In which photographer SEBASTIAN JOHN, new to America, climbs aboard Greyhound with his camera and rides. Start the summer travel season by reading his impressions and viewing an asap video slide show of his journey.
Coming to America: On the bus
In India, the United States is everywhere. It's on television. It's on the radio. Every street kid in every town has an American flag on his Tommy Hilfiger knockoff T-shirt. It was tough to tell where Hollywood fantasy ended and American reality began.
I grew up in India, Africa and the Middle East, but never traveled west. That changed when I fell in love and married an American. Suddenly, the United States became my home. I wanted to see all of my new country, and the cheapest way to do that was by ...
Greyhound bus.
My wife, a die-hard coastal dweller, agreed to my mad plan. To her, the American interior was one big question mark that held Texas, Chicago and lots of corn. I figured we should go find out.
Ask your average American about Greyhound (or, to some, "The Dog") and you might get a sneer, sometimes coupled with a groan.
Coming from India, where cheap transportation often equals wooden seats and loud honking, I needed to find out why. The Greyhound sounded like an inexpensive, comfortable -- and, perhaps, life-changing -- way to experience the U.S.
We got a great deal too -- $165 each, with more than a month's worth of stops. Beat that, Internet.
The first night on the Greyhound, the cleanliness and padded reclining seats were a luxury compared to many buses in India.
En route, though, misery unfolded.
At every major stop, passengers have to leave the bus and board again, even if it's 3 a.m.. This is the worst thing about riding: If you can deal with it, you can enjoy it. If you can't, avoid it.
But whatever else happened, we saw my new country.
In 30 days, after traveling 3,000 miles and visiting 12 states, I learned that you don't need lots of money to see America.
Some impressions of American cities by the Greyhound-riding Sebastian John:
NEW YORK: I consider myself a city boy, but New York City intimidated me. It lives on 24-hour-a-day head rush. I walked by a man sitting and drinking coffee outside a café. He was barking on his cell phone: "Don't call me here, I'm busy."
WASHINGTON: Waiting for the bus to leave D.C., I tasted the true diversity of America. We chatted with a middle-aged white nurse, a Ghanaian from London and a hunter from Alabama. The Ghanaian claimed to have eaten cat, a delicacy in his country, and the Alabama man compared its taste to possum he shot in the forest. The nurse and I had both tried snake, and concluded that it did, in fact, taste just like chicken. We all had a good laugh and I felt a little more connected to the American mosaic.
ST. LOUIS: When it comes to monuments, I am choosy. My wife was shocked when I said I don't find the Taj Mahal so inspiring. Yet I truly loved St. Louis's 630-foot Gateway Arch. Standing under it, the arch looked as if it was in perpetual motion, and the steel assumed a different personality with every change of light and weather.
As we left town, young rowdies yelled at fellow passengers. Justice was swift: At a gas station in the middle of nowhere, the driver kicked one off the bus. Why? He drew all over the seat in front of him in black pen, and someone reported it. Said the driver: "If anyone else feels artistic, I won't just kick you off. I'll call the cops."
DENVER: I remember Denver for the blink-and you'll-miss-it African American Cowboy Museum and vociferous Denver Broncos fans screaming through the streets on game day. In India, cowboys are restricted to John Wayne and I realized that is what most Americans see, too. It turns out African-Americans invented many famous rodeo techniques and were just as fast on the trigger as Billy the Kid.
ARIZONA: After the Midwestern flatlands, I was unprepared for the Grand Canyon. Standing with tourists from half a dozen nations, I realized that all of us did only two things. First the jaw dropped in amazement, then the camera shutters clicked.
LAS VEGAS: After Arizona, I noticed a strange, yellowish-orange glow in the sky. Then, several miles down the road, I spotted a distinct halo of light in the distance. We were still 75 miles away.
I wondered how the city paid its electric bills.The answer, of course, is that Las Vegas never sleeps and tourists spend millions every moment to keep it running. While brooding over five dollars lost in the slots, I heard a scream and saw a middle-aged woman hugging the staff. She had just won a BMW.
LOS ANGELES: A month after starting our trip from the Atlantic coast, we ended up on the Pacific Ocean in LA. One day, I took out my camera to shoot the Hollywood sign and two ladies with perfect bodies slowed down, arched their necks and pirouetted to face my camera.
Sadly for them, I was just a tourist. They would have to wait another day for their big break.
See the video here.
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asap contributor Sebastian John, a photographer, is a frequent AP contributor.
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