Kept awake by goats...

As I lay awake in my yurt in the foothills of Turkmenistan's Kopet Dag mountains, dangerously close to the Iranian border and, therefore, within range of Trump’s and Netanyahu's missiles which might at any moment rain down upon me accidentally if the ceasefire doesn't hold, I can hear the gentle sound of bells tinkling quietly and likely coming from a herd of goats either passing through or simply milling around a few yards away. It's early evening, the sun has yet to go down and the noise, if you can call it that, has the desired soporific effect. At some stage I fall asleep and when I find myself awake an hour or two later, the bells are still there but now they are becoming irksome and I wish they would stop. I am lying on my back staring up at the conical roof of my albeit temporary home, but when I turn my head to the right and notice police siren blue lights I remember that I am only yards away from PNC Park, the Pittsburgh Pirates' stadium in, yes, you guessed it, Pittsburgh PA. I am lying in bed, room 412, of the Residence Inn by Marriott.

All week I have enjoyed the delicious sleepiness brought about by jet lag which has seen me in bed by nine o'clock every night, waking briefly, perhaps, in the early hours, but then eventually drifting off and regaining consciousness at a decent hour; but not tonight. The bells are non-existent and so are the goats and while Pittsburgh isn't London and the sound of traffic is not the issue as the streets of this city are empty, I know for a fact that as the flight-induced sleepiness of the past few days has gently lessened, the reason I am restless and awake has plenty to do with sugary drinks, greasy fries and oversized portions which I have been subjected to, a far cry from a delicate mushroom risotto or a dainty plate of Indian dahl and rice, my usual midweek cuisine.

Where the bells were coming from, I didn't know until I started an investigation which led me to the hotel room's bathroom; it might have been dripping water or something to do with the pipes, that I don't know, and if I'm honest I have gotten rather used to it: there's nothing better than a subtle distraction to send me off to the Land of Nod.

All week I have succumbed to everything the doctor says is bad: the fries, the fatty burgers, the sugary drinks, the oversized portions, and today was arguably the breaking point. As always, it starts with breakfast (on disposable plates, not exactly showing off the Marriott brand in a good light). Pork patties, scrambled egg, custardy pastries and a nod towards healthy eating, a banana.

At lunchtime in Pizzaiolo Primo on Market Square, a place where I thought I would be safe, the portion sizes were ridiculous. My lunch companion ordered the calamari as a starter and I'm kidding you not, he was presented with a plate piled at least 10 inches high. Klaus looked at the waitress flabbergasted as if she must be mad. My polpette arrived next and there were easily 10 meatballs when five would have sufficed, it was a starter for heaven's sake! I made matters worse by ordering a sugary soda (as they call fizzy drinks in the USA) and then another when, to be honest, the bottle of Pellegrino would have been enough, but I enjoyed the former a few nights ago and decided to relive the experience. When the main courses arrived, both were extra-large portions and once again, my friend came off worse. I can't remember exactly what we ordered, but both dishes were chicken-based and mine had an unpleasant vinegary after taste. We left roughly half of what was on our plates.

I have visited Pittsburgh half a dozen times over the past 10 years and what I can say is that, on a good day, it's a great place if you like walking. This week, I have notched up a daily tally of between 15,000 and 20,000 steps and I'm sure that, combined with the jet lag, those steps have been a contributory factor to my aforementioned delicious sleepiness.

The strain was beginning to show yesterday when I ordered, foolishly, a burger and chips from an upmarket Pittsburgh restaurant, Eleven. I should have known better having spent most lunchtimes in Bill's, a lairy sports bar inside the Westin Hotel, but then I did order from Eleven's Tavern menu, no doubt reserved exclusively for the proletariat. I can't even mention or think about Bill's without grimacing as every day I've had a burger and fries of some description. Every day! And bear in mind that back home I NEVER eat burgers and I avoid fries like the plague and as my week here has progressed I added insult to injury by consuming something else that I NEVER touch back in the UK: fizzy drinks! So now, as my week in Pittsburgh draws to a close (and don't get me wrong, I love Pittsburgh) I find myself in bed wishing I was in a yurt listening to the goats in the foothills of the Kopet Dag mountains as they gently induce much-needed sleep, but I'm brought down to earth with a bang when I realise there are no goats, I'm not in Turkmenistan and the reason I'm totally wired is the cappuccino, the two large English breakfast teas from Starbucks in the Strip region of the city and, dare I even mention it, a fried chicken sandwich and a sickly bottle of root beer made with cane sugar.

It's 1240hrs and I should be in bed, but, feeling wide awake, I decided to get up and pen this article in the hope that, by now, the effects of my food intake today might have subsided and that I could now head back to the Kopet Dag mountains and get some sleep.

 

In Pittsburgh...

View from my hotel window, the Pirates stadium, Pittsburgh

First, the flight. It was fine. No turbulence, nothing. Despite the captain saying something about the possible of 'weather' as we crossed the Atlantic, there was zilch, not even a great deal of cloud until, admittedly we were flying at almost 40,000 feet and when I looked down, way down, there was a blanket of white cloud like cotton wool balls tightly sewn together, but it wasn't in the slightest bit bothersome and remained that way until we were on the ground. What did the pilot mean when he said there might be the possibility of 'weather'? There's always weather, whether it's good or bad, there can never NOT be weather. The flight was long but bearable and the only thing that let down those on the flight deck was the hard landing which, it has to be said, wasn't exactly textbook.

40,000 feet from earth...

Having disembarked, immigration was as easy as pie, no huge queues, no connecting flights to miss and after around 35 minutes in a cab, we were checked in at the Residence Inn and safely ensconced in our rooms. It was around 2100hrs and neither myself nor my colleague Pete were interested in anything other than hitting the sack, which we did, in adjoining rooms, although we didn't know it until we discussed it later the following day that we were, in fact, 'neighbours'.

I slept reasonably well considering. I awoke at 0130hrs, but it was bright outside and I thought it was lunchtime. Foolish me! It was very early in the morning, and I'd had around four hours' sleep. I'm always told not to get out of bed and not to start writing. I've tried that before and the end result is I stay up until it's breakfast time, laptop on and writing for England, well, for myself actually, but it's not a good idea. By mid-morning I'm wasted, so on this occasion I did as I was told, lay there and eventually fell asleep, waking around 0630hrs and then waiting for breakfast.

