In March I went on holiday for three weeks with my friend Ed to the southern states in the US. I sent several emails back home. People seemed to enjoy them. So here they are. This includes the last instalment which I never got round to sending out.
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Email 1 – New Orleans
Hello all
We have arrived safe and sound in New Orleans, after a minor detour to the wrong terminal at Heathrow and then me nearly being refused entry into the US at Chicago. I think in total it was about 26 hours or so of travelling, of which I slept for around an hour on the plane to Chicago and then about 10 minutes between Chicago and New Orleans, when I was woken up by the landing. We got to the hotel at midnight, and had a few beers in the sports bar attached to our hotel before bed.
Meanwhile back at immigration in Chicago…
I’m asked the usual questions and then….
Immigration Official: “Where do you live”?
Me: “Taunton”……
Immigration Official: Silence…. he leans back in his chair so that the buttons on his shirt stretch and I can see the white tee-shirt underneath.
Me: “It’s in Somerset”
Immigration Official: “I know” (I, however, doubt he does. My doubt is not entirely based on supposition, we have history on this already. A minute, or so ago he asked me what I did. After clarifying that he meant what I did as what was my primary means of income, I told him I was a town planner. I was then also faced with silence and what I took to be a blank look. I helpfully explained “I think it’s like you’re zoning…. a little bit at least …. I’m sure there are differences but they’re broadly similar, I think …. – “I know” he replied…. but he did not actually seem to know then ether).
The Immigration Officer taps at his computer for a few moments
Immigration Official: Have you ever lived in London
Me: No
Immigration Official: You’ve never lived in Camden?
Me: No, I only have a vague idea (I may have said – “notion”) where Camden is.
Immigration Official: Hmmmmm
More tapping at the computer key board – the shirt buttons are straining again.
Immigration Official: Are you sure?
Me: Yes
Immigration Official: Sir, can you step over to the right and stand on the black line.
I’m not given my passport back.
I look over at Ed, who is next in line, and give him a “I’ve no idea what’s going on” shrug. A few moments later I’m ushered into a waiting room area by another Immigration Official who indicates I must take a seat and wait – I sit on the wooden bench and wait. In the 30 minutes or so I’m in there I’m pretty much the only white person in that waiting room, there is one white woman sitting to my left, but I soon work out that she works for the immigration service and seems to be looking after some Asian children while their mother is in one of the interview (interrogation?) rooms. It seems that this waiting room is a holding pen for those of Middle Eastern descent, with a sprinkling of oriental people ……. and me.
Five, or so minutes go by and nothing happens, so I get my book out and try to read. I can’t really concentrate. Maybe it’s because, the book is set in a Jewish ghetto, in Poland, in WWII, and I’m at the point where mass deportations are beginning. I stop reading. The only other book I have in my hand luggage is a thick USA guide book. However, it seems inappropriate to read this whilst I’m facing the, at least theoretical, possibility of being returned home. I sit quietly, pray briefly, and feel a little better.
I remain sitting in silence. I can’t even take my phone out and play a game. Phone use is forbidden. The signs dotted around the room allude to this, but, if any occupants of the waiting room were in any doubt, this was dispelled when the man sat next to me was severely told off when caught using a phone. He is wearing an extremely shiny suit. He tries to make several calls on his phone, but fails. He asks me if I have a US mobile. I say no. He has better luck with his neighbour to his left. The man in the shiny suit is mid way through arranging a flight to Canada when caught breaking the rules.
Luckily I do not share the same fate as the Asian woman, whose children are now beginning to misbehave a little. I do not see the inside of one of the interview rooms. And after a while my passport is returned to me and I’m told I’m free to go. I’m still not entirely sure what was going on, the immigration officers are not the most talkative bunch, but as far as I can work out the issue related to a namesake of mine and not me.
We’ve had a nice day yesterday. Got up about 9ish and not feeling too tired. We’ve had a good wonder around the French Quarter and Treme – which has some of the most beautiful, quirky, little houses I’ve ever seen. We took a street car (tram) out to the garden district – I had a nice jerk chicken and chop salad for lunch. We’ve watched some street musicians. One groups contained about fifteen or so, mostly very young, people. While my ignorance of American music styles may be showing here, I think they played some kind of blend of Cajan and Blue Grass music. They all had a slightly grubby appearance and the boys had an impressive array of breads, and the girl’s hairy legs and armpits. They were great (in general not specifically the hairy legs and armpits).
For dinner I had pork checks with black eyed peas and Ed had a crab stew. As of yet my diet has felt a little too healthy, with my large salad, pluses and sensible portion sizes. I doubt this will last for the rest of the trip.
After dinner we went to see a band (War on Drugs – supported by White Rabbits). White rabbits we’re really very good, War on Drugs not so good. The CD player/ alarm clock in our room is currently refusing to play their (White Rabbits) CD which is very frustrating.
Now I know what I’m about to say is really bad and I know I shouldn’t think this… but…. I do like that smoking is allowed in bars here. Not all that many people actually smoked, but somehow being allowed to felt a little, civilised. Perhaps it’s just nostalgia and being in a slightly smoky room reminds me of going to see bands when I was younger, but it did like that last night. It’s interesting that I first encountered a “smoking ban” in the US about 9 years ago when going to see Idlewild in a little music venue in LA. I remember commenting then, on the way back to the hostel, how it was nice to leave a music venue not smelling of smoke.
