insisted upon buying. I could pretty much just have a chair, a TV and the internet in my house and I’d be fairly content, thankfully I have Alex so I’m now enjoying much more comfortable surroundings.
Although we are eternally grateful to the parents and friends who have put us up during this time, after more than a year-and-a-half of marriage it feels great to finally get our own place.
Well, almost our own place, we are sharing it with a cat, who acts already as if he owns it.
The first thing I noticed out of the window as we landed at LAX on Friday morning was Air Force One parked up at an isolated terminal.
Such is my obsession with film that when Alex and I met Josh, our friend and host for the weekend, at the airport I asked: ‘Is that the Air Force One they use for the movies?’
‘No, it isn’t, Obama’s here this weekend,’ was the answer. I must admit, it was pretty embarrassing.
The view from the Griffith Observatory to the Hollywood sign.
Trying to catch a glimpse of the President as he sped past in his motorcade held no interest for us this weekend. It was my first trip to Los Angeles and I was determined to fit as much in as possible and be an unabashed tourist.
Our three-and-a-bit hour flight from Minneapolis left at 6am, getting to the gate in LAX at 8am, giving us the whole of Friday, Saturday and half of Sunday to explore.
Our early start meant that our first port of call was for coffee. Josh’s favourite place is the recently opened Philz Coffee in Santa Monica. I’m not a huge coffee fan – it’s clearly the inferior of tea in the hot beverage stakes – but even I admit it was pretty damn good. Alex meanwhile fell a little bit in love with her mint mojito iced coffee.
Santa Monica pier
From there it was a short hop to Santa Monica beach and pier. We walked down the pier, the end of which marks the end of Route 66 from Chicago, and took in some of the views over the vast expanse of sandy beach.
The official end of Route 66
The sun hadn’t come out by the time we got there, though it was still warm, but the Pacific Ocean was flat as we watched early morning anglers fishing off the dock, it was a relaxing start to what would be a long and busy day.
I got excited as we made our way over to Beverly Hills as on the horizon I could see the Fox Plaza skyscraper – which doubled as Nakatomi Plaza and got its top blown off in Die Hard. It turns out this would be the only celebrity I’d see all weekend. Ho ho ho.
The surroundings turned immediately more plush as we entered Beverly Hills. We drove around some of the more expensive streets to look wistfully at the mansions, before getting out and taking a walk down Rodeo Drive.
We walked past the shop where Julia Roberts made ‘that scene’ in Pretty Woman, and the rest of the street was similarly exclusive, with designer store after designer store lining the street. The only problem? Nobody was shopping, the whole street was full of tourists like us, the biggest attraction being the Bugatti Veyron parked outside one of the stores.
The swank of Rodeo Drive
As I said earlier, I’m a huge film fan, and one of the things I really wanted to do in L.A was take a look at one of the studios. Josh has an insider at Paramount so we got some visitor passes sorted out and went looking around the studio lot.
Walking round the different studios you can see plaques of which shows and movies were filmed within, so it was pretty cool knowing we were in the place they filmed Frasier, Seinfeld, Star Trek and, erm, Moesha. That said, I was vainly clinging onto a hope that Frasier and Seinfeld were genuinely filmed in Seattle and New York respectively.
The entrance to Paramount StudiosA New York street scene at Paramount
What was the most remarkable thing to me about the lot was that it was thoroughly unremarkable. While the end product may dazzle on the silver screen or on the box, the studio itself is just a place of work. It’s a series of warehouses, with the only points of real interest some of the brickwork they use to depict New York.
After a 15 minute power nap at Josh’s place we dressed up to the nines for a night at The Magic Castle, an invite-only food, drink and, most importantly, live magic establishment. It was such a surreal experience, and such a fantastic one, that I’m going to devote my entire next posting to it.
We got a later start on Saturday, as we recovered from being awake for 23 hours on Friday, and after brunch we headed for a view of the iconic Hollywood sign, another must-see on my list.
The vantage point Josh suggested was at Griffith Observatory, sitting at a cliff edge on Mount Hollywood and a stone’s throw from the famous Greek Theatre. It offered a more than acceptable view of the sign, as well as downtown L.A, which could be just made out through the smog. Better was the observatory itself, which is a free museum that is definitely worth a visit.
The Griffith Observatory, well worth a visit.The view of downtown L.A in the distance.