The shower was proficient, it worked. It wasn't the most powerful, but it wasn't the weakest and, like the flight the day before, it did the trick; the only thing that really got my goat (as always) was the shampoo and shower gel being screwed to the wall. Clearly, the Residence Inn doesn't trust its guests, like so many hotels these days.

Mid-flight to Pittsburgh...

The room was huge: a double bed, a flatscreen television, fridge, mini hob, dishwasher, plates, bowls and so forth. I could have saved a fortune and entertained my colleagues in my room. Pete's room was the same; there was also a sofa, a desk, a smaller desk or console table, a table and chairs at which I could have sat after making my meal, there was a sink and a coffee maker and, of course, there was an oven or a grill, or something that had a door meaning I could have made something special if I was that way inclined. In short, I could have lived in the room long-term. 

Out of the window and directly across the road was the Pittsburgh Pirates stadium (the reason why I thought it was lunch time when I woke up).

As I lay in bed, however, prior to having my shower, I could hear somebody playing a jazzy number on a tuba somewhere nearby and then I remembered that it was the day of the Pittsburgh Marathon. The tuba playing was annoying and catchy, which meant that getting back to sleep wasn't going to be easy. I think I snatched around an extra 40 minutes and then I figured I'd hit the showers and head down for breakfast.

The breakfast offering wasn't that good. There were biscuits and gravy (never an option for an Englishman) but there was also scrambled eggs and pork patties (small burgers basically). I lumped two of them on my plate and later had toast with butter (the toaster being set to 'obliterate' meant blackened toast, but what the hell. A bowl of cereal with added seeds and other healthy 'stuff' completed the most important meal of the day. 

Then, a few minor hassles, linked inextricably to a lack of sleep: I left my key card in my room and my glasses in the breakfast room. Ridiculous. An additional key card meant I could get into my room and retrieve my key cards, which I had left on the desk and then the day began. We wandered around the city among the joggers and their supporters and soon found ourselves on Station Square, close to the Sheraton where, in 2019, I discovered that the hotel had taken my laptop and passport out of the safe and forgot to tell me. Click here for more on THAT story!

Our wander took us everywhere, including a brief stop at Tupelo Honey's for, in my case, a pot of English Breakfast tea, and then we headed off again to register for a conference on the other side of town. It was good to walk and there was no tiredness although now, as I write this, I am feeling a little jaded, but I know that if I climbed into bed I would fall asleep and wake up at some ridiculous hour, like 2130 or 2200hrs, feeling hungry and thirsty and having to sit it out throughout the long night ahead until it was morning and I could go downstairs for another fairly sub-standard breakfast. So, I'm not going to bed, not yet at any rate.

For lunch we stopped at the Westin Hotel and had a burger and fries, or at least I did. It was fine, but, by and large, it's what's available everywhere, and I don't fancy going out for more burgers and fries and some God-awful drink. The problem with not drinking is that beverages become boring: the best thing to have is a sparkling mineral water or a coffee, as most no-alcohol beers are rubbish and it's often impossible to endure more than one of them. I spoke to Paul and told him I wasn't bothered about going out; Pete was interested in going somewhere but not for the whole evening. I was thinking about the early start in the morning (we have to be at the conference by 0800hrs). The plan is to go out for a short while, possibly not eating anything or having something light, but who knows. My aim is to get back to the room early and get a good night's sleep so as to be fresh and ready for the early start, which continues all week. 

The flight was so good that I managed to read a lot of Geddy Lee's My Effin' Life, which is an excellent book. Knowing of Geddy's love for baseball and being across the road from the Pittsburgh Pirates' stadium made me wonder whether he'd be over there watching the game, not that I'd find him, but if I could I'd have asked him to sign the book. Perhaps one day.

As I write this, it's 1630hrs and a long way from dinner. I suppose I could set my alarm for an hour and get some shut eye, but it's best not to; they always say stay up until the night time, the bed time, of the country you're in. Fair enough, I'll do that, except that, as I mentioned above, I started to feel a little weary and certainly not in need of another American food experience. The trouble is, if you want anything you have to go out, there's no restaurant in the hotel, so Pete and I are meeting in the lobby at 1830hrs and we'll nip out for 'a brief one'. 

American food – it still bugs me...

One thing I find hard to accept is the poor quality of American food. Whenever I visit an American city, like Pittsburgh, where I am at the moment, the food never fails to disappoint. Last night (Tuesday) was a case in point. In fact, I'd go as far as to say that the meatball joint I visited for dinner (Emporio) was, for me at any rate, the worst place I've ever experienced, not just here in Pittsburgh, but anywhere in the world. It was based on the notion of making your own meal, the deal was simple: you picked your style of meal (bowl, hoagie or whatever – there were clear choices) and then you chose the type of meatball (pork, beef, chicken, vegetarian) and then there were sauces and sides and what have you. I chose the hoagie, beef meatballs and a barbecue style sauce, the name of which I can't remember. Oh, I almost forgot the side of Brussels sprouts. What arrived later screamed God knows what, how about 'cardiac care unit, here we come'. It was simply awful. Three decidedly under par meatballs covered in a gloopy-looking sauce and accompanied by what can only be described as blackened, burnt-to-a-crisp Brussels sprouts. I tried a slice of one meatball, realised the whole thing was, in my opinion, a non-starter (let alone a main course) and simply gave up. I convinced myself that I wasn't that hungry anyway and just sat there waiting for somebody to take it away and leave me alone. The whole meal was made a little worse by an unnaturally chirpy waitress who bigged the whole thing up and made the arrival of the food a total anti-climax of the highest order. I will never, ever, visit the place again and as I left I felt like standing up and broadcasting to my fellow diners, saying something like "What are you doing here? Can't you see that what you're eating is not very good? Have you no pride in what you eat? Don't you care about your health?" But of course I said nothing of the sort, I let them carry on piling their meatballs and hoagies into their dumb mouths.

Pastrami and chip sandwich in Primanti Bros. Not even a plate!

But as with everything, there's always a silver lining and that came in the shape of Pizzaiolo Prima on Market Square. This, in my opinion, is one of the best restaurants in the city, it's small, it's intimate, it's very European in nature and I loved it. Earlier in the week I ordered salmon and today at lunchtime I had a chicken dish followed by bread pudding, which was pleasant, but the portion size was too much (two slices of bread pudding when one would have sufficed and far too much ice cream. If I was being particularly harsh I would say that they lost points for the size of the dessert, but no, I can't deduct any points because overall this is the sort of restaurant that Pittsburgh is crying out for and I know that if I come back to Pittsburgh, a city I love, then I'll certainly return.