We are going to try to go and see the New Orleans Hornets play the Lakers (basketball) tonight. And go on a steam boat trip today. A Po Boy, a large bread baguette type bread over stuffed with meat and dressed with bits of salad, pickles and sauces, is looking like a good lunch option, so the fairly healthy eating ends today.
I have attached a few photo’s from yesterday.
Oh and by the way Jesus does do miracles in New Orleans, at least he does if you’re an iphone user.
I’ll try and email again as we go off on our road trip – depending on time and wifi connection.
Byeee.
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Email 2 – Basketball, pretty waitresses, car rides and small town America.
Dear all
I have written this email over quite a few days, so I know it sounds a bit disjointed, but I don’t what to fix all the tenses etc – sorry.
Aside from a few Mansfield Town games – tonight was my first experience of attending an organised sporting event. We watched the New Orleans Hornets play the LA Lakers at basket ball. I have to say I enjoyed it much more than I ever thought I would. I liked the pageantry; I got into the game and enjoyed being immersed in another bit of Americana. I enjoyed that I was sat next to a large (I suspect clinically obese) boy who was being stroppy with his mother because he wanted better seats – to the point where he asked me how much our tickets cost – when I confirmed that the price his mother had told him she paid for his tickets was correct – it did not stop him complaining. I had at least two American stereotypes confirm – but also, on that night, others dispelled. I did not understand all the rules, but I really did have a good time – even down to the very bad hot dog I eat.
Every now and then the fans start to chant (what I think is) “eeeeasy, eeeeasy, eeeeasy” and so for a moment I think I’m watching British Sea Power (I only expect 3 people on this email list to get that reference). It turns out they are actually chanting “deeee-fence, deee-fence, deee-fence”, or occasionally beee-fence x3 (because the cheer leaders are called the honey bees – I assume because bees are similar to but nicer and smaller than a hornet). My mistake here is, I think forgivable because one of the, many, names New Orleans has is “The Big Easy” (alongside “Nawlans”, “Nola” and “The Crescent City”).
Celebrity is very important at this event. By and large I have no Idea who those that they are displaying on the screens are, nevertheless there are more than a few I recognise. They display a bunch of people (I assume local celebrities or celebrities that originate from New Orleans) who are season ticket holders – none of them I know. Throughout the event they also seem to “spot” several other celebrities and display them on screen. Again I don’t really know who most of them are – but Samuel L Jackson is there, as is “Stifler’s Mom” (from American Pie) and the head chef from the restaurant me an Ed eat at last night (I am choosing to believe that he personally cook us our dinner).
The disappointment came towards the end. Ultimately the teams drew – up till this point; the game was genuinely very exciting as the score was very close. More so because the Hornets (New Orleans) were always winning – but only just. Naturally – we were supporting the Hornets, currently being resident in New Orleans – however, being fickle as we all are, I assume that had we been staying in LA – I would be cheering for the Lakers.
Overtime is five minutes long – this is dragged out to over 30 minutes – with the number of time outs and other interruptions. By the end all interest and excitement is lost. At this point the cheerleaders bouncing their little legs is no longer a distraction – it really is just time that they got on with it. As a side point – the cheerleaders are probably superior athletes to the players – they certainly spend more time moving around than the players, with the time outs and constant replacements (I’m fairly sure this is not the official term – but you know what I mean) etc. In the end the Lakers beat the Hornets, I’m apathetic at this point – had this occurred before the, ridiculous, overtime I genuinely would have been gutted. I’m not.
Disappointment over the overtime aside, I really did enjoy it and while every part of me wants to criticise the whole thing – I can’t – I liked it. My last experience of watching live sport involved grown men relieving them self on the stands and shouting racial abuse at a player, that I only realised half way through, was actually on “their” team. I had more fun tonight.
I could now detail the first leg of our road trip, or tell you about our steam/paddle boat ride (displaying the delights of the industrial Louisianan coast line) where, according to the commentator, everything was the biggest or best in the world (but only when an obscure measuring system is applied. Did you know that New Orleans has the biggest port in the world [move aside Rotterdam, Antwerp et. al] but only when measured in the number of barges that service the port [not cargo ships or tonnage]).
I won’t. Instead bar etiquette, waitresses (and, by extension, tipping) has caught my attention. I think we, or more specifically, I have broken bar/drink ordering/ restaurant sitting etiquette more than once. Most notably was in New Orleans whilst watching a band – between the support and the main band I go to get us another beer. I hover between two bar stools taken up by people sitting there. I try to catch the waitress’s eyes … unsuccessfully. It seems that hovering around occupied bar stools is not the done thing and apparently quite annoying (I’m not sure how else you’re meant to get another drink). In this case there is a section of the bar that is not surrounded by stools – but it is the section next to the standing area near the stage – it is more than a foot lower than the bar seating area – and whilst I see some successfully ordering from this area I don’t want the embarrassment of even attempting this. In the end it turns out the girl, whose stool I’m hovering behind works there (not that night – but in general) she gets me my order (after correcting my pronunciation of the particular beer I order), gives me my change an sits back at her stool. I suspect this is done just to get rid of me.