From Mount Hollywood to Hollywood Boulevard, the epicentre of western entertainment. We drove alongside the stars on the Walk of Fame, which go on for several miles. Some are located next to some fairly grotty looking stores, I’m not sure how chuffed some of the celebs would be to realise their stars are next to a tattoo parlour or burlesque shop.
Definitely the best name on the Walk of Fame
In much more salubrious surroundings is the Dolby Theatre – which hosts the Oscars each year – and the Chinese Theatre, where movie stars have for years been placing their hands and feet into wet concrete before adding their John Hancock. As you will see below I got a picture of myself next to Robert De Niro’s, it’s just a shame one of the many tourists decided to cast a shadow over the stone, much like Rocky and Bullwinkle casts one over De Niro’s career.
We had a tour of the Chinese Theatre, home to the big Hollywood premieres, and its decor screams history. It’d be an atmospheric venue to watch a film in, albeit we had missed the showing on the cinema’s new 94ft x 46ft IMAX screen of – wait for it – Dracula Untold…what a shame.
The Dolby Theatre, home of the OscarsTom Hanks, probably signed at premiere of Saving Private Ryan judging by the date…he earned this.The ceiling in the Chinese Theatre
We hadn’t seen any celebrities thus far on the trip, so in an attempt to force the issue we went for drinks at Chateau Marmont on Sunset Boulevard, a swanky hotel and restaurant that is apparently a favourite haunt of the stars. Josh had a plaid shirt on and Alex had a pink dress on, so they were presentable enough, but I rocked up in a t-shirt and shorts certain I’d get turned away.
Getting my picture ruined by a shadowy stranger.
To their credit, they didn’t look down on me, they were perfectly professional, then I realized why when I saw their prices. After forking over 10 dollars for a bottle of Amstel – and more for Josh and Alex’s drinks – we sat back and looked out for actors. Alas, there wasn’t any, Nakatomi Plaza would have to do for this weekend.
From there we headed over to Santa Monica for some food and drink, before heading back to West Hollywood for a night on the town.
We had packed a hell of a lot into just two days, so by Sunday morning we were pretty exhausted. We got an early lunch and then headed up Highway 1, the stunning road that hugs the Californian coast as it stretches up to San Francisco.
We stopped about 20 miles along it in Malibu and found a nice stretch of beach. It was very warm out but not scorching, so our feet didn’t sizzle in the sand, and the beach was so large that it didn’t feel crowded, even though cars lined the side of the road.
On the beach in Malibu
It was a much-needed lazy end to our trip as our flight home was taking off in the early evening. It certainly made me long for a life in California, the idea of lying on a beach every weekend would be hard to turn down.
But one aspect of the city that seriously puts me off moving there is the traffic. You would not believe how many cars are on the roads at all times. We were in a jam at 12.15am at one point. It’s okay over a weekend, but if I lived there then I’d be reluctant to head out half the time considering it’d take at least half an hour to get anywhere.
So there we have it, L.A in almost three days. It’s a huge, sprawling city but an entertaining one. Hollywood is as cheesy as it gets but there’s so much to see and do, it was definitely worth the trip. There’s so much more to see as well, but that will have to wait for next time, when we will hopefully do an L.A/San Francisco combo with a drive up Highway 1.
One more thing…the food
The weekend in Los Angeles proved to be the best few days for food I’ve had since I moved to the States.
It definitely helps having someone who knows the places to go, as Josh took us to some of his favourite haunts and they all proved excellent.
Bay Cities Italian Deli sandwich
On the Friday for lunch we went to the Bay Cities Italian Deli in Santa Monica where I had a buffalo chicken and salad sandwich, which won me over simply because it’s the first crusty sandwich bread I’ve found over here.
The one disappointment was the Friday night at the Magic Castle. Don’t get me wrong my beef wellington was tasty enough, it just cost an absolute bomb, but getting into the Magic Castle itself is worth the premium.
Saturday we brunched (ugh…I hate myself for using that word) at Auntie Em’s in Highland Park, near where we were staying, and I was pretty effusive in my praise for the breakfast torta of refried black beans, avocado, scrambled egg, tomato and guacamole on brioche – I asked them to throw on some pulled pork too for extra measure.
