Niagara Falls
0839hrs
Here we are on the train, which will take us back to New York City, where we catch another one to Philadelphia. All in all, that's a long time on trains.
Going to Canada was remarkably easy. We got to customs on this side, where there were rows of cars driving past booths and across the border. We asked a customs official what to do, and after recognising our accents and praising our fine beer, he told us that the pedestrian entrance to Canada was round the other side of that brick building over there.
His word proved reliable, and we went through the turnstile expecting to be strip-searched, or, at the very least, made to walk through a metal doorway with a flashing light on it.
In fact we found ourselves on a long path, and we just walked down it and into Canada. And that was it.
True, there was a customs of a sort at the other end of the path, but by that point we had for some time been separated from the Canadian street by but a short wall, the stepping over of which would have been an easy matter indeed. We didn't want to smuggle any drugs, bombs or rabid dogs into the country, of course, but if we had, it wouldn't have been difficult.
Customs consisted of a man at a desk asking to see our passports.
"Have you been to Canada within the last six months?"
"No."
"How long will you be in Canada for?"
"Oo, about twenty minutes."
As it happened, we were there for over an hour. I could probably be done for entering the country under false pretences.
The only other thing we had to do was put a quarter in a slot, and once again on the way back. A two-way trip to Canada, then, cost us fifty cents each, compared to £350 to America. But by my calculation that's about a tenner a day either way, so which was the better value for money all swings on which is the nicest country.
Naturally, having only experienced her hospitality for a little over sixty minutes, I can't speak about Canada - or, more specifically, Ontario - with much authority, but my first impressions of the place are favourable. There are rows of neatly trimmed trees and painstakingly planned flowerbeds all over the place, and not a piece of litter to be seen. It's just generally very neat, and the impression you get is that Canada has a very strict mum.
We didn't see any Mounties, but that can't be helped.
You supposedly get a better view of the falls from that side, but we didn't, although we didn't go as close to them as we did in America. Neither do they look particularly spectacular lit up; there's just a bloke in the house over the road shining flashlights at them in all different colours, as if they're boring in white, which is a bit like drawing humorous moustaches on the faces in Mount Rushmore to add a bit of interest.
My second in command set out last night with a blister on his left foot, and promptly fell down a pothole injuring the right one as well. However he's making good recovery, and morale is high, as are food supplies. Conditions are favourable, it being another lovely day with not a cloud in the sky (except all those ones up there, but they're lovely and fluffy and don't really count).
Same day
Approaching Syracuse
1135hrs
The Stars and Stripes are everywhere in this country. Almost every house has the nation's flag protruding from it somewhere, which is presumably patriotism but almost seems like just the reverse - it's as if they consider their country so unmemorable, they'd better keep reminding you where you are.
See, there's another one. Look, out the window, on that building there. No, you missed it.
Another funny thing about the houses here is that most of them are made of wood. Possibly the parable of the three little pigs has yet to reach these shores, but you'd have thought that in a place where earthquakes rip the town in half as a matter of course, these things would be built to last.
I like long train journeys. You get to sit there, watching the world go by, reading for hours and thinking lovely thoughts. Me, I'd be quite happy to spend the whole holiday on a train.
Same day
Somewhere between Newark and Philadelphia
1811hrs
The train arrived in New York on time, and we've changed without incident to the one to Philadelphia. I've finished reading another book. I refuse to start another one this journey, I must try to make them last. I'd write a postcard, but I'm not sure where I put them and I don't want to go rummaging around in my bag.
All of which means I don't have a lot to do. "But you said you like just sitting on trains and admiring the view," I hear you cry, detecting the flaw in my reasoning. Nor do I deny making any such statement. That was, however, almost seven hours ago, and if anything productive has been accomplished today (and very little has), it is the proof by experimentation that you can indeed have too much of a good thing.
Long train journeys, as a rule, if the voice of television is anything to go by, are enlivened by all the lights going out as the train passes through a tunnel, followed by a shot, a scream, and all the lights coming back on again, at which point one of the passengers is dead, and our heroes get to spend the rest of their journey working out whodunit. So far, however, not a single passenger has been murdered. Very inconsiderate, if you ask me.
I suppose I'll just look out the window for a bit.
Same day
Philadelphia
2241hrs
Here we are at last, booked into another youth hostel. It's rather on the outskirts of Philadelphia, but on the other hand there's not much to see in Philly anyway. We came here in a taxi, which makes four such rides so far, enough, I think, to compare and contrast.
The problem I have with cabs is the tipping process. Not an ethical problem, you understand; I've nothing against giving people more than they charge for their services for no reason whatsoever, though it makes very little sense to me. Tipping's never really entered my life much before - not because it's particularly an American thing, I think, just because I don't usually go in cabs.
The problem I have with tipping is more of a logistic one, or rather one of etiquette. How is one supposed to go about the process?
The first cab we went in, being inexperienced, we failed to tip. The driver tried to hint that perhaps we might like to - his angle centred on the fact that there was a flat rate from the airport, and he pointed out with unconcealed significance how much more it would have cost if the meter was running. His hints, however, fell on deaf ears.
Our next cab was shared with a couple of people we met, and the problem of tipping was solved by the fact that the easiest way of splitting the fare between us meant giving the driver several dollars more than he charged.
Nor was tipping a problem in cab number three - the fare came to five dollars; I handed over six $1 bills. The fare was paid, and the tip was included with an appropriate subtlety.
The problem really only arises when you don't have the exact change, as was the case with cab four. I had no option but to hand over a $20 bill for a $9 ride; I clearly didn't mean for him to keep the lot, so of course the driver gave me $11 in change.
This is where I had a minor dilemma. The fact was that this was the best driver we'd had - he'd been friendly and polite, and I would have liked to have tipped him. But what could I do? Hand some of the change back? Possibly this is the protocol, or possibly not. I don't know, so he went without a tip.
I'll figure it out one day.