Last night on our return from the basketball game we went to a bar to order drinks. We waited an in-ordinate amount of time to be given attention by the waiting staff in the end I address one of the guys and beginning to ask for some beers. Before ending the request he stops me and makes it clear that he will not be serving us our drinks and instead selects one of the other waiting staff to serve us. None of them seemed to be particularly occupied. So I’m not sure why he could not have poured us two pints. I assume one of two things – either there is some sort of hierarchy and his position is such that he is somehow above serving drinks or he has the uncanny knack of selecting the one waitress that you find particularly attractive to serve you. In this case there are three or four, all very attractive in their way. The one he (I think rudely) taps on the back to get her to serve us, is, to me, very pretty. I would say she is, objectively, the least obviously attractive of all the other girls. She looks, more than a little like Emma Lee-Moss from Emmy the Great. Perhaps this is some elaborate ploy to increase tips – I’m not sure. But ….. The next night we’re in the delightful town of Mobile (pronounced – Mobeel). We go out to an oyster bar for dinner. We have dinner amongst tables of bikers (literally think hells angels or the TV show “Sons of Anarchy” if you’ve ever seen it) there is a convention on, apparently. We’re seated in a “section” of the restaurant/bar served by a particular waitress. In this case, it is Ed that thinks she is particularly cute. Unfortunately for her, it is me that is paying for dinner tonight. Maybe this particular attention to the selection of waitresses is the most sought after skill required for a head waiter/bar man!
(Don’t worry the waitress in the oyster house was tipped well).
Mobile and Alabama was lovely. There are some really beautiful houses on a street lined by some really, very, very, beautiful trees – whose branches snaked across the road and were covered in some odd hanging moss type plant. We spent a morning on a historic homes tour. It just so happens that we’re in Mobile on one of the two days a year that some private, anti-bellum (basically the time period before the Civil War), homes are opened to the public. The first one is in a “pre-restoration state”. It is lovely and more than a little rough around the edges. I can’t however help felling a little like I’m at work and I’ve been called out on a site visit to a Listed Building either just before it is t be sold or just after its been bought. It amuses me a little that I keep over hearing the other people wandering around saying “gosh there’s so much work to do”. In reality the house is in a better state than my house, in Yeovil, was when I first bought it. We only get to see about half of the houses that are open – we have to get on the road and do some driving – but it’s not really the time it takes to look at the houses – its more that we keep getting chatted to by the women in the houses who are tasked with explaining the history of the house, room etc and pointing out particular points of interest. Mostly they apologise to us about the relatively young age of the houses, furniture etc. It seems they assume that we all live in Georgian (or older) houses full of antique furniture. It is all very sweat, from the houses over filled with antiques (mostly French) to the girls dressed as southern belles welcoming you to each house. I think I have fallen in love with the Alabaman accent – it’s delightful and slow and polite. Having now spent a bit of time in northern Florida and Georgia which have, superficially at least, similar accents, the Alabaman accent really is very endearing.
I know this is getting long so I’ll be brief now. We’ve been to northern Florida to an old (v early 1800’s) fort on a barrier island. There we’re beautiful white beaches full of spring breakers (families on spring break – not the “spring breakers” we are all familiar with from American teen movies). We called in at Seaside – a model sea side village, with pastel colour houses, where some of the scenes from the Truman Show were filmed. This is a very upper middle class holiday resort – where it seems most of the houses are vacation homes. They have been given silly names – like “better than chocolate” and …. I can’t remember, but they really were ridiculous. They then have the names of the families on the sign – if there is a dog, the dog’s name is there too – with a little paw print next to it. I’m glad that we have seen this place, but, please God, I never want to get to the point where this is the kind of place I want to go on holiday.
We really wanted to be in Savannah for St Patrick ’s Day. But it’s such a big deal there that all the hotels are really expensive and booked out ages before. So we have taken a detour. We spent a day calling in to a bunch of small towns for a wander – had a BBQ pulled pork sandwich, from a man with a trophy telling us he had won an award for best BBQ pork, and another for ribs. They make parking spaces for people who can’t parallel park, so I was happy. I’ve really enjoyed just driving around today. We’re staying in a cheap motel tonight (in a no where town. It’s a bit weird, we went into the town at about 16:30 on a Saturday afternoon and its all shut up – literally like a ghost town). We’re off to a swamp (that is also a national park) tomorrow to go cannoning. Savannah will have to wait – shame because St Patrick’s Day there sounded great and there was a church I wanted to go to on the Sunday.
A few pictures attached – not many. I have taken quite a few on my phone, surreptitiously, when not officially allowed (like at the basketball) I haven’t got round to downloading these yet.
Bye
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Email 3 – When is a bar not a bar??
My mother told me that if I didn’t have anything nice to say then don’t say anything at all. I am more of the view that if you don’t have anything funny to say (or in this case write) don’t say anything at all. We’ve had a great time over the last few days – but perhaps less humorous things have happened. This email is therefore perhaps not as amusing as the others – but I hope that you might find some of it interesting.