Healthy hotel breakfast at Hilton Garden Downtown...

Tonight (Wednesday) my colleague and I were taken out to dinner. We visited a place called the Grand Concourse which, if I'm not mistaken, was once a railway station. It was a grand old building with high ceilings and decor to die for and we were given a table close to the river and, of course, the railroad track. The restaurant was located at Station Square. Avid readers will recall that in 2019 I stayed at the Sheraton Station Square. The whole area surrounding both the hotel and the Grand Concourse was village-like in nature and now they've added a Tupelo Honey restaurant, last seen by yours truly in Knoxville back in 2013 and probably worth checking out (perhaps tomorrow, who knows?). There's also a Hard Rock Cafe and a few other establishments. But let's get back to the Grand Concourse as this was a very grand establishment sporting white tablecloths, gleaming cutlery and a decent menu. The service was good too and so was the food. I ordered Dynamite Scallops as a starter and crab cakes for mains, both fantastic and washed down with a few Pellegrino sparkling mineral waters and an orange and spice tea from Bigelow. Not as good as their Constant Comment tea (a strange name) but pleasant nonetheless. I had two in the end, but didn't choose dessert as I'd had one at lunch time. 

Decent dinner at Pizzaiolo Prima on Market Sq, Pittsburgh

One thing is now for certain: I need to stop eating. I feel a diet coming on and it's about time, but there's little I can do this week as I'm here in Pittsburgh, I have a long flight ahead of me and I'll have to make a start once I reach home and have dealt with the jet lag. I need to get back on the bike and I need to cut out bread and sweets and cake and stop drinking cappuccino. In short, I have to pull myself together, but right now I need to hit the sack.

It's Thursday morning, I've been working all morning in my hotel room and I've damaged my right foot. Lateral foot pain, says the internet, and it's all to do with excessive walking and the wrong footwear, which sounds about right to me. I have difficulty walking. I've injured myself like this before, at the same event but in Philadelphia a few years ago. There's a CVS across the street and I might nip over there and buy some Nurofen or similar. But something says leave it, don't bother, grin and bear the pain and just hobble around for the next two days. Not sure, but either way lunch soon beckons and I think a light snack will be the order of the day as the food I've been eating this week (apart from in Pizzaiolo Prima and last night's excellent dinner at the Grand Concourse on Station Square) hasn't been that good.

Condado...better than expected...

On Thursday evening we went to Condado, a Mexican restaurant that specialises in Tacos. I had my suspicions. Other diners had messy tables, there was a lot of silver foil involved and I thought hey ho, here we go again. In truth, it wasn't that bad. I ordered a Plain Jane and was told that one taco is a snack, two qualifies as a meal so opted for the latter and it was fine, healthy is the word, lots of salad and some chicken that was it really. I ordered a couple of ginger beers, which were fine and then paid up and left. 

The hobble back to the hotel was fine, the sun was shining, it was warm and it was pleasant. The city was fairly quiet and the roads were empty, which you'll never get in London. Imagine roads with no cars on them, that's what a lot of American cities are like, they look almost deserted and I love it. There's something about the sun shining and the streets empty that warms my heart and makes me feel immortal. 

On board the Pennsylvanian from Pittsburgh to New York City, Part One...

High up, looking down from the north side of the Monongahela River from Mount Washington, I reflected on the quality of American cuisine. It doesn't matter how you cut it, it's not good. Downtown, the culinary scene in Pittsburgh (and most other places in the USA) is dominated by sports bars, fries and burgers, the word 'chipotle' annoys me too, and after a while I start to feel almost nauseous at the thought of going out for dinner as I know what it will mean. It's not worth ordering dessert because it's going to be big and it's going to be sickly. Add to this mess an edgy week and you might begin to understand how I was feeling. Perhaps I never really recovered from the jet lag. I mean, I never really dealt with it; I simply went to bed, woke up six hours later in the dead of night and then stayed up, fretting about this and that, mostly travel hassles. But now, looking out over the city of Pittsburgh, with a bird's eye view of all three rivers: the Monongahela, the Allegheny and the Ohio, I'm beginning to feel at peace with the world.

The view from the terrace of the Coal Hill steakhouse, Mount Washington

I'm sitting on the terrace of the Coal Hill Steakhouse, recommended to me by Darryl, the hotel's bell captain, admiring the view with a bowl of tomato and basil soup in front of me, a good book (Will Self's Psychogeography) and a beer (non-alcohol) and I'm starting to chill out for the first time in almost a week. My chilled soul was beginning to thaw, let's say. As I sat there listening to the noise of distant motorcycles racing around the downtown below me, I thought of my colleague who is flying home from New York tonight. When I wake up in the morning, he'll be home and for him, that word 'chipotle' will be but a distant memory, along with the fries and the stodge. It's no wonder that some Americans are obese, it's their diet. Somebody tell them.

Another great view...

The hotel shuttle took me up to Mount Washington, but I came down on the Duquesne Incline railway, a steep drop down the side of the 'mountain'. If whatever was holding the car snapped, it would be awful, truly terrifying. I mentioned this to a young couple travelling down with me and they shuddered at the thought. They both hailed from El Paso, a good four to five hours of flying away, they said, and two flights: one to Houston and then to El Paso. It's hard to comprehend the size of the USA, but suffice it to say it's huge, and especially the state of Texas. After bidding goodbye to the young couple who, it turned out, didn't eat at the Coal Hill Steakhouse - they were ignored by the waiter so they upped and left - I found myself down by the river walking nonchalantly towards the Sheraton, past a floodlit football pitch where different groups of boys played the beautiful game. The light was fading and I was glad to be reaching the hotel.

Was the food at the Coal Hill Steakhouse any good? No, it wasn't and it was far too pricey for what it was. I sympathised with the young couple who decided to leave and suggested they tried a place called Eleven, where I had enjoyed lunch (and a dessert) although it was a cut above the average restaurant in town and I knew it well from a previous trip to Pittsburgh. It's been a good three years, but it's still going strong, which is good to know.

