Part Four – Miami to Atlanta and the Semi Final

Drawing a line from Miami to Atlanta on the map, it is of course more direct to go by car or by bus. However, it is possible to do it by rail, albeit a convoluted route involving three trains, via Raleigh and Greensboro, both in North Carolina, and having purchased a second USA pass, and having three days to do it, this was my route.

The train left Miami at 11.05 on the Sunday morning. No early services anywhere, so no church for a change. If you start a journey on Amtrack at the station of origin, you should be there at least half an hour before as they do all the boarding early so as to leave on time. So bus 22 all the way up 22^nd avenue and bus 79 along 79^th street (nice numbering system) and a short walk to the single platform Amtrak station, and the “Floridian” which left on time, bound for Chicago.

I initially had an empty seat next to me, but at Tampa (where we were allowed out for a “stretch and smoke”) I returned to find one of those enormous black women with massive bare arms, that no sleeves could ever fit, occupying it. She was pottering around and I asked her to be careful and not sit on my glasses, which were on the seat. She took offence at that and asked for another seat which she got. Phew.

At Orlando an equally enormous man got on while I was on the platform taking the air. This chap was much more affable, a retired cook called John West (“as in the tinned fish?” “Yep”). He talked at a huge rate, and was going all the way to Chicago, which involved two nights on the train. I told him about Atlanta. He said I would fry there: “Stay any longer and you’ll be my colour”. Soon he fell asleep. After some hours I climbed over him carefully so as not to wake him up but when I returned he had woken up and asked how I had done it when he was so big – “Another advantage of being small”.

During the night he offered me a circular pillow type thing that I had always thought looked like a neck warmer. He didn’t want it as he was going to sit in the café car and watch movies. It was very good for supporting the head and I slept very well. My impression was that he spent the whole night in the café car as every time I woke up his seat was empty.

I went to the café car and joined him for what has become my standard Amtrak breakfast  – maple porridge with a small carton of milk added to dilute the sweetness, a cup of English Breakfast tea and two cheese and bacon omelette cups. He was surprised that “such a little guy” like me was eating so much. So, he had 8 sisters and 4 brothers. His parents gave them a very strict upbringing. They kept the front room of the house as a “museum”, used for visitors only, and polished up the best china service every week even though it was only ever used at Christmas and Thanksgiving. I said it sounded like my grandmother’s upbringing from her memoirs. He was determined though that no room in hisown  house would be a museum. His great love was cigars, and he said he liked to imagine the Day of Judgement coming before God, and he will be smoking a cigar. Wonderful.

When I came to leave, he wanted me to take the head rest. I didn’t want to as I’m sure he is worse off than me, but he said “I’ll be offended if you don’t take it”. So I took it and still have it, and it is a real help. However he had another night to go before Chicago, so I hope St Peter has a cigar for him when the time comes.

From the station at Raleigh by bus to the “Super 8” hotel, where it was too early to check in at 10 a.m. so I left the bags and took another bus back to the “downtown”. None of the cash capturing machines were working and I was waved to the back without paying on each occasion.

Raleigh appeared to be closed on Mondays. Most of the museums, including the City Museum were closed on Mondays. I walked down the main thoroughfare to the Carolina Capitol, took a few pictures and read the memorial to the various local worthies who achieved great things but were also slave owners. Then the Natural History Museum, which was open, and was free, to take up the time till 3 pm when I could check in.

Evening back in by bus again and a salad and cocktails at the Willard Roof Bar, overlooking the city centre.

From Raleigh I had a train, the “Piedmont” from Raleigh to Greensboro. The Piedmont actually runs as far as Charlotte, so between Greensboro and Charlotte, takes the same route as the train from New York to New Orleans, which I had already taken on my first trip to Atlanta. I mention this because of what happened later. I wanted to leave my bag in the left luggage facility so as not to have to lug it around. This cost $20, but I was told that if I checked the bag in, it was free. “Actually I am going to Atlanta”. He said he would check it in to Atlanta and that would avoid having to carry it everywhere. I then went to a nearby restaurant called the Whiskey Kitchen for a long lunch of lambburger, Collard greens and some Carolina Rye whiskeys.