I have been enjoying the driving and finding it quite easy. This has been a pleasant surprise because I don’t really enjoy driving at home – nor I am very good at it. The automatic is easy to drive and everything just seems a little slower especially in our slow, ugly, car. We have some very cheesy American anthems to listen to whist driving. The sign posting here is rubbish. When on an interstate (motorway) or other major road you’re lucky if you get a sign telling you what the exit is never mind have any advance warning by which is point you don’t have time to get into the correct lane. Consequently we have got pretty good at making U turns. We have now bought a proper road atlas so hopefully we’ll do a little better from now on. I think the highway engineers here need to come on a field trip to England.
We called into a large Walmart – partly so we could get some things for lunches but also because going to a supermarket in a different county is always interesting (at least to me). I like seeing what things they have that we don’t and what they don’t have that we do. Actually it’s all very similar – other than a few things in greatly oversized packs and jars. There is even a half decent selection of continental cheeses, but their cured meat looks way over processed. To my surprise there is about a quarter of an aisle dedicated to British products (or British versions of American products), just like our “Polish” aisles. We are at Wal-Mart on the edge of a smallish town (here the edges of even small towns have sprawling out of town shopping and commercial areas that are strung out along the road for, what seems like, miles). It seems odd that there would be a British population large enough to support this type of thing. They have digestives, various types of Cadburys chocolate, and other “English” chocolate. They have PG Tips and Yorkshire tea. There is no Twinings, so I couldn’t move here.
We have had mixed feelings about our swamp trip. On the one hand it was good to see the swamp and some alligators, turtles, terrapins (as well as another animal that I’m not sure what it was) and also the vegetation etc. The place itself was a bit tacky touristy. They weren’t doing the cannoning (apparently the water level is too low) so instead we go on a boat ride/tour. The tour guide was quite amusing, although we were not sure how authentic the stories about his granddaddy making moonshine in the swamp were. Nevertheless he was entertaining and he brought along a bucket with a couple of baby alligators for us to hold (this is apparently contraband and we are not to inform his bosses that he has rescued these). They would prefer that he allow nature to take its course… He has rescued these from a gator attack on their mother and siblings, by one of the alpha males). True or not the baby gators are pretty sweet.
Savannah is lovely there are some really beautiful buildings with parks on every other corner or so … it’s a well “planned” city. We walk around Savannah in the aftermath of St Patrick ’s Day. The fountains are still spewing green water (I worry it will stain the marble). The bits of green fluff (I assume debris from silly hats and beards) and vomit stains on the pavements doesn’t mar its beauty. Charleston, however, is better. It’s the kind f place I can see myself living. We’re staying in a hostel now (for anyone interested) the difference between a (cheapish) motel and a hostel is: Hostel – a mile or so from “downtown”. Also, you might have a communal bathroom and have to make (and at the end of your stay unmake) your own bed, but chances are (looking beyond a bit of neglect) it’s a pretty cool, old, building. Motel: it’s a bit more expensive, quite a few miles (at least) out from the “downtown area” and soulless (utterly), but you get your own bathroom. Personally I’ll take a bit of (slightly neglected) beauty over a private bathroom any day.
A wander (or hike depending on your deposition and how much your feet are hurting from the first – and very intense – wearing of flip flops of the year) into and around the old part of town reveals Charleston’s charms. There is fairly classic American Georgian architecture and “Charleston long houses,” with balconies facing south to catch the afternoon sun and a blank northern elevation so as not to overlook their neighbours southern balcony – they are so tightly packed together in places that its seems unlikely that the balconies get any sun whatsoever. Nevertheless I really like them. The pristine beauty of the “restored” parts of town and the, more than a little, rough around the edges part of town we are staying, in collectively show that this is a place of beauty.
We have dinner in a slightly touristy, but otherwise ok(ish) fish restaurant. We order a half a pound of shrimp to share as a starter – eating them shell and all (as I would usually do) is not the done thing – it seems –so after eating one this way, I stop. I know this habit can be blamed on the time when I was dating a Chinese girl and Chinese people seem to like that crunchy, cartilagey texture and I grew to like it.
When is a bar not a bar?…… Cigar bars (or as we will discover not bars) are relatively common in the South. We select a cigar each and a beer (I’m disappointed there is not a whiskey – or even a bourbon as on the rare occasion I have a cigar it tends to be accompanied by a nice glass of whiskey (preferably a highland or island). We sit in leather chairs and chat to the two other guys who join us. One of the guys is keen to chat and gives us various restaurant recommendations – he is however, ever so slightly odd. The other guy, all but, ignores us until he abruptly gets up, informs his friend they are leaving and heads to the door, taking his car keys from his pocket as he goes. This last action concerns me. Up till this point I have taken his off-standoffishness to be mild drunkenness – he looks red-eyed and sluggish. I hope I’m wrong and that they got home safely. Upon our return to the hostel, after a bit of googling, some of the restaurant recommendations seem well worth a visit.