Amtrak station in Pittsburgh PA

When I got back to the room I started to pack things up and organise myself for tomorrow's trip, packing stuff away and making sure I hadn't left anything behind in the room. I've not allowed myself any time to recover from the initial jet lag and with all the worry associated with what happened, I started to get a little panicky. I thought I'd lost my Amtrak ticket (I hadn't, but I thought I had). So I took a cab to Penn Station (I think that's what it's called) and got issued with another ticket. I didn't want to take any chances. Now I have two tickets. When I got back to the room I found it, where I left it, in my case. After what happened I'm not taking any chances.

Luxury train travel at its best...

When the taxi turned up to take me to the station I noticed there were two black women, one driving and one in the passenger seat. "I don't like draavin' alone at night," said the driver and went on to explain that the city 'ain't that safe'. She has eight children, four boys, four girls, from different fathers and lives out Homestead way. One of her daughters kept calling her. "Tell her mom's busy earning money," she told her friend of more than 20 years. I said it must be great driving around at night with your best pal. She waited for me to sort out my ticket and then drove me back to the hotel.

I slept until around 0400hrs (which has been the norm all week) then I finished off the packing, checking that everything was out of the room before I left. This week I've been jinxed with bad luck so I wasn't taking any chances. I checked out and Nate was on the front desk so we exchanged pleasantries. He apologised again for the hassles I'd had and I said it wasn't a problem (it was a big problem, but I was being polite). The shuttle ran me up to the station and after standing around for a short while we boarded the train.

The train is luxurious: plenty of legroom, comfortable seats, curtains, power points, it's absolutely wonderful and definitely my preferred mode of transport. I'm riding all the way to New York, 11 hours, and I'm looking forward to this like you wouldn't believe. Despite all the grief I'd had, I managed to get all my work done and, as I write this, the train's about to make it's first stop. I think it's Greensburg. I've just had breakfast (vanilla yoghurt with blueberries and granola and a mint tea) and I can't tell you how chilled I am right now. This train's going to make 16 stops before it reaches New York and right now that's fine with me. We're now edging out of Greensburg and it's great to be able to see some of the towns on the outskirts of Pittsburgh. The train's picking up speed and we're leaving the town behind. There's another stop in about 10 minutes and I'm just hoping that it doesn't get too crowded, I'm sure it won't.

Coal Hill Steakhouse

There's something relaxing about train travel and I love it. I've always wanted to take the train in the USA, but the opportunity has never arose, until now, although I didn't really have much option. Without a passport I couldn't take the plane as I don't have any photo ID and I spoke to somebody at the convention who said it's a hassle traveling without a passport, and besides, I don't want to take any chances. Furthermore, going by air to NY would be pricey and there's always the cab into town at the other end. The train goes straight into Manhattan.

I wouldn't say it was a completely smooth ride. The train jolts and rattles its way into the next stop, Latrobe, another pleasant little town surrounded by woodland. I guess that 'nothin' much happens round here'. The next stop is Johnstown, in about 45 minutes. We pass a parking lot with mustard yellow school buses sitting around doing nothing and then we dive into the woods. The sun is trying to break through and it looks like being another great day.

The ride down to the river was great fun...

Americans love their verandas. Every house has one, or seems to, and there are dream catchers and chairs, sometimes barbecue equipment, all out front, and let's face it, it's probably quite pleasant on a summer's evening, sitting outside with friends and family chatting and eating as the night sets in.

It's a long way down...

The train's got free WiFi that works well. No signing in, it's just there and that's good. No faffing around. There's a restaurant car (where I'll be headed at lunch time, but it's only 0737hrs as I write this, so there's plenty of other things to do.

Looking out of the window...

There's a massive river out of my window on the left hand side of the train and a wooded hill on the far bank. There's been a fair bit of fog too and plenty of greenery. I wonder if there's any bears out there? That's been on my mind: what if I was out there, camping in the woods. Would I need to worry about bears? I might have to ask somebody. I've never seen such a wide expanse of water in all my life. Easily a half mile across from bank to bank. Along the bank there is a mixture of tiny wooden shacks, trailers and houses, some rickety and old-looking, as if they'd collapse in a strong wind, others sturdy and some with the American flag flying.

At Philly changing the locomotive...

As for my fellow passengers, they're all well-behaved and quiet. Nobody says a word, there's no unruly behaviour and perhaps that's because I'm in business class.

Outside the window now is row after row of container wagons advertising the Hub Group, Yang Ming, Hapag-Lloyd, UASC, Seaco, COSCO, China Shipping, and some huge, black Norfolk Southern locomotives. We're six minutes out of Harrisburg.

Waiting to board at Pittsburgh

We've left Harrisburg and are gathering speed as we head out of town. Outside the window is American industry hard at work: big, rusty old buildings and conveyor belts and rail trucks, electricity pylons and rusting old locomotives.

They're warning that the train's going to be full and that we should all keep our luggage off the seats next to us. Hopefully, they don't mean business class where I'm sitting. Just in case I've moved my stuff to the racks and taken the aisle seat as I don't want to be constantly asking whoever sits next to me to get up if I want to use the bathroom.

We're about to arrive in Elizabethtown and I might sign off here and start another post for the rest of the ride. The restaurant car re-opens around 1pm, that's in about half an hour, and I might get something more to eat, although an earlier cookie and mint tea has set me up for a while.

We've just arrived at Lancaster and from my window I can see cars moving about and an American flag blowing from a flagpole. For some reason I'm reminded of Blytheville, Arkansas. The train is now on the move and it's more of the same: industrial buildings, parking lots, derelict factories. Soon there's the river again as the industrial buildings are slowly replaced by fields and trees.

For the reason why I was taking an 11-hour train journey to New York from Pittsburgh, click here.

En route to Pittsburgh...

I've managed to get a direct flight to Pittsburgh from Heathrow T5, but that doesn't make things any better; it's still a fucking hassle from the word go. I ordered a cab to pick me up at 1230pm, allowing a bit of extra time just in case. Sure enough there were problems. First, the cab driver had to fill up with gas, which took a long time, then there were traffic jams on the motorway and then I had to queue for the bag drop-off, moving from one machine to another because my one piece of out-sized luggage couldn't use the conveyors. I can't understand why I was moved from one line to another as the bag in question had to be placed with the out-sized luggage guys across from where I was standing. I think the woman took a dislike to me for some reason and I hate that as whoever it was, she works for British Airways, my airline of choice. Or I'm paranoid, perhaps that's it.