My monster torta at Auntie Em’s
For dinner we waited for almost an hour to get into Japanese restaurant Daikokuya in Santa Monica, which is popular for its ramen. Now I find queuing for a restaurant all kinds of offensive, and I was losing my drunken buzz at the time, but the ramen was almost worth the wait. Delicious salty broth and a perfectly soft boiled egg floating around with the pork, noodles and vegetables.
For me, the best came in a hungover haze on Sunday when we went for an In-n-Out Burger. It’s the place all the movie stars go after the Oscars and Josh had been taunting me by promising we’d try it out all weekend.
In-n-Out burger menu
The menu is as simple as it gets, though there are also apparently ‘secret’ requests you can make that deviate slightly from what’s on the board. I had an ‘animal-style’ double-double burger, which comes with cheese, burger sauce, gherkin, tomato, lettuce and fried onions.
The double-double burger
I embarrassed myself because it was so damn gorgeous that I was licking the juices off the paper it was wrapped in once I’d finished. I mentioned when I first moved here that I was looking to find the Great American burger, well it’s going to take something pretty, pretty, prettay special to beat the In-n-Out burger.
It also cost just $3.45…shame there aren’t any in Minnesota!
North Dakota became only the fifth state I’ve visited when we made the trip up to America’s latest boom city, Fargo, last week.
That name will evoke images of the Coen Brothers’ Oscar-winning film, or the more recent TV series, but both of these are predominantly set in Minnesota – although the freezing cold winters are experienced by both.
Fargo is currently awash with money and is expanding at a incredibly fast rate, fuelled by the shale oil bonanza that has given the state the lowest unemployment rate in the USA.
We didn’t get a chance to take a closer look at the city centre and had to make do with a look instead at its increasingly sprawling suburbs as Alex had a seminar to attend. While she was there, I took the opportunity to go to Best Buy (Currys without the appliances) to get a new laptop since my old Acer – aka the hard-drive destroyer – finally packed up.
EA Sports’ efforts to get American gamers to play something other than Madden 15 – add Clint Dempsey.
I found a new computer within 20 minutes, leaving me with about an hour-and-a-half to kill which I couldn’t see myself spending in an electronics store, even if their computer games are amusingly Americanized.
After a short look around I found myself at a place called Shotgun Sally’s Rock and Roll bar, and plonked myself at the bar to watch the Minnesota Vikings get hammered by the Green Bay Packers.
It was here that I met Brent, a salesman for an oil and gas company who was kicking back after travelling across North Dakota that day.
It turns out the guy was on his way back home to Oklahoma after a journey that had taken him all over the north-western United States. He is originally from Texas so had a brilliant southern drawl you don’t hear very often in these parts.
His firm has international offices too in Amsterdam and Burnley, which he amusingly referred to as “too touristy” and a “sh*thole” respectively.
I’m a bit of a novice when it comes to American Football, but I’m learning a little more as I go so we spoke about the game at length, before somehow we got onto talking about rural broadband speeds…oh dear I appear to have become middle-aged.
The only people I’ve met since I’ve been here have been through Alex, so this was really the first time I’d had an extended chat with a complete stranger.
One of the things about living in Britain, particularly in the big cities, is that it offers an anonymity that allows you to go on with your life undisturbed. Over here on the other hand, people have no such reservations about sitting down and chatting with the person sitting next to them. It’s definitely one of the most positive aspects of American society.
The Americans I’ve met thus far have been impossibly friendly and as a people they are more sociable, so when Brent struck up conversation I was a lot more receptive than I might have been back in the UK.
We’ll never see each other again of course, and I no doubt would have been fine just sitting and watching the game on my own, but it gave me a lot more confidence about living in a country that, while westernized and anglicized, is still somewhat alien to me.
Though it does help having a talking point too. I tend to find that being a Manxman in America offers a few more conversation options than the British fallback of “how about that weather?”
It’s famous for being the hometown of Prince and the place that gave him his first big break, so it’s not surprising that Minneapolis has a thriving live music scene.
Even so, I was taken aback a few weeks ago by how many bands I wanted to see when I picked up gig listings and saw The Pixies, Royal Blood, Bombay Bicycle Club, Peter Hook, and The Gaslight Anthem will all be playing in the coming weeks.
Its reputation is well-known by Fleetwood Mac, who chose it for the opening night of their North American tour, which took place at the 17,000-capacity Target Center on Tuesday night.
Fleetwood Mac at the Target Center. The first time they have had a full line-up in 16 years.