Did you know that in most states (Louisiana aside) you cannot smoke in a bar? Did you also know that a bar is only a bar when either food is serve and/or alcohol over 16%? As such sat in a room with comfy leather chairs, that sells only beers and wine (as well as a vast selection of cigars and a few cigarettes) is not a bar and hence you can smoke! This seems a little odd to me (I can get the no food rule – but not the other but ……. ok). The cigars were enjoyed. However the foul taste in my mouth the next morning reminds me why I don’t do this more than about twice a year. It takes several teeth brushes, coffee and lunch before the after taste begins to fade.
Another day of a lot of walking and a visit to Fort Sumter a few miles off shore. This is where the first shots of the Civil War were fired. I have to confess to being a bit of a geek when it comes to stuff like this – so I’ve really enjoyed my day.
Dinner tonight was in a shack. Literally a shack. This is a place that the chatty, if slightly odd, man in the cigar “bar” recommended. The restaurant is located on the edge of a suburb and we get a bit lost trying to find it. There is no sign posting to it and the restaurant has no signs. After a few detours, we do find it. It has bare floors, plastic chairs and the table cloths are paper torn off from a big roll. I think we must have been given the best table in the place. We’re put in a corner at the back overlooking the little harbour in the creek. The walls are an open timber frame covered only in fly mesh on the outside and thin plastic sheeting on the inside. You select the food you want by circling your choice on the printed menu with a “sharpie”. Food is served on paper plates. If you choose a bottle of white wine it comes in an ice bucket – which is a plastic bucket that once held oysters with “Palmetto Oysters” written across it. We’re asked if we want “she crab soup” to start. At this stage I’m not 100% sure what the waitress has said, but make a snap decision and we say yes. I’m so glad we did. I think this will probably be the best meal we will have on this holiday and the she crab soup the best individual dish. We both have variants on a platter with shrimp, scallops and (in my case) fried oysters. There are some very nice “sides” that come with these as well – including the best version of a hush puppy (a kind of fried dumpling which is a popular southern dish) we have had to date. I have already had fried oysters on this trip – and last time, whilst I very much enjoyed them, they were a bit of an unrefined bar snack. Here the oysters are so fat that whilst fried and crispy on the outside they retain that silky, creamy (some would say slimy) texture on the inside and that taste of the saltiness of the sea is still there.
I’m really full so I can’t have a pudding but I’m very intrigued by the key-lime bread pudding. Ed has the key lime pie which looks and tastes great.
If you’re ever vaguely near Charleston You really must go there – it’s called The Wreck of Richard and Charlene. I’ll give you directions.
We go for a southern breakfast, at a place that has been recommended to us by the man in the cigar “bar” and a bar tender. It’s called the Hominy grill. It has a simple elegant atmosphere and does a great breakfast. I have smothered eggs (two, perfectly, poached eggs on a cornbread biscuit (a biscuit here is not too dissimilar to our scones) covered in a “gravy” with some bacon bits in it.
We’ve seen two plantation homes (think going to a national trust, country home style, property in England – but this time it has been built with slave labour – or “the enslaved” as our tour guide refers to them). Where we are now, the plantations grew, Indigo, cotton or rice, but we have driven through remnants of pecan tree plantations on our trip. The first house we visit has never had plumbing or electricity installed and so we see it in a fairly near original state. The slave huts etc are all gone and in fairness to the guide he does handle the dark side of the plantations past with quite a bit of grace. As with everything we have seen, there are things here that are the biggest, best, or oldest, when a selective system of measurement is chosen!
At the second plantation home we get caught in a huge downpour – and we’re utterly soaked through. Consequently our car now smells of damp clothes and shoes – it’s not pleasant. This second plantation has extensive and lovely gardens. It’s the kind of place you would go with your mum. At one point there is a lake with a bank on the other side with trees and the under canopy is full of beautifully coloured flowers. You could be forgiven for thinking you’re at a country estate in England …… that is other than the fact that there is an alligator swimming in the lake. You can just about make it out in the bottom left hand corner of the photograph. It seems odd that you can just happen across an alligator here. At the previous plantation there was a smallish gator just lying on the lawn next to the small manmade lake.
I know some of you enjoyed the comments about the waitresses in the last email. It is with regret that I must report that since leaving Alabama, the waitresses have gotten less attractive, larger or been men. They have not necessarily been any less charming.
This email is a few days out of date and I’ve already started on the next one, which, thus far is called “my bad, geek rock ….. and …………”
Sorry I haven’t responded to the individual emails some of you have sent – we don’t have loads of time and a big part of our late evenings tend to be spent reading guide books, looking stuff up on the internet and booking things for the next day or so.
Byeeee
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Email 4 – “My bad”, Geek rock, mountains but no bears
We have visited a place called Raleigh. Collectively with Durham and Chapel Hill this forms the “research triangle”. These are university towns and the “industry” here is government administration and research. Durham has a minor league baseball team made famous by some film and Chapel Hill is famous for its basketball, I understand that Michel Jordan shoot to fame here – so you may have heard of them. Oh and Durham is also famous for tobacco. As we have been travelling around, people have occasionally asked us where we are going on our road trip. They seem a little confused as to why we would visit a place like this. This (or rather these) are just a normal cities. However part of the point of doing this trip is to also go to places that you wouldn’t usually visit.