Close to Gate B38, Terminal Five, London

There was some good news: I managed to get an exit row seat AND a window seat, so in a sense I was upgraded from my original aisle seat. Or was I upgraded? Thinking back, the seats directly in front of me, where my seat, 24c was located, looked suspiciously like premium economy seating, now I come to think of it, so I might have downgraded myself simply by asking for a seat with more leg room. Who knows? And who cares? I've got an exit row seat on the return flight.

But then there was 'security'. I hate 'security'. The lap top comes out, everything goes in the plastic tray and then I have to pass through the scanner and wait on the other side for stuff. Then things calmed down a bit, although my experience of the gaudily coloured Giraffe, an air-side restaurant, left a lot to be desired. Oddly, it bore no resemblance whatsoever to the graceful animal we see on nature programmes. A pretty awful chicken burger with chips and a peppermint tea accompanied by terrible music guaranteed to annoy the Dalai Lama. Inwardly, I was scowling, as I wolfed down the food and got the hell out of there after paying the bill (it was £15 and I think I tipped £2, I'll have to check my credit card statement).

Thankfully, we were through the clouds...

My flight leaves from the B gates so I mosey on over to them, past the duty free shops, the society of the spectacle, which makes me angry again, but eventually I find myself at gate B38 and I take a seat, away from the madding crowd, open up my lap top and start writing. I must remember to go straight to the B gates next time as there are foodservice outlets close to the gate, a Starbucks that I've used before, but now that I've already eaten and need to consider boarding very shortly, I'll pass on a Danish and a mint tea and wait for the in-flight hospitality.

I can't say I'm overly keen on flying. There are so many things about it that I simply don't like, such as turbulence and flying in bad weather. And I'm firmly of the opinion that the weather deteriorates deliberately as soon as it knows I'm flying somewhere. I wake up and there's bright sunshine and clear skies, but as the day presses on, the weather sets in, clouds form, rain falls and, well, there you have it.

It was daylight all the way over...

Right now it's 1532hrs and the skies are brightening up a bit, following rain, but there's still a lot of cloud out there. I've got to go to the gate so I'd better say bye for now. The tarmac is shiny and reflective like a mirror.

The frozen wastelands of Newfoundland...

Pittsburgh, 2100hrs, local time: Getting on board the plane was easy. I stood in front of my seat for a while getting myself sorted out when along came a morbidly obese woman and her husband. Yes, morbidly obese, and I hoped she wasn't planning on taking the middle seat otherwise I'd have been squashed into the wall. Fortunately, she took the aisle and her other half sat next to me with his hairy forearms and bright orange laces on this trainers. He had a very annoying, make that interesting, Kermit the Frog nasal voice, which I'm planning on practising in the hotel bathroom tomorrow, but in all truthfulness, he didn't bother me and nor did she. In fact, they were nice people, at least I think they were, and I felt a little sorry for the woman. She was massive! Alright, I'm exaggerating a bit, but not by much. She managed to squeeze into the seat and sat quietly for the duration of the flight, which was roughly seven and a half hours.

When we broke through the cloud I checked my watch, it was 1710hrs and from then on, when the clock hit 10 past the hour I knocked an hour off the flight time, so a countdown of sorts had begun and I figured that when the clock read 0010hrs (although my watch is analogue, not the 24-hour clock) I'd be virtually there. I tried to imagine myself being at home, so at 1810hrs I would have been boarding a train to Purley, at 1910 I would have been home watching mundane television, probably the One Show or Channel Four News, by 2010, God knows what and so on; and slowly the time passed.

I won't stick my neck out for Giraffe again..

I spent most of my time reading Will Self's Psychogeography, which is a brilliant book, in between trying to read a copy of the New Statesman, which, it has to be said, I found extremely boring, a waste of £4.50 as there was nothing in there by the great man, Will Self. I should have bought the Economist. There was, of course, High Life and John Simpson's column, this month about the Commodore Hotel in Beirut, but that was it. Food punctuated the journey and I took a couple of strolls to the back of the aircraft to stretch my legs. It was a good flight, even if there was thick cloud as we approached Pittsburgh and I hate cloud. I'm talking white-out conditions and then being sandwiched between white-out conditions. While the scenery from the plane's window was never more than cloud below and blue sky above, there was a great moment when I looked out and saw, some distance below, a kind of bank of cloud that resembled a huge wave, a tsunami even, roaring and rolling towards an imaginary shoreline.

People do weird things on planes, like they turn up and start doing stretches in the aisle. Fine, people do that sort of thing on planes, but I can't abide exhibitionists.  On this occasion it was a woman - of a certain age - and it's moments like these that put me off women, I don't know why. I find myself looking at them doing their stretches and thinking 'what is it we men get so excited about?' Perhaps it was just this particular woman, I found her annoying for some reason, but sometimes I get these moments of clarity when I see through the fog and the smoke and mirrors of 'being a bloke' and view women as they're supposed to be viewed, as the human beings they are, and it is both liberating and a little depressing. This woman, in the act of doing her stretches, took away a little of the magic and there's nothing worse, although I think as you get older (and in my case grow up) the magic dissipates and you begin to see the world for what it is rather than what you think it is. At least she wasn't morbidly obese, I thought, as I watched her twist and turn in her white trousers that stopped a few inches short of her ankles.

And once the woman had moved on I started imagining a random scenario, completely out of the blue, involving a gunman who was loose in a restaurant, not in Pittsburgh, but somewhere in Europe, my favourite restaurant, Da Bruno, in Dusseldorf. I escaped through a back door, hid behind it and then slammed it into the gunman as he ran through it in pursuit of yours truly, dropping the gun and enabling me to pick it up and return fire, disabling the terrorist and thwarting whatever evil he was planning, although I guess he'd already committed his evil act, that of shooting innocent people. None of this was true, of course, it was all in my mind.

There was heavy cloud as we started our descent into Pittsburgh and I hate it. I find it disorienting gliding through white-out conditions and not seeing the ground until just before we hit the tarmac. It wasn't as bad as New Delhi when we never saw land until the very last minute before hitting the tarmac with a thud, an instruments-only landing, the pilot said. In New Delhi it wasn't fog or cloud, it was smog.

After we had landed, everything was easy from thereon: immigration was fine (albeit a fairly long wait in the queue); my bags were on the conveyor when I got there, I drew some money from the ATM ($100) jumped into a taxi and here I am. I had cumbersome luggage otherwise I'd have found a train into town.