The Piedmont to Greensboro and Charlotte is quite different from the regular Amtrak trains. It is financed by North Carolina State. The coaches have much more space than on the regular trains, and the café car is self-service: free tea and coffee and vending machines for the other items. It also passes through some quite lovely scenery as the train climbs upwards.

There is not a lot to see in Greensboro, so I visited Elm Street round the corner from the station. Historically this street had until 1955 several cigar factories, but was now a hip area with various brewpubs, so I went to one called “The Bearded Goat” as it was supposed to be quirky. It was. I immediately got talking to three gentlemen to whom the idea of changing trains and spending the transit time in a nearby bar was completely alien. I doubt they had ever been on a train. Spain v France was on, and we saw what happened. France barely turned up while Spain played very well. I had mentioned that I was going to watch England and one man at the end of the bar kept going “F*ck England” so I asked him why “Because this is Greensboro North Carolina so f*ck England”. He repeated this various times, but when I came to pay, he paid for my drinks so, yes, quirky.

Nothing else of note. The journey to Atlanta was on the same train, the “Crescent” which I had taken previously from Washington, and which was four and a half hours late. This one arrived on time at 8.30 the next morning. Unfortunately when we went for the bags, mine was not there. The man in charge of the bags called Greensboro. Not there. A little later he told me they had found my bag: it was in Charlotte. But I was returning this evening after the match so no point in sending it here. Nor did they do checked baggage to my next destinations. So we agreed that I should collect my bag in Charlotte on the way back. I understood that someone would bring it to the train, and that the train was scheduled to wait there for 25 minutes. Meanwhile I had a walk of a mile and a half each way to buy shoes (I was wearing slippers), socks and washing things. I spent $69 on these from a mall by the freeway. Various people offered to help. I could borrow Annoushka’s sandals (not her cowboy boots as she was wearing them) and someone offered me another England T shirt but didn’t turn up where we agreed. So it was the dark blue polo shirt, which is England but a bit close to the Argentina change strip.

There were Argies everywhere. Or more correctly a large number of people in Argentinian colours which looked suspiciously new. I walked down to the Arts Centre metro stop and passed a dinky Korean couple in his and hers outfits, his England, hers Argentina. This is the way the British working man’s game is going. Oh, and the ticket price for this one, Category 3 a snip at $980. Change and decay in all around I see.

Unlike the other venues, Atlanta sells food at prices no more than what is charged normally. No price gouging. I had two tamales for $5 and beer in a bar on the way that was definitely not Michelob. Into the ground. The Argies drowned out our National Anthem, which was barely audible. I did something I have only done once before which was to sit down during theirs, put my feet on the next seat and boo theirs loudly.#

And here we came unstuck. The match was a rerun of the semi final against Croatia in Moscow in 2018. We scored first. Bellingham and Kane had not done much – probably tired out – and our most dynamic player was Anthony Gordon who scored the goal. And Tuchel took him off, and replaced him with Konsa, who is a defender. Up to that point I think we had made a good job of neutralising Messi. Now we were playing like Egypt had in the Round of 16. Just defending and as if to emphasise that, on came Dan Burn. You can’t play like that against the Argies, and we couldn’t. There were a number of near misses, saves by Pickford  and shots hitting the post before they scored, and quite soon after scored again. Both assists were by Messi. So that was it and we were out of the cup.

This was more of a disappointment than Moscow. This is the one country to whom we don’t like losing. They cheat, they playact, they push our players while the ref isn’t looking, and they bellyache on ad nauseam about the Falklands.

So we are out of the cup. A brief meeting in a taco bar with Paul and Annoushka, all of us utterly deflated. I took the Crescent back from Atlanta to Alexandria, thence another train to Norfolk Virginia, to spend the last days of the trip on the beach. This included a mad dash to the baggage office at Charlotte at 5 am, where after explaining myself for the umpteenth time to an official who hadn’t got a clue what I was talking about, the lady found my bag with an instruction to hand to me tied to it, and I got back to the train before it left. My final thanks to Amtrak which has so much potential but is in dire need of investment.

The third place playoff, which will be against France, will be in Miami, so not practical to go, and I don’t have a ticket for it, so will watch from the beach.

One thing for certain – we will all be Spanish on Saturday.