Raleigh has more than its fair share of state funded (i.e. free) museums. We visit two. The history one and the natural history one. I suppose it is to be expected that there are more than a few school groups, what with being mid week in a free museum. The kids don’t disturb our visit too much. We first encounter a school group of primary aged children on our way to the museums. All the kids are wearing tie-die tee-shirts. Now I think this is a good idea, it makes the kids stand out and be easily recognisable as being from that particularly school, so it must make the teachers’ job a bit easier. I suppose the bonus is that making the tie-die tee-shirts is also a good activity to keep the kids occupied for half a day or so before the trip. It is a good idea, until we get into the museums, and it turns out that all the other schools have had the same idea!
Then something brilliant happens. One of the school kids who is stood in front of me, turns around and walks right into me. Now being the good, polite, British person I am, I apologise for him bumping into me. He holds his hands up and says “My bad”. For those unfamiliar with this term it is an American saying for accepting responsibility for a mistake. You’ll hear it used in American sitcoms (most notably, for me at least, is Scrubs) and (I’m told) if you watch American sports you might see a player shout “my bad, my bad, my bad” if he fumbles the ball or the like. The fact that a real life American boy said “my bad” to me has made my day.
There is quite a famous music venue in Chapel Hill called Cat’s Cradle. We look to see if any bands are playing tonight. They are not. However next week “We Were Promised Jetpacks” are playing there. The last time I was in the states my favourite (Scottish) band just so happened to be playing in LA on the night we were staying there. They had been recording their new record in LA and decided to do a very small gig to play some of their brand new stuff. I guess it would have been too much to ask to get to see my favourite new (also Scottish) band whist touring around the states for a second time. I check their tour dates, but our paths to not cross, or rather they do but at different dates.
However whist in Durham we see a music venue with a gig advertised for that night (Jukebox the Ghost supported by SPEAK and The Elwins). We know nothing about any of the bands … we have tried to check out the main band online in our hotel room but a dogey internet connection means we don’t really have any idea what they are like. We decide to go.
We get there and the first band are just about to start. Imagine my excitement when I realise we are about to see some authentic Geek Rock….. Now at school I was not really a geek. But a small element of my friends were certainly of a more nerdy persuasion and at lunchtime, rather than playing football, I would sometimes spend it tucked away in a classroom with the more geeky guys. We would play this game where we would make funny phrases out of whatever prose had been left on the blackboard, from the previous lesson, by only rubbing out letters. If it could make reference to the teacher whose class room it was or someone who would be in the next class … so much the better. Either that or we’d steal books from the library … at least we read them (yes I know I stole that line from the film Shaddowlands). So there is a bit of a geeky streak in me and I’m dead excited about what we are about to see. The kids in the band look like they’re out of the tv show Glee. Now, I must stress that I have never watched that show….. but I’ve seen enough adverts for it to understand the general premise of the show and what the characters look like.
We (and probably, a little more so, I) have a great time. The first two bands are lots of fun and their geek rook look and stagemanship is a lot of fun. There is tambourine playing, silly geeky dancing, and some audience participation (not really on our part – we are, you understand, just cultural observers). The third (main) band is not really a geek rock band but good nonetheless, if not as fun. I think we are the oldest people in this modestly sized, enthusiastic, crowd. At least half of the people have a pair of big black X’s scored onto the back of their hands in permanent marker. I assume this means they are under the drinking age, which I think is 21 (I not sue if it varies from state to state). I wonder if I lived here and was 10 – 15 years younger would this be the kind of music I would listen to? Anyway a few more records were bought, how often I’ll listen to these I do not know, but they will stand as mementos to an enjoyable evening.
On our way to the mountains we take about a 20 mile detour to Taylorsville. It is so disappointing that I don’t want to write to you about it.
We are now at the Great Smoky Mountains National Park. The park is beautiful. The area surrounding it is not. The town nearest to the park is called Cherokee. One of our guide books describes it as “the unlovely town of Cherokee”. It is not unlovely. We are staying in the nearby Bryson City, which is unlovely. Cherokee is horrid. It really is sad that, in this place at least, the Native American culture has been reduced to selling tat from ugly little buildings. We hike along the Appalachian trail, which is over 2000 miles long. We however do about ten miles. Whilst walking this trail you literally have one foot in North Carolina and the other in Tennessee, making this the 8th state we have visited on this trip (if you don’t include Illinois at Chicago airport). There is some really beautiful scenery. We go to the highest point in the mountains. The next day we do another ten mile walk – this time on lower ground adjacent to rivers with waterfalls. This is much easier ground and the walk is much easier.