The hotel's fine and I need to get some sleep, although it's only just gone 2200hrs here in Pittsburgh. That said, for me it's almost 0305hrs so I'm going to say goodnight.

A stroll before dinner in Pittsburgh...

After writing up a Trip Advisor review of the hotel I'm staying in - a risky practice when you consider that I still haven't checked out - and then penning another review of the restaurant Eleven, where my colleague Paul and I have been dining most of the week (it's across the road so why waste money on cabs?) I decided to take a stroll before dinner.

It was an interesting stroll around town that took me along Liberty Avenue and into the bustling centre of town, which wasn't really that bustling as it was after 5pm and I'm assuming most of the people I saw were making their way home from work. I ended up on Penn Avenue where yesterday I'd enjoyed a quick drink in Lefty's Bar with Paul and ended up in a Mexican restaurant where I ordered a paella and a beer. I can't say I really enjoyed the beer, but the food was alright.

I wandered about with the river on my right hand side and eventually I headed straight for it only to find that, for some reason, the bridge was closed. Not that I was going over it, but it's intriguing, isn't it, when a bridge is closed and you start to wonder why. "There's a match on," said a woman, pointing to the stadium on the far bank. "Oh," I replied, but I wasn't really interested. I couldn't tell you what kind of match it was, football, baseball, I just don't know, so I headed back towards the David L Lawrence Convention Centre, followed the road round and eventually decided that I ought to eat before it gets too late.

Eleven on Smallman Street – the best restaurant in Pittsburgh?

I knew I'd go back to Eleven because it's so good and on so many different levels. The service, the ambience, the food, everything, not least the convenience. I know that I can just cross the road and walk to the hotel where, incidentally, I am now, having just made that walk. It's just gone 9pm.

Having enjoyed dining with Paul all week, I found it hard going back to dining alone, but dine alone I did. A table for one. I knew the menu inside out. But sometimes it's good to 'people watch' and that's just what I did, but without them knowing I was watching. The last thing I wanted was somebody asking me, "What are you staring at?"

Earlier, as I walked up Penn Avenue I stumbled across the geekiest of geeky shops, a comic book emporium called Eide's Entertainment, billed as 'the world's greatest comic shop'. It was certainly that. Not only was the place crammed from head to foot with comic books, over three floors, it also stocked old vinyl records. A truly amazing place. I picked up a copy of the Clash's first album and their second (Give Em Enough Rope) not forgetting the triple album Sandinista, and found myself inwardly humming along to Hitsville UK, one of many great tracks on the album, although Sandinista was not the best Clash album.

When I picked up the Give Em Enough Rope album - and, indeed, the band's first album simply called The Clash - I was transported back to the late seventies when I was just a little bit older than my daughter is now. I have mixed feelings about those times and some strange memories, some of which sadden me. One of the latter memories involved my 21st birthday and a watch my parents gave me as a present. It was a gold Timex digital watch that I truly wished I still owned now, but I don't, and I feel particularly bad about that and the fact that I never really appreciated, at the time, the thought that went into the purchase of that watch. I was too tied up in being an angst-ridden young man to care about most things. Those days haunted me as I thumbed through the vinyl albums, particularly those first two Clash albums. While unemployed and down on my luck, working as an evening shelf stacker in Sainsbury's, I taught myself to type and I distinctly remember typing out the back cover of that first Clash album. As I looked at it, the memories flooded back. And now, of course, dad is no more. He passed away in 2011, in fact his fifth anniversary was last Sunday.

As I walked back towards the convention centre I thought of the moment when mum saw dad in the chapel of rest back in 2011. It was a sad moment for her, of course, but seeing her upset like that has stayed with me and came back to me as I walked along the street. 

When I reached Eleven I considered not going in just at that moment, but doing a little more walking before 'pulling up a chair' and tucking in, but I'd had a good walk already and I figured it best to get in there and eat something before it was too late. They sandwiched me in between a party of bankers, or businessmen, I can't figure out what they were, but one man was particularly annoying. He shouted rather than talked. "I'm 65 and my wife is just 39!" he boasted to a man who was so old I figured he'd never make it through the meal. "Give me another shot at president and I'll sort those Chinese out!". He was a real cock of the highest order and I wasn't that keen on his dinner companions. They all looked like greedy, money-grabbing sorts, the kind of people Michael Douglas might have targetted had they been characters in the movie Falling Down.

Whenever I drew back my hotel room curtains...

On my right was a young couple. I'm not sure if they were together or not, but they were fairly pleasant. She was from Tokyo, he was born and bred Pittsburgh. We eventually chatted (how else would I know that she was from Tokyo and he lived on the outskirts of town?) and they were great, wishing me well and hoping I'm treated right while in town. I told them that I had been treated perfectly well and that all was good on that score, but that was at the end of my meal. The chicken dish was fine: breast of chicken, greens and a risotto accompaniment. The banana cake was light and delicate, that's why I ordered it, and besides, I knew it would be good because I'd ordered it only a couple of days ago. The beers were pleasant enough too, although I'm going off of beer and I don't particularly like the new-fangled American 'real' ales, they're too syrupy and gassy. Give me a pint of Young's Ordinary Bitter any day.

When I wasn't talking to the couple or eavesdropping on the ruddy-faced business nob head, I played with my mobile phone, in particular the Roger's Profanisauras App where I learnt some excellent phrases, like 'clear the custard' - meaning to have a long overdue moment of gentlemanly relaxation. "I've got 10 minutes before I have to take mass. I'll just nip upstairs and clear the custard."

I had to be very careful not to suddenly burst out laughing as when you're dining alone there are certain things you simply don't do, one of them being laughing out load, seemingly for no reason. Here's another good entry: 'atomic mutton' - a mature woman trying to look younger than she obviously is and ending up looking like a tart in the process. An example being Liz McDonald out of Coronation Street.

I like Dangermouse too - a slim fanatella. But on that note I must hit the sack.

Taking a ride around Pittsburgh...

The last time I returned from Pittsburgh, one of my colleagues asked me if I'd taken a bike ride. My answer was a rather shameful 'no' having cycled around San Antonio and Indianapolis as well as other places, such as Berlin, Amsterdam and Essen in Europe.

That's the bike I rode on the left of the shot...

