Grand Canyon & Flagstaff, Arizona and Austin, Texas

North America has long been a land of migration and discovery. From the outset of European colonisation of the 'New World', and even further back among pre-Columbus Native American tribes, exploration across its vast spaces has been intrinsic in the history of the continent. More recently, in the 19th century, the phenomenon of the American railroad was the driving force behind the United States' expansion and economic development, and during the 20th century the "Great American Road" emerged at the very heart of the country's mythology, idealised in books, films, and perhaps most readily, in music. Before I left home, I created a mammoth "America" playlist (with sub-playlists for different regions of the country - cool, no?), and it's been interesting how many of the songs very explicitly capture exactly what I'm doing, often namedropping the very places I'm headed towards. Part of the appeal I see in backpacking around the USA lies not only in the the places I'm visiting, but the travel itself in between. In that respect, when I boarded the bus in Indio, California, and set off to a new state for the first time, it felt like things were only just getting started.

Before I delve into Arizona, I'll briefly allude to a popular tourist destination notable by its absence from my trip. In Scotland I was told by one or two people things like, "Aw, you've got to go to Vegas, man". Well, I've never quite understood its attraction. Without meaning to come off all self-righteous or anything, I hate the idea of Las Vegas, and everything it seems to represent. I realise for some people it would be one of the first places on their list, but in discussions with other travelers none of those that visited the city very much enjoyed it, so I don't think I've missed out. Instead I opted to head straight for Flagstaff, the nearest town to the Grand Canyon. The journey through Arizona's red and harsh landscape felt alien but also strangely recognisable; the environment is dotted with mishapen cacti that are evocative of Western films and classic images of the South West. But the trip also exposed a less romantic side of the American road as the bus approached the shiny and generic state capital, Phoenix. We were welcomed into the sixth-largest city in the US by countless large billboards for the Marines, Gun Shows, a swingers hotline (no, seriously), and terrible looking movies.

Surroundings were much cooler in the small but lively mountain city of Flagstaff. The university town is a popular base due to its proximity to the Grand Canyon, but in itself it has lots of appeal. Legendary Route 66, which once ran from Chicago to Los Angeles, cuts right through the downtown. Although the road has been singificantly shortened since its glory days, it still looms large in American folklore, apparently even symbolising for some the nation as it once was. Running parallel are the train tracks around which the town was once built, physically and economically. Flagstaff was one of the many new towns out west whose growth was fuelled by the railroads in the 1880s. In the clean and tidy streets surrounding these two great institutions of American travel and cultural life are mostly cafes, micro-breweries, and small hotels. Throw the magnificent San Francisco peaks into the mix, along with the site of Pluto's discovery at the Lowell observatory, in addition to the rich local Native American heritage, and the amazing uniqueness of this town becomes clear.

At my hostel I enjoyed meeting a few people doing similar tours of America, including a few Brits, really for the first time since I started traveling. One or two seemed to be doing more or less the reverse route to me, our paths crossing for the only time before we head thousands of miles in opposite directions. We stumbled upon a free food event held by a local Christian group, where in tandem with the meal you were welcome to, ehh, destroy a car. The group were all really friendly and welcoming, and the guy running the event explained some of the valuable work they were doing in the community. I have no idea what the point of the car destruction was, though, but they seemed to have a lot of fun doing it. Later that night seven of us from the hostel spent the night at a couple of nearby pubs. Among our party was a London Underground train driver and a Canadian girl with a passion for the Scottish music scene - bands like Frightened Rabbit, Twilight Sad, and We Were Promised Jetpacks. Another was a guy named Sam from Connecticut who left home aged eighteen to roam around the US for two years with a friend and their dog. He was in Flagtsaff to look at the university campus to help decide on a college to enrol at. His decision to wait a few years to figure things out before committing tens of thousands of dollars to a college course made a lot of sense, and has been a recurring story among many young Americans I've met. Such an huge expense makes me wonder how anyone could ever afford to do an arts subject like History. And worryingly the UK has already started in that direction. We're very lucky to have free tuition in Scotland, for now anyway.

