Mostly this year we've been... fishing.

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Pennsylvanian winters are typically harsh and that of 2013 didn’t disappoint. I took over chez Salathe (aka The Bistro) with just Wilson the cat for company, work commitments preventing Ali from joining me until late January. Whilst the snow fell and I bemoaned the bizarre, inefficient, ceiling-wired heating, we spent our evenings curled up together on the bucket chair with Sierra Nevada’s Winter Fest beer or the odd snaffled schnapps by our side.



It was like an early Spring when Ali did finally arrive.



On returning to the UK after our 20 months in southern Asia I had, miraculously, been invited to rejoin the excellence of The Read Group back at Pennsylvania State University, here in the good old U.S. of A. So, at least another year – maybe to be extended – of malaria research beckoned. Indeed, this was to be spiced up with further projects on Marek’s disease (nasty viral disease of chickens… lots of chicken farmers here in PA) and Myxoma virus (think “Watership Down”), with the promise of sexy full-genome sequencing thrown-in.



There were, of course, the usual stresses of moving to any country to contend with, plus a few Homeland Security extras. Fortunately, America had not added any new gems to those bureaucratic headaches we'd experienced previously. Yes, I had to obtain a new police certificate stating that I'd not added to my horrific criminal record (drunk and disorderly, 1987). This request is always greeted with mirth at British Criminal Records as it was considered spent some twenty years ago.



The costs of the work/dependent's visas themselves and other required documentation had, predictably, risen and there is always the trade-off between buying a reasonably-priced flight in advance and the risk of not actually receiving your visa. However, once all the paperwork is submitted you then have the joy of the interview. For some this is unpleasant indeed (crying is not unheard of), but this time (our third over the years) our interrogator was positively delightful. There is also one section of the visa application that gives me a certain perverted pleasure: "Please list, with dates, all countries visited in the previous ten years". Ha ha, good luck checking those out. Of course most of the dates are pure guesswork. I'd love to see Travelblog's Maisondubonheur attempt such a feat.



Anyway, we were deemed worthy and in a matter of weeks I was back.



On her eventual arrival in America, following a slick passage through customs ("Oh, those... they're black puddings, you know, for dessert... Meat? No no, they're puddings"), Ali had to play the Russian roulette that is the United Airlines' Philadelphia-State College flight. These are small planes and they are always overbooked, well.. overweight. Your pre-confirmation and boarding pass count for nothing. Oh, and never, ever, be tempted to accept the vouchers offered to voluntarily miss your flight: these may only be used for booking other United flights through their massively price-hiked homepage. They once lied to me saying that the vouchers could be used for the in-flight brochure (there was a nice-looking Nikon in there) and I contentedly spent the night on the floor for $400 of the worthless things: I'd even turned down a night in a hotel for more of the same. And, indeed, Ali was bumped from the first two flights (why jettison the lightest passenger is beyond me?), but - now quite schozzled - did finally touchdown around midnight to be greeted by Derek, myself and a silent blanket of snow.



Arriving in America does not see an end to the paperwork, or expense. First; Ali is never going to be content sitting on her laurels, and so she needed to apply for a work permit (being a dependent does not automatically entitle you to this luxury: $380 please; her job caring for children with special needs pays $11/hr pre-taxes - that's an elevated rate as she's a registered nurse). And we're lucky: those on certain spousal visas are simply prohibited from working at all. Next, we both needed new identification cards and, in Ali's case, a new driving license (I don't bother); then we had to organise additional insurance - compulsory health/dental coverage is taken directly at source - to repatriate ourselves in the event of our careless deaths. Getting the electricity connected: large deposit necessary ("You have no credit-rating sir" - I wish that was still the case as, without fail, we receive a new offer of a different credit card on a daily basis) and as for the backward banking system.... Electronic transfers between accounts take a working week to clear, single payments to an individual are (for the first three months: why?) limited to $1000 regardless of your balance (but our rent is $1100...?!) and cheque books have to be ordered by the twenty five (books, not individual cheques); and you have to pay for them. Knowing we only needed half-a-dozen cheques to see us through until cards were issued we opened a second free account: you receive three free cheques when you open an account. Who wants twenty five cheque books?