We were lucky enough to get tickets thanks to Alex’s sister Liz and her husband Joel, who bagged us some seats as wedding presents. It was a bit of a risk, because when they bought them there was no guarantee my visa would be approved in time for me to attend the concert, though missing it would have been the least of my worries if that was the case.
We actually saw the band in Amsterdam on our honeymoon last year, but we got to the arena about 10 minutes after the time listed on the tickets only to find they had started and we’d missed The Chain and most of Dreams. I mean, seriously, what kind of band starts on time?!
This time we made sure we got there for the start as the Formula One fan in me was itching to see The Chain, which turned out once again to be their opener. Alex was happy to see the whole of Dreams, telling me to stop singing so she could listen to Stevie Nicks without my out of tune warbling in her ears.
This concert was different from last year’s because it marked the first time in 16 years that Christine McVie has performed, along with her extensive song list.
We have an emotional connection with Everywhere as it was the first dance at our wedding, and I also have a strangely fond childhood recollection of being a four-year-old sitting in the back seat of the car in my pyjamas while my mum listened to Little Lies as she drove me to my grandmother’s house to be babysat.
The Target Center was packed out with 17,000 in attendance (this picture was taken while they were still filtering in!)
McVie was given the biggest cheers of the night by a crowd in Minneapolis that remained hot throughout, more so than the Amsterdam crowd whose attention waned as the show went on.
Her songs seemed to be the best known. You could hear the audience singing above the band for Say You Love Me, Little Lies, Everywhere, and Don’t Stop, with only Go Your Own Way rivalling it for crowd sound.
Last year the show was carried by Lindsay Buckingham, but with McVie back it gave the setlist a lot more balance, her soft rock/pop songs a good foil to Buckingham’s insane guitar solos.
Her voice was also remarkably good for a 71-year-old who hadn’t performed since 1998, adding harmony to Rhiannon that was missing 12 months ago. Alex remarked that she “brought sophistication” to proceedings. Well, leave it to an English woman I guess.
As great as seeing Christine McVie was, I was still there to see Buckingham. He’s one of the most underrated guitarists/frontmen of his era but one who has aged so much better than his peers. Alex admitted during the show that she fancied him a little, but who was I to judge? So do I.
Tusk provokes a mixed response as an album/single track but performed live it’s excellent, with Buckingham strutting to all corners of the stage.
The band perform
The best part of the show came when the music slowed down and he went acoustic, performing an anguished version of the beautiful Never Going Back, which came shortly after the camera had zoomed in on him mastering the intricate, up-tempo tune of Big Love while still thumbing a baseline. It was quite mesmerising.
Stevie Nicks had her moments, particularly with Landslide, and her smoky voice held up better than last year, though some of the high notes remained out of reach. Mick Fleetwood did his customary drum solo during World Turning, and succeeded in perpetuating the stereotype that old English men are eccentric dandies.
Rumours has it that ‘The Mac’ are favourites to headline Glastonbury next year, and given the enduring popularity of the group I dare say they would draw a massive crowd.
I’m sure my Glastonbury buddies Jaime and Andi would be less than enthused by the prospect, but I won’t be there to drag them to see it, so they can go their own way.
Listening to the car radio on our regular journeys to and from the Twins Cities recently and I couldn’t help but notice the number of times presenters reminded people to take their chance to see the “fall colours” before the winter sets in.
Leaves change colour in Britain at this time every year and they’re just as pretty as the trees over here, but there is nowhere near the same level of clamouring to get down to Sherwood Forest come the autumn months.
Oooh look at the pretty colours
But it’s a big deal here, with radio stations and websites regularly running “fall color reports” that tell people what percentage of the trees have turned yellow/orange/red before they set out for a visit to their local forest or state park.
Alex and I went to see what all the fuss was about on Saturday by travelling to Maplewood State Park, about a 40 minute drive from Elbow Lake. It was a scorcher at the weekend, hitting 27 degrees, so as you might imagine we were not alone in having this idea and we were initially greeted by an overflowing car park.
We found a quieter place to park and set out on a hike around the lakes and wooded walks that make up the state park. We ended up hiking for just under three hours, sharing the pathways with campers, cyclists and even horse riders whose animals left plenty of pats for us to dodge as we walked.
What’s more, to help the lazier visitors, Maplewood has a scenic route for car drivers, allowing them to stop, pull down there windows and take a picture without having to leave their seat.