We have not had good food here. The first night we arrived quite late and on the way to where we’re staying we call of at another town where there should be a good restaurant. It has closed down. There isn’t much choice in Bryson City, especially amongst what’s open – so we’re reduced to Burger King…. The next night we try two other places recommended by the guide books, located about 15 miles out of town – neither are open for the “season” yet. We end up having Italian. Thus far we have avoided eating in Italian restaurants as we can get really good Italian at home. Now I know to most people pizza is a bit a simple food, not to get excited about. Not me. I think pizza should be revered. Done well it is one of the finest things you can eat, done badly….. I have a general rule that if I can make a better pizza at home in my crappy oven – then we’re not eating good pizza. Tonight it is not good pizza. We are however served by, what I assume to be, a genuine Cherokee Indian. I have never been served Italian food by a Native American before!
This is the second time in my life I have spent time in “bear country” – but sadly we do not see any – I really wanted to.
We are now very much on the westward leg of our journey. We now have “standing room only” tickets booked for a college baseball game just before we go home, so my introduction to American sport, and public sporting events in general, is to continue.
Bye
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Email 5 – Elvis Impersonator: Blackpool Pier
Hello
We leave the Great Smokies and start the long drive to Memphis. We had also been keen to visit Nashville but we have to keep up a certain level of momentum on this trip and it seemed that we could either “do” both Memphis and Nashville half-heartedly or spend a decent amount of time in one. We opt for Memphis. Today is probably our biggest drive thus far, from the south side of the Smokies to Jackson near Memphis. We set off mid afternoon. We are not going to see a great deal of Tennessee other than by road and so be take a few detours of the Interstate and use some smaller roads in the hope that we will see more of the countryside. This has mixed success. There is some really lovely countryside (some of the loveliest we seen) and some scrubby land and inappropriate roadside development. There are some nice little farmsteads in various states of (dis)repair. Almost all have the same design of barns, nearly all painted the same red colour. The designs change subtly over the hundred miles or so of diving through the countryside but by and large they’re pretty uniform and very quaint.
Another stay in a cheap motel, not the worst, but by no means the best. We’ve been pretty spoilt the last three nights, as, although we’ve been staying in chain motels they rooms have been really nice. We have stayed in one pretty awful motel as well, the sheets were clean and the bathroom (relatively) clean, but otherwise dire. By and large we have stayed in cheap(ish) motels when we have been stuck on the motorway or stayed on the edge of town and stayed in quite nice (and therefore more expensive) hotels in towns and cities when it seemed there was good reason to stay in the city itself.
Food tonight was not good. Limited options due to the (very) out of town location and lateness of night. We have Taco Bell. A first for us both. Hopefully a last for me.
Today, by mid morning we’re in Memphis. If I’m honest this is the part of the trip I was most worried about not enjoying. Other than the things that you happen to know merely by being alive in the western world, all I really know about Elvis is that the first track on the fourth record by the Manic Street Preachers is called “Elvis Impersonator: Blackpool Pier”. Up until this trip I would have been happy if it had stayed that way. I know I’m being more than a little flippant here … there is much more to Memphis than Elvis.
I am thankful that we are now going to eat well again. I use the word “well” in a very limited sense. I do not mean well, as in good for our well being. I mean well as in the food will be well cooked, tasty and have some reference to the places, history, culture and location. We go for fried chicken for lunch. The place is meant to do some of the best fried chicken in the world. I think they might be right. Three pieces of fried chicken in a nice, spicy, very crispy crust. Beans (as in American BBQ beans). Slaw (a very nice and not over mayonnaisey coleslaw). And bread. The last is utterly superfluous. I don’t eat it. Lunch, other than the bread, is delicious. I do not eat a lot of fried chicken …. and I don’t expect that will change …. but I’m glad I had this chicken. The decor and the atmosphere add to the experience. Concrete floor, tables cramped in. Plastic table cloths, polystyrene plates, tiled walls over filled with pictures. There are a lot of locals and a few tourists. As we walked in, two uniformed police officers walked out, obviously having just finished their lunch – their shape suggest they are no strangers to this place. Whist we eat, on a table in the back corner, there are two plain clothes defectives. They have those leather badges with a star in the middle hanging around their necks and guns strapped to their hips. I feel like I’m in an episode of “Southland” or “The Wire” (in my view the two best American cop shows and actually (certainly in the case of the Wire) amongst the best TV shows ever made).
Something happened today, that has happened a couple of times before. The waiter brings us our bill (I guess I should say check) and says “the drinks are on me today guys”. We have not been billed for our drinks. Now when waiters say “on me” I know they obviously don’t literally mean “on them”. They mean “on the house”. The thing is, that on at least two of the occasions this has happened, there did not seem to be any good reason for this, today included. All I can think is that one of two things are going on. Either they have done something wrong that we were not aware of, such as the food taking a little longer to come than normal or this is some kind of scam against the house. The latter could be a possibility. In some people at least, the natural reaction to not being fully charged for your dinner is to tip better. This way the waiter (or waitress) gets more tips and it’s only the business that loses out. It is also likely that the tip the customer gives is less than their drinks would have been, albeit more than they would otherwise have left. I hope it’s not a scam, I don’t want to be cynical? If it’s a scam I fell for it. I left, nearly a six dollar tip on a bill that came to $16 and change. The thing is I really enjoyed the meal, the place was great, the waiter was polite and attentive and, quite frankly, it didn’t seem right that two, quite large, chicken dinners with drinks should only cost about ten quid! Perhaps I’m a sucker, but I’d rather be like this than the alternative.