Now that I'm back in Pittsburgh I felt I ought to take a ride and, just by a stroke of luck, while out walking this morning I stumbled across Golden Triangle Bike Rentals and, having recently discussed with Andy how we rarely see any Kona bicycles on the road, this little outfit down by the river had a selection of rides all made by Kona. I was made up as you can imagine. It cost US$8.00 for an hour ride or US$30 for the day so my colleague Paul and I decided to take a ride – and it was well worth it, I can tell you.

This contraption probably transported hot metal from the furnace

Apart from the fact that the bikes were incredibly well-maintained (ours seemed brand new) the route was all mapped out and it was all off-road on paths that were once railroad tracks. In other words, no danger from cars and with that came a tremendous amount of freedom. We were told to pay when we brought the bikes back and that we did.

On the Hot Metal Bridge heading south...

The path followed the north bank of the Monongahela River along what was known as the Eliza Furnace Trail towards Hot Metal Bridge, which we crossed and headed west through the South Shore Riverfront Park on what was now the South Side Trail. Along the way we passed Birmingham Bridge, then 10th Street Bridge, Liberty Bridge and the Smithfield Street Bridge. We had a brief look at Station Square and then, somewhere along the route, encountered a dead end. We had been told about this, but it still confused us momentarily until we found a route across the Fort Pitt Bridge back to the North Bank of the Monongahela where it meets the Ohio River. We could have followed the Ohio River along it's northern bank on what was called the Chateau Trail or the Allegheny River's Strip District Trail on its south bank, or crossed the Fort Duquesne Bridge and followed the North Shore Trail, but instead we headed back along the Monongahela River towards the Golden Triangle rental shop where we started, although things didn't go 100% as planned. Once over the Fort Pitt Bridge we lost our way and ended up on the riverside looking for a way up to the trail level. Eventually we had to carry our bikes up a flight of concrete steps and eventually found ourselves back on the trail and yards from the rental shop*. We'd been out for just over an hour and had enjoyed an invigorating ride in threatening weather. It was bitterly cold.

The guy in the rental shop told us that the Great Allegheny Passage leads all the way to Washington DC, 345 miles away, and that just before we had arrived to hire our bikes, a party of cyclists had headed out on that very journey, described as 'a multi-day adventure'. To go to DC you cross the Hot Metal Bridge, but instead of turning right, as we did, you turn left and keep going. If you don't cross the Hot Metal Bridge but keep going you come to the Panther Hollow Trail that borders Schenley Park and stops close to the Phipps Conservatory.

An old slag pot...

The trail we took was full of Pittsburgh's steel heritage as the photographs illustrating this post testify.

What the cycle trail looks like...

There are 25 miles of traffic-free riverside trail in Pittsburgh and, in addition to the city's steel heritage, you might stumble across the odd homeless person asleep in a sleeping back or in a tent en route. I'm not mentioning this for any underhand reason, just saying that there are homeless issues wherever you go in the world and one thing I know is that in the cold weather, being homeless can't be any fun.

Pittsburgh's iron and steel heritage is recognised on the cycle trail.

The guys at Golden Triangle will also provide a map that not only details the routes of the trails, which are fairly easy to follow, but also list various restaurants, museums, ice cream parlours, bars and restaurants that can be found en route, and you don't have to ride alone as guided tours are also on offer.

The Canadian-Pacific Railroad – a never-ending goods train...

I'm not sure how many of my readers will find themselves in Pittsburgh, but here's the details, should you need them:-

More of the Hot Metal Bridge...

* On Thursday I hired another bike and revisited Sunday's route, but this time I managed to stay with the trail once over Fort Pitt Bridge – it meant a little time on Pittsburgh's roads, but it was fine.

Golden Triangle Bike Rentals and Tours
Downtown Pittsburgh
600 First Avenue
Pittsburgh PA 15219
Tel: (412) 600-0675
www.bikepittsburgh.com
www.gap-outfitters.com

Travelling to Pittsburgh, USA...

When the conveyor toaster collapsed in front of me I knew that breakfast wasn't going to be that memorable an experience. Then, when I noticed that the cutlery was plastic and the crockery made of paper, my suspicions were confirmed. This was basic. But in many ways it didn't matter; it wasn't that bad a hotel.

I'd checked in the day before, at around a quarter to eight in the evening, having taken a taxi from Pittsburgh airport. It had cost me $60 and my driver told me he was a recovering alcoholic who claimed he didn't sleep well because he drank too much diet coke. More fool him, I thought, as I bade him farewell and entered the lobby of the Hampton by Hilton.

Now that's a huge hotel room! You can't see the kitchenette!

The check-in was friendly and the man at the front desk guessed it was me by my accent. He gave me my room card and directed me to the elevator where I travelled all the way to the top and discovered that my room was huge. And by huge I mean enormous. It was the size of a small conference room and would probably seat around 50 people 'theatre style' if the need ever arose. I found myself wondering why a hotel company would waste so much space. There was only a bed and a sofa in the room, plus a television, and I figured they could have made around four average-sized rooms out of the space occupied by mine.

I've probably mentioned before that I don't like large hotel rooms – or large rooms full stop.There's something about sleeping in a wide open space that unsettles me, but I was so tired that I could have slept anywhere. Earlier I'd endured an eight-hour flight from London Heathrow to Charlotte, North Carolina, and it wasn't the smoothest of journeys. There had been prolonged periods of turbulence that required everybody to be seated and, if I'm honest, I wasn't that happy with American Airlines. I much prefer British Airways, but for some reason I'd opted for the former.

The flight was late for a start. We were supposed to take off at 1215hrs but I don't think we left the ground until around 1300hrs, if not a little bit later, probably 1330hrs. But what annoys me is that I always get the feeling that the Americans, while supposedly being big on 'service' and 'have a nice day' don't actually give two fucks about the customer. They seem to be saying 'like it or lump it' and work on the principle of the captive audience. So, the flight's late but there's no explanation as to why and it goes without saying that everybody accepts it. I think if people were more reactionary – and by that I mean if they simply, en masse, said, 'fuck you, American Airlines, we're going back to our hotel, sort your fucking lives out!' then perhaps they might change their attitude.

The view from my hotel room...