There are so many more irritations; but, hell, we knew what it was going to be like: we'd lived here for four years previously and had - still - chosen to return. So, enough already...





Truth be told, life in State College is easy (if somewhat dull) and I've already blogged about it (and parts of PA in general: see "Crappy Valley") previously. So, what new/unique experiences have we had in this, our first year back?



I've isolated that crafty, rapidly-evolving virus from the yuk that is chicken house dust and sequenced it's whole genome. Believe me, some people actually find that quite exciting.



Ali has worked almost exclusively with a baby with Down's Syndrome and what a high-achieving delight she is (the baby, not Ali). Al's has learned, and is rather adept at, sign language which she's rather chuffed about. Equally, I'm quite pleased with what little I have mastered of it.



We were unable to source another Chevy Blazer and had to settle for a Ford Explorer that, sadly, doesn't quite match up.



We've had a couple of sets of friends visit: thank you so much Wills, the Pears and the Broadheads. Oh, and the latter two managed to procure a rather apt number plate ('YETI") for our Explorer (cars in PA only have a rear number plate and you can stick what you like on the front - not so useful if you're being tail-gated and want to report the cad).



Although we have, admittedly, also been tail-gating. In this case that equates to joining more than fifty thousand people in hanging-out, barbequing and drinking excessively, in the fields and parking lots surrounding Beaver Stadium (with a capacity of more than 105,000, the world's third largest... at a University... for less than a dozen (student) games a year... it blows my mind). When there is a home game on the town's populace almost doubles overnight. The draw is staggering. The roads are choked; the queues in the supermarkets and wine shop unbelievable. Most of the faithful are alumni of the university and, as such, may well be crossing half the continent for the game. Some of those few who don't dote on the blue-and-whites have gone on holiday: paid for by those renting their house for the weekend.



In Britain (Europe or anywhere else?) there just isn't that devotion to your Alma Mata; nearly always there is a fondness, maybe the odd reunion, but to feel a need to help finance the institution? That's for the government and wealthy philanthropists, not humble graduates, isn't it? Well, that mentality doesn't exist here in State College and, I suspect, at many (most?) universities in America. The poor buggers can't even drink during the best days of their young lives (most enter at seventeen, for a five year course, and can drink at twenty one). And, don't forget, they had to pay massively for the pleasure. Then they graduate and contribute to the coffers. We're an ungrateful lot.



We've both fallen in love with a rather characterful cat who manages to juggle spirited with softy. His only failing is his passion for providing us with gifts: mostly live and often in bed. In truth we preferred the dead sparrow to the live rabbit, whilst the family of chipmunks he kindly brought us and then let loose to colonise the house was overly generous. He's a big cat, but obviously not the hardest in the neighbourhood as he regularly sports cuts and scabs acquired who knows where.



A first for us has been over-seeing Rahel's vegetable/fruit garden. We had no idea how to prune or nurture, but still things came. An unbelievable feast just arose. Still, in November, the raspberries refuse to call it a year. We've had blueberries, red currants, grapes (sadly mostly Concorde - the neighbours' did make some good jam from them), rhubarb, gooseberries (slightly beast-ravaged), strawberries (a few, it has been wet)... and raspberries by the pound; spinach, hearty greens, tomatoes (of all varieties), chillis (didn't quite fruit), onions, carrots, rocket, and herbs galore simply appeared. We planted some over-wintered potatoes and they were pure heaven; in went seven varieties of lettuce (we've bought none in eight months) and the few herbs that were not naturally growing. Meanwhile, we're swapping excess produce with another neighbour (great cucumbers). Actually, with the lettuce it was open-season - everyone knew to simply come take - as I'd stupidly planted way too much. Rahel obviously has green fingers and a very healthy soil (I added a new cover of compost only the other week). It was rather wonderful harvesting (especially the spuds and just nipping out to snip some fresh salad leaves) and I did feel a little Richard Briars. Indeed, I think it has had a profound effect on our perceptions of a garden.



