Trains and stations...

Penn Station in New York has the feel of an airport despite the bustle of a busy commuter facility. Local trains and the subway share the space with long haul enterprises.

Having booked our journeys by internet we had only to print the tickets. Easily achieved by scanning the computer printout at a machine, and after confirming the details, the tickets were printed. This was the process for the first two of our journeys, but for some reason the El Paso to Los Angeles leg of the journey needed to be claimed from a ticket office - itself a painless, if long, procedure queueing at a ticket counter.

As we had booked sleeping accommodation we were entitled to the use of the station lounge - the Acela Lounge - with restrooms, complimentary tea, coffee and soda and business facilites. Entry is facilitated by a bell, and there is a need to check in, and in case you missed this requirement there was the lady at the desk with a voice to arrest anyone trying to sneak in. But the air-conditioned facility was a great place to wait for the train departure time.

With about 15 minutes to departure time the platform number for The Crescent is flashed onto the electronic board and we are invited to board. At first this feels more like going onto the subway - we take the escalator down and reach a subterranean platform, where the artificial light makes it feel more like night than 2.00pm.

The sleeping cars are at the front of the train so a long walk is needed, and we are met by Charles, who informs us that he will be with us all the way to New Orleans, and who shows us to our sleeper.

We had booked a sleepette roomliner - two chairs opposite, with a bunk above, and a toilet and basin in the corner. Snug, cosy, bijou: there is no escaping that this is a tight space, but it is roomy enough. 2 roomettes with a corridor between make up the carriage (or "car" in the US).

At the end of the corridor is a shower facility, and nearby is the dining car and bar.

As we left New York the train had more of a commuter feel to it than the mystique of the long-distant express, stopping at a number of stations. But we had good, if brief, views of Washington DC, with the White House and other monuments visible as we journeyed past.

Three meals a day are included with sleeping rooms, and Gary the dining car attendant

makes us very welcome. With a manner that was both bossy ("ladies, I need you to sit here") and charming, we were made to feel at home.

The menu was good, if limited. And portion sizes warranted an exercise car to be on the train - sadly not yet available.

We both ordered steak - mine rare, Lorraine medium - served with a choice of baked or mashed potatoes, rice and vegetables. And the steaks arrived as they had been ordered - cooked very well. And our meal was accompanied by a good Chilean Merlot.

We returned to our roomette to find it prepared for sleeping, and as we slept (me) or dozed (Lorraine) both the North and South Carolinas passed by.

The rest of the journey was uneventful with a lot of reading, eating and dozing, until we reached New Orleans, which was in the grips of the annual Decadence Festival (a gay pride version of Mardi Gras). Our accommodation - a bed and breakfast near to the French Quarter - was entirely taken up gay couples.

And grateful for the air-conditioning we slept well.

New York...

Having visited New York on two previous occasions, but only for one night each time, I was very keen to return. The city has a feel about it which is both dynamic and welcoming. Obviously this is a gross generalisation but we were met with courtesy and helpfulness at every level. And having already grasped the principles behind the subway system I was keen to revisit it. Clearly subsidised (the ticket from the airport terminal to the subway proper was over twice the price of an unlimited ticket on the New York network) and it is clean, quick and efficient.

We flew Virgin Atlantic from Heathrow to terminal 4 at JFK. Having been late to check in we were unable to sit together but Lorraine had been given a front seat on the upper deck, and I was upgraded to Premium class in the main body of the plane.

After comparing notes there seemed to be little difference except there was more alcohol in the Premium Class.

Arriving in JFK 5o minutes ahead of schedule we were steeled for the immigration process which, true to past experience, took a long time. There was the long queue, with the excitement of watching people trying to casually pass other in front of them (especially on the corners) and also what strategies were (equally casually) employed to stop them!

Once we reached the front of the queue (sorry "line" - this is now the USA) we were arbitrarily assigned to an immigration desk - each with a shorter line leading up to it. Any sense of relief that there is light at the end of the tunnel is quickly dispelled when we realise that not only it is it officer changeover time, but also the people in front of us have complex immigration problems which necessitated them being escorted to a processing station elsewhere, and then the officer concerned having the need to share his problems with a colleague before feeling able to resume his post. We waited for 25 minutes watching other passengers coming to the front and being processed as we waited on. However all was over relatively quickly once our immigration official was once again working.

Our hotel was on West 24th Street, but I had misread it as West 34th street, and as we approached this address I was increasingly excited as to how close the Empire State Building was... but once I saw that supposed site of our hotel was in fact a sports shop I started to get annoyed, and on re-reading the hotel docket found that we had to walk about a further half mile to get to our hotel.

Hotel was ok - more of a dormitory for visitors than home from home, but it was clean, cool and near to the centre.

Temperature was running at 31 degrees - so it was warm!

We ate at the hotel and slept well.

On the Thursday we took a ferry to Liberty Island and paid homage to the symbol of immigration which overlooks to the entrance to New York (if you are approaching by sea.)

When built in the late 19th Century it was the tallest structure in the city - exceeding even the mighty Brooklyn Bridge, but of course is now dwarfed by the many skyscrapers.

Covered in copper, the green effect is still nevertheless striking and inspiring.

We took a subway to nearby central park and took over an hour to look over the Frick collection of pictures. Mr Frick - a steel magnate who died in the early 20th century, had amassed an impressive collection of paintings which he had left to the nation, to be exhibited after the death of his wife.

Currently staffed by a team of women of a certain age and manner, visitors are left with no illusions as to who is in charge, and who in absence of a class system based on social rank, the ability of money to talk and influence is clearly felt here.

Each room is solid, well lit, and very tastefully designed to exhibit the masterpieces. Guides (or is it guards?) stand watchfully on every corner, and the hand-held audio guides give useful information as to most of the paintings.

It is hard to imagine the building as a personal and family home - but this is what is was built for.

Lorraine and I differed as to which picture we liked the best - Lorraine opting for a Renoir, (two girls in the park) while I went for the Bellini "St Francis in Ecstasy".

The Frick Collection buildings also keep a wonderful set of washrooms, which in themselves almost justify the admission charge.

An evening meal at a Mexican Food equivalent to Subway (choose your base - nachos, rice, tortilla etc , then your beans, salsa, filling and topping) rounded off the day.

The New York skyline is still evocative of emotions, and the sheer size of the buildings generates a sense of awe. We feel there is so much more to see and do here that more visits are a likely event.