New Jersey

As we left the scrubby outer suburbs of Philadelphia for the Garden State, I couldn’t help but think that we had neglected to give this large and historic city its dues. But like so often in life, it was the passage of time rather then the exploration of desire that dictated the future, and we had to leave.

It was whilst we crossed the border on Highway 30 that a decision was made. We would confront the Atlantic Ocean for the first time at Atlantic City. Why? Well this was the setting for Scorsese’s ‘Boardwalk Empire’, a HBO television series that had become a guilty pleasure for both of us when staying in motels cross country, so it seemed like an appropriate and relevant place for us to end to this first phase of our journey. So with thoughts of 1920’s grandeur, and an in-suppressible desire to catch our first glimpse of the ocean since California, we ventured on.

As we approached Atlantic City, the demise and decay of its various facades became increasingly obvious. Above us thick fluffy clouds hid the sun and cast deep shadows on all that we could see. Around us the tallest buildings stood like defiant structures that had recently survived a bomb explosion; each standing in a state of disrepair, each separated by wasteland and each seemingly inhabited by a community seemingly forgotten by a struggling economy. This is not what we were expecting.

Soon enough we could not travel any further east. We had made it. We had driven coast to coast and regardless of whatever happened next, nobody could take that away from us. This felt satisfying.

Point that we hit the Atlantic

After a very short celebratory walk past a collection of dishevelled fisherman who speculatively cast their lines into the bleak ocean from an unsafe boardwalk, we returned to the Beast. We then turned right and started the next phase of our journey toward the southern most tip of mainland USA, and Key West.

This route immediately took us through the current centre of this tired old city, which only appears to exist in order to remove the meagre contents of people’s wallets via its countless ugly casino’s. Honestly, all I can say about this place is that if Reno is Las Vegas’s tired older cousin, then Atlantic City is its drunk, clapped out, and now incontinent great grandmother. It really is such a shame considering its notorious and swinging past.

Atlantic City Boardwalk

Our route south then took us along the coast toward the southern most tip of New Jerseys' peninsular. Here we would eventually catch a ferry across to Delaware after a short stay in a motel, in which I would try a little experiment.

Upon checking in, I casually mentioned that I was a travel journalist writing a book about America. This was of course a lie, but it did provoke an entertaining reaction…

Immediately, the hotelier (motelier?) called two elderly people who I can only guess were his parents. He then proceeded to send them up to our motel room. Then, with a very genuine and concerned look on his face, he asked me to sit in my car for 10 minutes, just so that our room could be “double checked”.

Eventually, and with a little trepidation I was granted access. The room had obviously just been cleaned, a fact that just goes to show the fake reality that some of these establishments construct for visiting journalists.

Next time I am fearful of cleanliness, I will have to try this again.


© All Images By Paul