Each year I go on a footloose and fancy-free safari. This has to be in a new country. I never hesitated in deciding where-to-go or how-to-go. I only face a wall when it comes to visa. Few countries have their visa offices in Pakistan. Invariably, all of them ask if the visa seeker has an ‘invitation’. Who would invite a person like me?

This year I wanted to go to Chile. When I contacted their local Honorary Consulate, I was advised to go to Moscow or Singapore for a visa. I did not go there but to Los Angeles (LA), which was already in my plan. I reached LA in the third week of June this year. To save money, I took a worst route. It involved a 12 hours transit at Bangkok (Thailand) and another 10 hours at Seoul (Korea) in addition to flying time of about 22 hours. This was very uncomfortable making me a bit knackered, half-asleep with swollen ankles and a stiff neck. Immigration formalities were, however, brief. Pretty soon I found myself out of the airport terminal.

Thanks to Internet, I already had a bed reserved in a dormitory in the Venice Area. Also, I had a printout giving me step-by-step instructions on how to reach there. I easily found my way using the under-ground rail and a bus. Next day, I went to the Chilean Consulate. I was asked to submit my passport, bank statements and hotel reservation along with a visa fee of US$ 88. The visa would be stamped after two weeks only if the documents were in order. A long wait and uncertainty dampened my spirits to see Chile. Instead, I went for Southern States of USA where I had not been before.

USA is a wonderful country. All information could be obtained and reservations made over phone, fax or Internet. Comparing cost and convenience, travel by bus was the best option. I purchased a 15 days ‘whenever and where-ever’ pass for US $ 315 from a world renowned bus company, Greyhound. Discarding a few items from my sack to make it light, I braced myself for a long journey. During the next 15 days, I crossed six southern states covering more than 3,000 kms as the crow flies.

SAN DIEGO, CA.

To start with, I boarded an express bus for San Diego, about 125 kms away. In about two hours, the bus reached there. I look around for the Information Centre. It was nothing but a billboard containing names of hostels, their locations and charges. Free phones were installed to encourage contacts. A hostel located nearby suited my budget. I noted down its address in block letters on a piece of paper. Just by showing it, I got directions like "two blocks up, one block left". When I reached there, I found it congested and noisy. The manager, Ms Barbara, inquired around and managed to get me a single room for $25 in an hostel one block down, two blocks right. These friendly hostels, called back-packers, would help the weary travellers in any way they can.

By far, the main attraction was San Diego Zoo. Besides, a large variety of animals, there were simulated Rain Forests, Tiger Rivers and Gorilla Tropics. A glimpse of Panda Family, in bamboo woods, required at least two hours wait as the queue was long and slow. The zoo had introduced latest technology. Hand-held, digital audio-players enabled the guests to walk, listen and learn at selected zoo areas.

There was a lot to see in and around San Diego like museums, parks, science centres and beaches. In the evening, all streets were filled up with a variety of tourists – white, brown, yellow and black. A stroll in its hemming bazaars could be a lifetime experience. While moving around, I saw a man with a cap and a beard. I asked him if he was a Muslim.

"Yes, I’m. Please give me some money for food," he pleaded.

"Oh my God, believe me, I was myself going to ask you for a buck or two."

"Raybon Glasses, Olympus Camera, Nike Shoe, you look not like one."

I felt elevated, reached my pocket and passed on to him a fistful of nickels and dimes.

After staying for two days, I boarded the bus for Yuma, Arizona, 183 kms away. First row in the bus was reserved for elderly. I was not that old and so took a window seat in the second row. In an air-conditioned comfort and through tinted glass, I could appreciate lakes, canyons, deserts, arches and monuments. Many spots looked familiar and I remembered having seen a number of movies on Wild West like El Dorado, Apache and Geronimo.

YUMA, AZ

Yuma was a small town situated on the Colorado River. Tourists were flocking in mostly in their RVs (Recreational Vehicles or trailers). The city was ideal for camping and served as a base for outdoor activities. Hardcore hikers and rock climbers could test their muscles at granite rocks and domes.

I stayed in Desert Grove Motel. In the morning I had a traditional American Breakfast: Freshly squeezed orange juice, hot blueberry muffin, toast, scrambled eggs and coffee. It certainly increased my cholesterol level and I went for a daylong stroll to lower it.

TUCSON, AZ

I continued my travel in Arizona. I reached Tucson (pronounced too-sawn) in about 6 hours. It was about 320 kms away from my last stop. It was pleasant to see, along the road, cactus plants with thick fleshy stems. Belonging to the same family was a giant saguaro with multi-arms standing alone like a guard in the harsh desert.

I took a shuttle bus, which in 45 minutes travelled through the town and its adjoining parks. The bus passed by rodeo ground and the guide told in long rambling narrative about a grand parade being held in February each year. It was said to the world’s longest non-mechanized parade consisting of buggies, carts, wagons, buckboards and stagecoaches.

EL PASO, TX

In about six hours and covering an area of 385 kms, I reached El Paso, Texas. Though real Texas was long away, I felt uneasy. I had read warnings like "Don't mess with Texas", "South Texas-where everything sticks, stings or sucks," and "This is the place your mother warned you about".

It was 5:30 AM, too early to check in. To while away time, I went to the Food Counters and ordered for veggie food: soap, salad and sandwich. After having a hearty breakfast, I consulted the Information Centre and contacted Motel Gateway. I was asked to come straight to Stanton Road though it was still early to check-in. Later, I learned that all motels in that region offer ‘come early & stay late’ facilities.

