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The highway to summer hell leads straight through the Hamptons The highway to summer hell leads straight through the Hamptons
(30 days later)
The American summer tradition of clearing out of cities for the beach every weekend is at odds with an equally strong tradition of avoiding inconvenience. But for some reason the beach always wins.The American summer tradition of clearing out of cities for the beach every weekend is at odds with an equally strong tradition of avoiding inconvenience. But for some reason the beach always wins.
Related: New York City's summer is vile. But you won't find me anywhere else | Samantha Gillison
Six hours on the road with small children in the back? No problem. A two-hour tailback? Just part of the package. A three-hour journey out of Penn Station to East Hampton, on a train so crowded you have to stand the whole way? Deal with it.Six hours on the road with small children in the back? No problem. A two-hour tailback? Just part of the package. A three-hour journey out of Penn Station to East Hampton, on a train so crowded you have to stand the whole way? Deal with it.
I have, in my nine years in the US, done every one of these journeys multiple times and now approach the summer with a certain dread. Granted, unlike in Britain, where you can stand up for hours on a train to get to a beach that looks like a large mudflat, at least the sand on Long Island is pretty. The dunes are pristine, the weather is hot and, if you trudge far enough from the path, you don’t have to see another human for hours.I have, in my nine years in the US, done every one of these journeys multiple times and now approach the summer with a certain dread. Granted, unlike in Britain, where you can stand up for hours on a train to get to a beach that looks like a large mudflat, at least the sand on Long Island is pretty. The dunes are pristine, the weather is hot and, if you trudge far enough from the path, you don’t have to see another human for hours.
But the ratio of travel to down time would put a bank holiday fanatic to shame. What is this? Perhaps it’s a Gatsby thing: the romance of leaving the city in the summer ingrained into folklore as the only way to Enjoy Yourself. Or perhaps it has to do with the fact that the standard amount of annual leave in the US is two weeks, turning summer weekends from relaxed opportunities to do nothing to the only time to cram a change of scene under your belt.But the ratio of travel to down time would put a bank holiday fanatic to shame. What is this? Perhaps it’s a Gatsby thing: the romance of leaving the city in the summer ingrained into folklore as the only way to Enjoy Yourself. Or perhaps it has to do with the fact that the standard amount of annual leave in the US is two weeks, turning summer weekends from relaxed opportunities to do nothing to the only time to cram a change of scene under your belt.
This weekend, we made a conscious decision to try, however long the drive took, to mentally recategorise it not as a pain in the neck barrier between us and the beach, but an exciting part of the weekend. We made multiple stops. We pretended the slow-moving traffic was gently relaxing.This weekend, we made a conscious decision to try, however long the drive took, to mentally recategorise it not as a pain in the neck barrier between us and the beach, but an exciting part of the weekend. We made multiple stops. We pretended the slow-moving traffic was gently relaxing.
It kind of worked. At the very least, not railing against how miserable it was made everyone happier. And with the temperature in New York hitting 40C, there was something to be said for being in an air-conditioned car for six hours. Maybe it is, after all, the journey that counts.It kind of worked. At the very least, not railing against how miserable it was made everyone happier. And with the temperature in New York hitting 40C, there was something to be said for being in an air-conditioned car for six hours. Maybe it is, after all, the journey that counts.
Apps v mapsApps v maps
For directions in the car, I used Waze, the satellite navigation app that directed Israeli soldiers into a Palestinian area, leading to a gunfight, several months ago, but works fine for the outer regions of New York. While you drive, Waze crowdsources updates about speed traps, breakdowns and bad traffic on the road, all of which pop up in real time in the graphic, and which the app factors in to reroute you mid-journey.For directions in the car, I used Waze, the satellite navigation app that directed Israeli soldiers into a Palestinian area, leading to a gunfight, several months ago, but works fine for the outer regions of New York. While you drive, Waze crowdsources updates about speed traps, breakdowns and bad traffic on the road, all of which pop up in real time in the graphic, and which the app factors in to reroute you mid-journey.
In order to use this feature, however, you must have an almost superhuman ability to overrule natural instinct – to let it guide you down unknown back roads and on huge detours, trusting the superior smartness of its algorithm. There comes a point on every trip when, I have discovered, I lose my nerve and overthrow the machine for a familiar route. It probably takes longer to get there, but the fightback has to start somewhere.In order to use this feature, however, you must have an almost superhuman ability to overrule natural instinct – to let it guide you down unknown back roads and on huge detours, trusting the superior smartness of its algorithm. There comes a point on every trip when, I have discovered, I lose my nerve and overthrow the machine for a familiar route. It probably takes longer to get there, but the fightback has to start somewhere.
Ribs on the roadRibs on the road
As a kid, one of the biggest treats of summer travel used to be pulling in at a Little Chef on the motorway, and a vague thrill lingers on whenever we stop off at a TGI Fridays. No matter how bad the food, the romance of the service station always had the power to make it taste great, particularly in the US, where weird pies and large portions can still trigger the open-mouthed tourist in me.As a kid, one of the biggest treats of summer travel used to be pulling in at a Little Chef on the motorway, and a vague thrill lingers on whenever we stop off at a TGI Fridays. No matter how bad the food, the romance of the service station always had the power to make it taste great, particularly in the US, where weird pies and large portions can still trigger the open-mouthed tourist in me.
But at the weekend, the ribs tasted like sandpaper, the wings, under the sauce, glowed pallid white and the car next to ours in the parking lot bore a Trump bumper sticker. Finally, my Pollyanna-ism had found its outer limits.But at the weekend, the ribs tasted like sandpaper, the wings, under the sauce, glowed pallid white and the car next to ours in the parking lot bore a Trump bumper sticker. Finally, my Pollyanna-ism had found its outer limits.