Sam had a lot of passionate opinions about his country, many of them scathingly critical. He was not the first to comment on the nation's ruthless individualism. In conversations people have not necessarily regarded it as a negative characteristic, however, but they have ackowledged how pervasive it is in the country. A key dimension of individualism in the United States is seemingly the notion that "once you reach college age" you are no longer bound to your home town or your family, and are wholly free to shape your own life, at least in theory. This point may appear obvious, and the same as in any other country, but it does seem to have a stronger resonance in America, inherent in the nation's fundamental conception of "freedom". Indeed, a key facet of the "great open road" mythology seems to be exactly that - that not only America's purported values but also its sheer vastness gives an individual the freedom to leave their old life behind and head for a place where nobody knows their name or their family, where they are judged as an individual and not by their background. Whether this promise actually operates in practice, I'm not sure. Perhaps I'm making too much of what two or three people have told me, but I think these are interesting points to raise nonetheless.
One thing I can deduce with certainty from my discussions with various different people is how deeply divided country this is, a fact which I think is observable without visiting here. How could a nation of 300 million people be anything else? The majority of the people I've met have confounded one American stereotype of the ignorant, insular, and loud patriot. Some are actually very disillusioned with many aspects of American society, while perhaps remaining positive about some elements. Nonetheless, an intrusive patriotism is still ubiquitous in some places here, perhaps not among many people I've met, but certainly as you drive around a town or city. The star-spangled banner is everywhere; car dealerships fly staggeringly giant American flags, appearing to command allegiance. "America" is clearly not just a country but a remarkably powerful ideology, something almost religious.

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Anyway, on my second day in Flagstaff I headed to the Grand Canyon. An interesting thing about the Canyon is that you can't actually see inside it until about 20 metres from the rim. You drive along a forest road that is perilously close to the edge, without revealing the marvel beneath and beyond. Then, suddenly, its overwhelming size and incredibleness hits you all at once. I had expected to be impressed, but I had also anticipated an unchanging red, dry, and barren landscape. What surprised me was the marvellous variety of life and colour of the several views on offer. One hiking path weaved down the yellow and stony cliffside, flush with thick green trees and the last remnants of winter snowfall. The giant Canyon rocks are not only red, but have layers of violet, blue, and orange. Its awe-striking hugeness makes it difficult to judge depth and the relative distance between different peaks.  It was unlike anything I've seen before, and definitely lives up to its reputation.

Next on the itinerary was an ominous 30 hour train journey from Tucson, Arizona to Austin, Texas, which I took because it was cheaper than the equivalent bus journey(s). Although I was only there briefly, it was clear that Tucson is very different to Phoenix, as a cafe fridge magnet "I'd rather live in denial than live in Phoenix", confirmed. I had hoped to see some of scenic southern New Mexico, which would partly make up for not stopping there. But unfortunately when I first awoke we were already in Texas, where the view from the incredibly slow train remained much the same for the next eighteen hours and several hundred miles. I arrived in Austin feeling physically and mentally drained.

Fortunately I was soon at the home of two friendly couchsurfers, sisters Carolyn and Carissa Cone. The Cones really went out of their way to show me around and give me the best Austin experience. They seem to love having guests, and were enthusiastic to make another European contact before they venture there later in the year for some traveling of their own. Hopefully I managed to sell Scotland to them. During my stay in Austin, perhaps the most 'Texan' pastime I experienced was eating lots of tasty barbeque food. And it's true what they say, in Texas restaurants, portions are big. One of the highlights of my time there was a balmy afternoon we spent having a BBQ in Carolyn and Carissa's front yard. We also visited their hometown of Smithville, which is absolutely quintessential Small Town USA. Scenes from Terrence Mallick's The Tree of Life and a 1990s film with Sandra Bullock were shot there. We spat from a bridge into the Colorado River for good luck, and I watched Carolyn and Carissa's brother shoot a gun into the woods behind their parents house, which was a bit scary to be honest. Back in Austin, we visited the grandiose State Capitol Building, the hip University of Texas campus, took a stroll through Zilker Park, and I made my post-knee operation tennis comeback against Carissa on the grounds of their apartment (which even has a swimming pool and sauna). In between times I enjoyed just relaxing with the girls and their cool friends and flatmates, as well as their affectionate pug dog Jake.

Austin is often regarded as its own locus within Texas, more eclectic and politically liberal than the rest of the state, encapsulated in its mantra "Keep Austin Weird". I had the city on my mind around the time I left home after watching Richard Linklater's brilliant Austin-based film Slacker, and its oddball characters and rambling monologues definitely give off that vibe. Probably the biggest appeal in visiting the city, however, was for its famous live music scene. At the music hub of 6th Street, Carissa and I took in some jazz, rhythm & blues, piano duals, and indie rock. The next night at the Continental Club on South Congress with Carolyn, we danced to a fantastic band playing folk, bluegrass, and rock 'n roll. Upon hearing such amazing American roots music played live, I felt I was now experiencing one of my main reasons for coming to the country. Nonetheless, I never fully believed Austin's bold claim to be "live music capital of the world". My next stop was, after all, was New Orleans.