The Grand Canyon was the reason we crossed the Atlantic. In Las Vegas we rented what by American standards was an ordinary four-litre gas-guzzling beast of a car and headed for one of the driest and hottest areas on the planet. Death Valley captivates with unusual colours and lethally high temperatures, somewhat tempered by the dry air. The dirt roads are made for four-wheel drive, while the views offer a lunar landscape and pay tribute to the first settlers who tried to build a life here under inhuman conditions.

The wide highways allow fast travel to the canyon. Speed limits are ridiculously low and fines for exceeding them inhumanly high, so cruise control is almost essential equipment. The Grand Canyon is certainly one of the wonders of the world. I descended to the Colorado River twice. On the rim it was five degrees around the May Day holidays, while at the bottom it was a desert-like thirty, the result of an altitude difference of almost two thousand metres. A helicopter flight over the chasm is worth the money, as it reveals the scale of the largest scar on the planet.

We ended the trip to suit the children’s taste at Disneyland in Los Angeles. The park is outrageously expensive and pushes parents to the limits of endurance as they try to keep up with their children’s boundless energy.