I’ve been to all 50 US states – and I wish I hadn’t bothered

With extortionate prices, unreliable transport and an ever-present gun problem, in my view the US is a poor substitute for travel elsewhere

There’s no escaping American culture in Britain. Hollywood, fast food, politics, Disney, and even Black Friday… we interact with stateside influences every day. Growing up, my vision was tinted by stars and stripes, fuelled by sitcoms and songs that convinced me America was the greatest place in the universe. I was brainwashed, and nothing, not even Borat, could shake this Empire State of Mind. That was until I became a resident, and travelled to every state.
I moved to New York full of enthusiasm – but within six months, it had started to wane in a serious way. Repeatedly ripped off by everyone from landlords and doctors to grocery cashiers, the saying “If you can make it here, you can make it anywhere” had started to make a lot of sense. When my husband was attacked on the subway in a homophobic hate crime, we decided enough was enough. My eagerness to be part of the City of Dreams was gone.
But New York is a big, complicated city – just one small corner of an enormous nation – and I was determined not to tar the entire place with one disappointing brush. So, when borders closed in 2020, we decided to do what only 2 per cent of Americans have done: check off all 50 states. It seemed like a great idea at the time, but now? I wish we’d stuck with the other 98 per cent. 
For two years, we traversed the country by road, driving obscenely long distances to places the average Brit would have heard of only if they’d watched Miss Congeniality very, very closely. The likes of Nebraska, Iowa and Arkansas passed almost without comment, rolling scenery blurring together but for seas of languishing factory-farmed cows.
And then, we reached the Bible Belt. In Texas, trucks were plastered with bumper stickers dedicated to two of the country’s most worshipped men: Donald Trump and Jesus. As someone queer, Asian, and as Christian as a seasonal Wham! record, I was hardly likely to be flavour of the month with the MAGA set – particularly as anti-Asian violence had spiked due to the pandemic – and cries of “another Chinese who brought Covid to America!” became a familiar sound. 
But it was the guns that turned an unpleasant situation into a frightening one. America has more guns than people, and for those of us unaccustomed to open-carry laws (most states allow you to open-carry a handgun without a permit; in only five states is it entirely illegal), their omnipresence can come as an unnerving surprise. I was terrified the first time I saw one, casually, in a fast-food restaurant. I even took a shooting lesson to try to overcome my fears, but with the gun in my hands, all I could do was tremble. 
And it wasn’t just guns and politics that made our trans-continental journey a miserable one. The prices did, too.
The United States rarely scores higher than 10th in country cost-of-living rankings – considered relatively cheap compared to the likes of Switzerland or Scandinavia. And yet, when you’re a tourist, prices always seem to be sky-high. 
Take car rental. With a still-sparse regional rail network, and few cities with safe and reliable public transport options, car rental companies know travellers have few alternatives, and charge accordingly. In Alaska, the least visited state, caravan rental and campsite parking cost us £2,000 for five days. Add £200 to fill the tank of your inevitable gas guzzler, and no number of moose sightings is enough to stop you thinking about your looming credit card bill. 
But that’s only the start. Really want to fret about your budget? Add 20 per cent to everything. Literally everything. Tipflation is out of hand stateside, where businesses pay employees terrible wages and expect customers to make up the deficit. We were asked to tip performers at a concert after shelling out for tickets; went to grocery chains with tip options at self-service check-outs; were expected to give a minimum 30 per cent tip at drive-thru coffee shop windows. Soon enough, we found we were withdrawing wads of cash daily just to pay gratuities.
And all this to see America’s great sights. I will admit, some of these are wonderful: the Grand Canyon is magnificent, as are the Great Smoky Mountains and the various National Parks; the Washington Monument is truly a sight to behold; so are the Hoover Dam, Kennedy Space Centre and Mount Rushmore. But beyond this? The country has fallen for its own marketing genius. Superlatives abound, but just because something is the biggest, fastest or tallest doesn’t necessarily make it worth seeing. Worse still, since most Americans don’t own a valid passport, there are plenty of places where the main attractions are… replicas of European monuments. 
In Las Vegas, tourists crowd around imitations of Paris’s Eiffel Tower and Rome’s Trevi Fountain, and in Nashville, there’s a full-scale copy of Athens’ Parthenon. Try as I might, I still don’t understand why anyone would travel to take photos in front of replicas. It’s like drinking prosecco out of a champagne bottle. Why lie to yourself?
And then there’s the food. At every corner, the must-try dish was some variation of beef or pork slathered in plastic cheese. Burgers, barbecue, cheesesteak sandwiches, tacos, hot dogs, pizzas… if it blocks an artery, it’s a local delicacy. 
Of course, it wasn’t all bad. For all its faults, America nevertheless served us some delicious adventures – hot air ballooning in Arizona; skiing in Utah; surfing in my favourite state, California. The highlights of our trip were unforgettable. But the rest? I scoured every corner of America looking for some trace of the magic, the hype, the grandeur I’d grown up seeing in films and on TV – and no matter how hard I looked, I always came up empty.
When we ticked off our final state and left America for good, I knew with a heavy heart that I’d never be back. The rest of the world is too big and beautiful, and there’s so much of it I’ve yet to explore. From now on, for me, the party is anywhere but the USA.
Violent crime, poor hygiene, rat problems and rude people.
Freezing weather, plenty of rain, and lots of toll roads.
Harsh weather, potholes and empty lands.
Windy, high violent crime.
The smallest state with nothing worth visiting.
Unsightly destinations of nothing.
Airports and mediocre beaches.
Factory-farmed cows, lifeless towns and tornados.
Better known (and summed up) as “Misery”.
Disastrous weather, alcoholics and salty food.
Calorific cuisine, humidity and open racism everywhere.
Humidity resulting in insects galore.
Guns, guns and more guns (sprinkled in with a heavy helping of discrimination).
Theme parks and retirement homes.
Without the Vegas strip, the state is a sad, sad desert.
Mormons and emptiness (but the skiing in Utah is good).
Where rich people ski, and everyone else shivers.
Crazy desert heat that’s not for the faint-hearted.
Terrible weather and forever ugly highways.
Blow your budget to witness the harsh contrast of extreme wealth beside extreme poverty.
Non-stop rain and a big homeless problem.
Most of it is uninhabitable, and imported food is outrageously priced.
America took beautiful Hawaii and brought with them chain resorts and sloppy buffets.