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As the pictures I have posted show, the scenery was spectacular. With the sun out the forest seemed ablaze at times with vivid red and orange mixing with the green still remaining on some of the trees, set against a backdrop of an azure blue sky. I began to understand why seeing autumnal forests is such a popular pastime among the locals.
While the colours get all the credit, just as important to the atmosphere is the smell of the wilting maple, basswood and oak trees, and the sound of the crisp leaves as they crumple underfoot, not to mention the scurrying of chipmunks and garter snakes beneath the long grass.
It was an immeasurably pleasant way to spend the day, but it’s different to the autumn I know and love.
As I walked around the park under the hot sun, my mind would drift to the nostalgia of my childhood: wrapping up against the wind in an unfashionable wax-coated duffel coat, squelching my way through soggy drifts of leaves in glens on the Isle of Man, eating toffee apples while watching a tatty “guy” being thrown on the bonfire on November 5.
Green, yellow, orange, red, blue…just indigo and violet needed for a rainbow.
Actually, my romanticised view of autumn actually sounds pretty miserable, certainly in comparison to the blazing sunshine and vivid colours being enjoyed here at the minute. I just can’t help but retain my preference that I require my autumns to be cold, windy, and sometimes wet.
Who knows, maybe my view on this will change in the next few years, and that’s not to say I’m complaining! I’m hardly going to turn my nose up at 27 degree weather at the end of September, particularly considering what is coming next. It’s fantastic that I can still leave the house in t-shirts and shorts and haven’t been forced to wrap up at all.
But to me, this isn’t autumn, it’s summer with orange trees. If anything it’s going to make the transition to winter even worse as there will be less of the mild to chilly weather that characterises British autumns to prepare us for the cold snap.
The view across one of the lakes at Maplewood State Park.
I think my state of mind might have been somewhat affected by watching the Ryder Cup over the weekend. The sight of the early morning mist as the sun rose over Gleneagles and the hills gave me my first pang of homesickness since I got here.
I’m well aware now that in a couple of months’ time I will rue these words, and I expect this is part of the reason why seeing the fall colours is so popular.
For Minnesotans, more so than for Americans living further south, we are in the last throes of what has been a bit of an Indian summer. In November, average temperature is expected to dip below freezing for the first time, where it is set to stay until March at the earliest, so who can blame them for making most of the sunshine?
Update 5.20pm: Alex has reminded me that this autumn has been unseasonably warm, so I could get the crappier weather I prefer next year…in fact the temperature has since dropped to 14 degrees, so it might be on the way sooner than I expected!
I was hit with a smorgasbord of American teen movie cliché* as we attended the Homecoming football game at Alex’s old school.
Crowds covering the bleachers, grills outside selling hot dogs and burgers, marching bands, cheerleaders, a half-time parade for the Homecoming King and Queen – stop me if this sounds familiar.
The view of the Knights’ bench from the bleachers.
I’m not really a fan of the phrase ‘school spirit’ but it really is fantastic how many people they get coming along to these games, and I can’t help but envy these kids for getting to play in front of hundreds of cheering fans, not to mention those living in more populous areas who play in front of thousands.
It’s a far cry from the one man and a dog crowds we had for our after-school football in the Isle of Man.**
And the spectators really do get into it as well. Some of Alex’s whoops almost had me bleeding from the ears, while others joined in with chants led by the cheerleaders and stomped their feet on the bleachers.
The crowd watching the game.
This isn’t the same quality of football as seen at high schools in Texas – Friday Night Lights country where high school football is practically a religion – but that doesn’t make it any less entertaining.
There were fumbles, there were interceptions, there were disallowed touchdowns, there were clutch fourth-down passes that brought roars. The match was as topsy-turvy as they come, so cheers one minute would be followed by groans the next.
It was also a blessed relief to watch a football match that doesn’t stop every 30 seconds for an advert break like in the NFL. The whole match was done in under two hours, which included a lengthy half-time parade.
The view before the night drew in.
The ultimate prize for high school teams is qualifying for the state championship. This actually happened in Alex’s senior year, with the West Central Area Knights going all the way to the final at the 64,000-capacity Metrodome in Minneapolis, where they sadly lost.
I can’t help but feel that kids back home could benefit from the incentive of playing for their schools in front of thousands at historic stadia like Wembley, Lord’s, Wimbledon, Twickenham, and Anfield.