And then, on the plane, that whole class thing came into play; the whole notion that the further back you are in the plane, the scummier you must be and, therefore, the least service you get as a result. I was in seat 30D, an aisle seat, and when it was time for the food to be wheeled out, the 'trolley dollies' rolled past me and headed towards the front of the plane. One of the American airline hostesses was a big mamma. She seemed pleasant enough, but man she was 'wide', but more of her later. I knew then that I'd have a long wait until they reached me and sure enough I did. Eventually, however, along they came and there was a choice between chicken and pasta. I opted for the former and, as airline food goes, it wasn't too bad. What I didn't like was the wine. It was awful. Normally on planes I ask for a couple of those small 187ml bottles of red wine and I get a Merlot or a Cabernet, but this time I noticed that the trolley carried a huge bottle of red wine and they were dishing out paper cups of it. Now, that's fine, you might say, probably much more wine than in a small bottle, but the quality was piss poor. It was so bad that I handed mine back after a few sips.

The view from my hotel room looking left...

But let's get back to the trolley dollies. One of them had such a huge arse that she had to shimmy diagonally along the aisle and every time she went past me she nudged me, and I had to make sure that my tea or water or whatever I was drinking was in my right hand, otherwise it would have been knocked clear out of my hand and into my lap. It got very annoying and even if I had advanced warning – and by that I mean if I could see her coming at me from a distance – she still managed to nudge me. Her arse was so huge she'd do a fine job acting as a fender for ships coming into port.

There was plenty wrong with the flight. The screen on which I was supposed to be able to watch movies didn't work and the speakers they gave me to listen to music were shit, so I simply didn't bother. There wasn't even a map showing the plane as it made its way across the Atlantic. And that was another thing: time passed slowly; very slowly. I passed the time reading. I had a copy of The Week, an excellent publication, along with The Times and not forgetting a copy of GQ that I'd bought a couple days earlier. There was a good article in there about the Manic Street Preachers, and an interview with Chris Evans ahead of Top Gear reappearing on our screens, and not forgetting an article by Tony Parsons on Brexit, which, I must admit, took me closer to voting out rather than stay, although I still think I'll vote to stay.

A bill poster in downtown Pittsburgh

The turbulence didn't worry me as much as it used to, which was just as well because it was prolonged. As a consequence I remained seated for most of the flight with only brief sojourns along the aisles just to stretch my legs.

Towards the end of the flight I struck up a conversation with a guy across the aisle from me. He was a really nice bloke who reminded me of the television journalist John Sargeant, although he was an American from North Carolina who'd been on a Norwegian cruise. His day was much longer than mine had been. While I didn't leave the house in London until 0900hrs, he'd been up around 0400hrs, in Copenhagen and had flown to London to catch the flight we were both on. Our conversation was friendly and touched upon all sorts of subjects: Donald Trump, gardens (or 'yards' as he put it) cycling, St. Petersburg, Copenhagen, Norway and so on. His wife, who had the window seat next to him, looked tired and didn't say much and in a way I envied them because they were getting home whereas I was miles from home. They would get to see their 'yard' but I wouldn't see mine for another week.

We were warned that the approach into Charlotte would be bumpy, but having spent most of the flight seated due to turbulence, nobody really cared and soon we found ourselves on the ground and going through the hassle of American immigration, queuing in a long zig zag queue and eventually coming out the other end. I had a connecting flight to Pittsburgh and somewhere along the line I managed to say goodbye to the man and his wife before going through security again – I hate going through security – and then striding purposefully towards the gate for last flight of the day.

I reached Pittsburgh around 1930hrs and jumped in the aforementioned taxi to the hotel and then, after dropping my bags in the room I went to meet a colleague in a restaurant across the street. It was something like 0130hrs UK time, but only around 2000hrs here in Pittsburgh. The restaurant was called Eleven and it was dark and bustling and the food was good. I ordered chicken with risotto and greens plus a glass of cabernet and finally managed to relax a little. I knew I'd have a rough night's sleep later, mainly because of the journey and I did wake up two or three times, but eventually I could see daylight so I jumped up and took a shower and then it was breakfast and that conveyor toaster and the paper plates and then we took a walk around town and eventually a bike ride too, which, arguably, was one of the best rides I'd ever taken in a foreign country, mainly because it followed disused railroad tracks and skirted the river, passing many old relics from Pittsburgh's steel industry heritage. I'll write a separate post about that later.

Right now, as I write this, I'm not in my room (as I normally am when I write stuff). I'm in the hotel's business centre, which is very good. In fact, if you forget about the paper plates and that conveyor toaster that took it upon itself to simply collapse in front me, this is a nice little hotel. There's even a pool, which I'm tempted to use this week, although I've just had a tremendous bit of exercise on the bike. In fact, going back again to the paper plates, they're not that bad an idea. There's no restaurant in the hotel – always a bit of a bummer in my books – but at least that means we get to sample the delights of Pittsburgh's culinary scene.

I've been to Pittsburgh before. In fact, as we came into land I could see the 'cathedral of learning'. The so-called 'cathedral of learning' is Pittsburgh University. It's a tall, grey building that stands out, a bit like a cathedral, and was close to where I stayed when I was last in town, back in 2013. I remember the street where my Quality Inn was located, the Boulevard of the Allies. What a great name for a street. I crossed it earlier today as we, my colleague Paul and I, walked around town.

Weatherwise, it's not so good. While it was 70 + degrees in North Carolina, here in Pittsburgh it's cold and cloudy and spitting with rain. Yesterday it was raining too. The guy in the cycle hire shop said things were going to improve, but the ride we took earlier was, shall we say, a little 'bracing', but worth every minute. It's so nice to ride a decent bike. Well, not decent, but a bike that works, a bike with all of its gears, a soft saddle and fully blown up tyres. I don't think my bike back home is ever in such a state, it's always got faulty gears or dodgy brakes or something wrong with it.

I'm amazed at how many hotel brands are owned by the Hilton Group. There's Hilton Hotels & Resorts, Waldorf Astoria, Conrad Hotels & Resorts, Canopy by Hilton, Curio 'a collection by Hilton', Doubletree by Hilton, Embassy Suites by Hilton, Hilton Garden Inn, Hampton by Hilton (where I'm staying) Homewood Suites by Hilton, HOME2 suites by HIlton, Hilton Grand Vacations, Hilton HHonors.

Last year in Cleveland at roughly this time I stayed in a Doubletree. What a great hotel! The main thing there was the free cookies. And on that note, it's time for lunch, or it will be shortly. Today, Sunday, is our only day off. From tomorrow onwards we have to work so I've got to make the most of my time today. We've had a decent bike ride and now it's time for lunch.

Somewhere I can hear Don't You Worry Bout a Thing by Stevie Wonder.