We have rekindled old friendships with those who still live here. Sadly (as much as we love them), most of these are ex-pats, although there is one hugely notable exception whose family we thank massively for keeping Americans dear to our hearts. Actually, we also have rather fine neighbours.



And we've been fishing, camping..... and fishing.... Oh, and then it was a fine day for... fishing.



Few in America think the carp worthy of wetting a worm for, but here they are wild (lean, naive, un-nurtured and fight like hell) and in Pennsylvania and New York State they are in abundance. Myself (inspired by my brother, a true Carpologist - see website; and yes, as the joint owner of Carpology magazine, he is aware that Karpology is actually the study of nuts..) and my friend Simon dedicated the warm months to seeking out what the locals call "lunkers", i.e. big buggers. We met with mixed success - just one fish over 30lbs - but have plans in place for next Spring. That said, Simon's homemade swim-feeders proved to be dynamite on the Juniata River. And, on several occasions, we've had sessions where over 400lbs of fish have fallen to Wegman's sweetcorn (buying 80-odd cans at a time does raise eyebrows at checkout). Of course, not eating them, we return the fish unharmed. Tragically, the legal sport (only for the species carp) of bow-hunting doesn't result in the same happy (relatively) resolution for the fish.



I've tried, and failed, to master Marcel's pizza oven; although at least my naan breads are tolerable. OK, damn it, that's a lie: all my breads are disasters.



My two favourite bar staff, at State College's one bar serving hand-pulled ales (Hop Back can be really good), have left for pastures greener and Zeno's is less without them. Equally, Zola's, the only local restaurant of any note, has yet to lure us in this time.



Once again we've sampled as many new micro-brewery ales as we can get our hands on, but the great range of wine present at the State-controlled (no competition) liquor shops has, sadly, been largely neglected. Governor Corbett (Republican - and I'm certainly not one) just, against the flow, lost his seat in the mid-terms. I know little about State politics, but surely his proposal to remove the State monopoly on liquor stores was a good one.



My contract has already been extended, for three years if we want it. As it stands we don't know if this time next year will see us at Arizona State Uni, Michigan State or still here. We hope for the former - we're desperate to do the Phoenix-Salt Lake City drive described here on one of Travelblog's forums, plus visit lesser known western canyons, their orchards, festivals, and there are also some big carp over West) - but know that, regardless, our war chest grows and Central America beckons.



So, that brings us to the present and already the odd snow flurry has made an appearance. The Salathes will return at the end of the year and we will be homeless (worry not, long suffering friends are already rallying). We owe Rahel and Marcel a huge debt of thanks for letting us live in their lovely home and, in particular, for being able to share a year with Wilson. We'll probably be heading back to Blighty to gain new visas (although allowed to stay on our old ones, we cannot re-enter the country if we were to exit) and might yet find time to escape some of the worst weather with a trip to Hawaii (lava flows are high on my bucket list).



This time last year I was still attempting to become gainfully employed as a postmaster, a barman, one of Tesco's finest... The list of my rejections deserts me. This is a funny old life and, if nothing else, it never ceases to surprise.



As per always, keep scrolling to the bottom for more photos.. and then onto the additional pages...

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Comments

[Dancing Dave]

Fishing stories
Seeing you holding a fish with an expression of love like you were holding a new born child...your year working in U.S. like an extended holiday...uncertain of which road to take next. As you say "This is a funny old life and, if nothing else, it never ceases to surprise." Where there is a will there is a way I say...may your will lead you the best way. There's gotta be a song in that!

[Dancing Dave]

"Our U.S working holiday"
Excuse me for providing a title for this pic...would seem apt if 'twas me!