However, school sports just don’t hold the same kind of allure in the UK, where the nearest professional team tends to be a matter of miles away. In the U.S it can be hundreds of miles, so it’s not surprising high school and college football is so popular.
Unfortunately for the Knights and their fans, they were to leave the field disappointed on this occasion, as they were on the receiving end of an 18-10 reverse.
It was a shame, as they were attacking for much of the game and had chances to win, including the disallowed touchdown.
The half-time Homecoming parade.
For me though, it was another quintessential American experience checked off my list.
I’m very glad I did it now, as I can’t see myself sitting in the stands when the mercury begins its plunge towards zero.
* My stereotypical impression of Friday night high school gridiron has been completely ruined by Not Another Teen Movie (see below), so I had to get over some initial disappointment that there were no comatose offensive linesman being propped up by their team-mates, no Mr T on the sidelines and no inappropriate slow clap from a fan in the crowd.
** New rule: If I talk about “football” in America, I mean American football. If I talk about it in England/Europe, I mean proper football…you know, using feet.
I’ve been a journalist for more than seven years and during this time there have been numerous exclusive exposes I’ve written of which I’m particularly proud, yet the only work people ever talk to me about is my Kate Bush comment piece.
To recap, back at the end of March I bought my mum tickets to one of Kate Bush’s 22 gigs in London, her first live performances in 30 years, as a mother’s day/birthday present from the family.
Tickets to all of the performances sold out in less than 15 minutes, yet I was one of the lucky few to get through the online ticketing system. Available seats genuinely disappear before your eyes as you go through the system, and in my frantic rush to get to the confirmation I put my name as the purchaser of the tickets, instead of my mum’s.
Mum Annette and stepdad Robin outside the Hammersmith Apollo – before the Kate Bush gig…would they get in?
For most other gigs this wouldn’t be an issue, but as part of strict anti-touting rules, people would only be admitted to the concert if the lead purchaser is present, so you can’t alter the names on the tickets.
This wouldn’t have ordinarily been a problem, as I was living in London at the time and could easily have shown my face at the Hammersmith Apollo to prove I existed and that the tickets were intended for my mum and stepfather.
However, at the time I bought the tickets I was going through the visa process to move to Minnesota, so there was a very real chance I wouldn’t be in the country. And, as it turned out, my visa was approved and I moved across around six weeks before the concert was due to take place.
I’d attempted to get the concert organisers to relax their rules, as the article I wrote for This is Money shows. The article garnered huge attention – at one point it was the top result in Google when you searched for “Kate Bush tickets”, even ahead of the ticket sales website.
I was inundated with hundreds of emails from people in similar situations once the article was published, many of whom were asking for advice about what they should do, while one of two even offered to go to the Apollo disguised as me to accompany my mum just so they could see Kate Bush.
The sign greeting ticket-holders
But rather than pimping out my mum, I thought it might be instead best to put our trust on the door staff being reasonable human beings, and realising that we were victims of circumstance, rather than nefarious touters.
As such, I sent my mum several photocopies of my identification to prove that they knew me, the lead purchaser, and I also sent them a video of myself explaining the fact that at the time I booked the tickets there was a chance I wouldn’t be in the country – as I wasn’t about to put off moving here for six weeks just to ensure they got into the concert.
I had bought my mum tickets for the concert on Saturday, September 20. Thankfully, they were allowed in, and had a fantastic time.
My mum told me they spoke to a man on sentry duty outside the Hammersmith Apollo, who apparently showed genuine interest in our story and were impressed by the elaborate lengths I’d gone to to send them my identification.
Although they seemed to be vigilant for anyone who had bought their tickets from touts, he told my mum: “We can tell when people are genuine, and you clearly are,” before escorting them to the front of the queue.
So after almost six months of hand-wringing and worrying that my foolish ticket-booking error could deprive my mum of her mother’s day present, they got their kick inside the Apollo.
As for the many people who contacted me about this issue, I firstly must re-iterate how important it is to read through the terms before you make bookings. If you do make a genuine mistake however and aren’t in the country on the day of the event, do all you can to show it was an accidental one and pray for an understanding sentry.
But the controversial ticketing policy doesn’t appear to have stopped touting anyway. A report in the Independent said that touts have bought tickets and sold all but one of them at a inflated prices, then gone to the concerts with the buyers!
Adam Uren 