El Paso was a dry, sunny and warm city. It sprawled across desert and rambling foothills. A walk in the town would show that it had a blend of Red Indian, Spanish and Mexican culture. It looked like a settlement of legendary Spanish Monks, banditos, revolutionaries, gunslingers, rustlers and gamblers.

"All you can eat for US$ 5" was strong enough stimulus to jump at. I was doubly rewarded as it was a Mexican Restaurant using chili in curries. When I told the manager that I was used to chili, he smiled and gave me a tour of the kitchen. Chilies varying from half inch Lilliputian to 12-inch whopper were on display graded as spicier, hotter, fiercer and tongue-blisterer. The food was very delicious just like I used to have back at home.

El Paso was on the edge of the US-Mexican Border. One could walk into Mexico in about five minutes. I preferred ‘The Border Jumper’, a red and green trolley charging US $ 12. After checking my visa, the Trolley Company wrapped my left hand with a paper band signifying that I was a bona-fide tourist. There was no visa for the border town. The trolley crossed a bridge on Rio Grande River and rolled into Juárez on the side of Mexico. It was like travel in a time-tunnel. I suddenly found myself in a dirty and crowded city. Many beggars, hookers and peddlers pestered me. Further, shopkeepers tried hard to sell their products like leather goods, blankets, rugs and candles. My response was straight & simple, "No money". I returned after about six hours to El Paso and watched TV in my room. I was amazed to hear my country songs in ‘Punjabi’ and ‘Saraiki’ as life history of Alexander the Great was being narrated.

SAN ANTONIO, TX

I spent another night in the bus but had no loss of sleep as the bus was equipped with reclining seats and headrests. Travelling 635 kms in about 11 hours, I reached San Antonio. I got a spacious room in a motel for only $ 15 dollar. Later, a light walk in the town revealed a strong German influence on its architecture. There were many restaurants offering German Cuisine and were blaring music which sounded like German – hard-hitting. In the Centre of the downtown was a historical site, Alamo. "Victory or Death", a battle cry, had originated here. Hundreds of freedom fighters scarified their lives. John Wayne, the legendary actor, was a hero in a film based on that event.

In the evening I went for a River Walk on a gorgeous paved track. Being well below street-level, it was reached by steps. Also there were river crossings by humpbacked stone bridges. The track was more than two miles long. Along the landscaped walkways, there were restaurants offering ethnic foods with live music.

HOUSTON, TX

My next stop was rather near. Houston was only 208 kms away. This was a chicken feed considering that in Texas every thing was bigger and better. Expressways have big sweeping interchanges, not the tighter ones observed elsewhere. Roads seemed to have at least one more lane.

The bus passed by many ranches having longhorn cattle and bison. In Texas, towns were either Cow Town or Oil Town. Houston was an Oil Town. The bus drove past miles and miles of oil refineries. Once in the city, I took a tram tour of Johnson Space Center, which was very informative.

NEW ORLEANS, LA

I spent yet another night travelling to New Orleans, 393 kms away. From the bus terminal, I contact Marquetta Hostel. I was advised to take a taxi to reach the hostel. Standing near the terminal gate were two cabbies, both hefty blacks called African-Americans. I asked them, " What would be maximum charge to Marquetta at Carondelet Street?" "Hey man, you pay by meter, whatever it says. This is the law," they shot back. When I insisted, they quoted $ 8. It seemed on the high side as the hostel was not that far. I went back to free phone and told the hotel manager about the eight bucks. "You are being fleeced. Just wait by the Information Centre," replied the manager and in another two minutes he arrived in his car to pick me up. Viva la hospitality.

Called "Little France", New Orleans had unique culture, language, food, music and festivities. It was a Cajun country. Persecuted for their Catholic religion, the Cajuns were first driven out of France before settling in Louisiana. Perhaps it was this struggle that allowed them to turn soup into gumbo, the washboard into a musical instrument and the swamps into a paradise. I tasted gumbo, a sort of soup thickened with file (fee-lay), a powdered sassafras leaf, and filled with shrimps, oysters and crabs. (Other additives could be ham, chicken, turkey, duck and sausage as matter of choice.)

No words could be sweeter than "Yes, you can go there by walking". It saved a lot of money except for frequent doses of soft drinks and juices to compensate for the sweat. I went to French Quarters which was the oldest and most famous part of New Orleans. In about two to three hours, I went through the area looking at cathedrals, old type cafes, antique shops, art galleries, pubs, historic hotels and sites like "The Haunted House". (Legend holds that, to this day, groans and screams invade the night air.)

New Orleans was famous for its Mardi Gras celebration or carnival. In a museum, I saw films and posters displaying the street parades by million masked and frolicking participants. Another peculiarity of New Orleans was jazz, often heralded as the only art from natives to US. Louis Armstrong made "Dixieland" tune popular throughout the world.

Strange but true, New Orleans cemeteries were one of the biggest attractions. Those "walled cities of the dead" fascinated the visitors. The dead were buried in "tombs" above ground level. The practice was dictated by the marshy soil. Graves would often fill with water before they could be closed. The only solution was to make them high enough to resist the water.

I lost track of time. Suddenly, I found out that only one day remained out of 15 days bus pass. My pockets also became lighter. I rushed to Jacksonville in 14 hours, the longest bus ride ever. The bus went through the fertile land of Alabama State. The famous movie, "Uncle Tom’s Cabin" was based on the history of this area. A stop at Panama City was quite rewarding. It looked like an art town with an on-going jazz festival. Tallahassee was next. It exemplified not only the influence of the Red Indians, but also that of the Spanish, French and English who occupied the area in succession. When the bus entered Florida State, a great land diversity came into view like marshy land, lush green forests and shimmering lakes. The sun was rising when I reached Jacksonville. My plan to cross the USA from south to south was complete.

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