We visited the civil rights museum, which incorporates the motel where Martin Luther King Jr was assassinated and the boarding house, on the other side of the road, where the shot was fired. It seems that this could have been done in a horrible manner, but is handled sensitively. The museum was very interesting.
Catfish is a popular dish in the South. We have some for dinner. It was grilled served with grilled courgettes and rice containing two types of beans. It was a nice healthy dish, a good balance after our fried chicken lunch.
After dinner we go out to listen to some blues. You can drink on the street here and wonder around and listen to what’s going in the various bars. We order the “big ass beers”, which seem to be popular. They are at least a litre. A lot of beer for a little boy!
We have visited Graceland (Elvis’ home). It is actually relatively small and modest. We have seen much larger, more ostentatious, homes in suburbs of some of the towns and cities we been in. The decor also isn’t as outlandish as you might think. There’s plenty of shag-carpeting and foe wooden panelling … what else would you expect from a house that was last decorated in the mid 70’s. The outdoor pool is very modest. There are a view exhibits in some of the outbuildings surrounding the house. The majority of the museum buildings as well as the car museum and two of his planes are located on the other side of the highway and thus the house is preserved. Again I have enjoyed something far more than I thought I would.
We go to a BBQ place for lunch (totally unnecessary given the amount of food we’ve consumed over the last few days …. but it comes highly recommended). It’s good, but not as good as the pulled pork sandwich we had in a random town in north Florida … not by a long way.
We go to Vicksburg, with a brief visit to Arkansas on the way (State Count = 9). Another motel not so cheap, but miles from the nicest we’ve stayed in, the motels seem to all be full or nearly full – not sure why. Perhaps it’s the five casino’s located along the Mississippi. We contemplate trying out my, new found, poker skills in a high stakes game – perhaps I could win my holiday money back? No need to have any dinner – far too full from our food experiences in Memphis.
Vicksburg is another historic town, strategic in the Civil war. We do a battlefield tour. Lots of cannons to see and musing about the battlefield, as well as an ironclad ship – I haven’t seen one of these before. The history nerd in me can go to bed happy tonight!
Natchez next, then Lafayette, Cajun Country (where the early French settlers relocated after being displaced by the English from New Orleans), Baton Rouge and then home.
Bye
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Email 6 – We drove our Chevy to the levy and indeed the levee was dry. The end
We have again come across this “these drinks are on me guys” thing. I suppose I should start this email with an apology for doubting that this was genuine – because in this case it really did seem to be a genuine act of kindness. In fact the bar maid even said … “well I guess I have to show you some of our Southern hospitality” as well as recommending things to see and do and writing down some of the addresses.
We have “American Pie” on our American anthems CD. Before this holiday I don’t think I knew what either a Chevy or a levee was. I can now report that, not only do I know what both are, I have now also done it. We drove our Chevy to the levee and indeed the levee was dry – in fact we drove over the levee.
We have spent a bit of time in Cajun Country. The guide books make it sound like this is the kind of place that you just show up and get invited to a party at a Juke Joint. Of course this does not happen. We have had some good food here – I was too full (just from generally eating more than normal) to enjoy one of the meals though. Although it’s been a little while, for a variety of reasons I have spent quite a bit of time in places and around people where things are spoken (and sometimes written) in two languages and I’ve always quite liked it. This happens here with both French and English being spoken.
We see two bands in two different places tonight. When the first one begins, we are still sat outside. For a moment I get a little excited as I hear the guy first speaking French and then an accordion start to play. I think we may be in for some genuine Cajun music (accordions and violins being the main instruments). It turns out we are not. It is a band from Portland (near Seattle) playing a type of classic French folk music, singing in French. They are on their album release tour, apparently – a tour that can only include here and Québec in Canada, surely? It all seems a little odd. Is it cruel if I say this really is just pretentious nonsense. In complete contrast the next band is a heavy rock band. I quite like it and they play a half decent cover of a Muse song, more than half decent, and an Incubus cover. Perhaps they are just a covers band and it just happens I don’t know all the other heavier songs they are playing.
We have been to see a baseball match. I do not know very much about baseball. I understand the general premises, but this is only from my knowledge of playing rounder’s at school. I did quite enjoy it, but it’s quite a sedate game in many ways. It took about 4 hours. There is quite a lot of waiting around and prevarication. I guess this has to been seen as an evening out where you spend part of it watching baseball and part of it chatting to friends, wandering around the stadium, buying snacks etc. We were at a college (university aged) baseball match. But these are quite a big deal here. I suppose I was expecting an audience of college kids – but it was very varied and actually weighted much more towards middle aged and older people. What I found, more than a little odd, was that there were a number of middle aged (by a generous assessment) people, who looked quite respectable, but were doing some “wacky” things. Like silly acts of celebration when certain events occurred, silly dancing and “getting the crowd going”. I don’t really deal with wackiness very well!
To be honest I think I enjoyed the baseball in retrospect more than I did watching the actual event. I quite like the idea of it and I’m glad I went but, it was long.
Our last night and we go out for a nice meal, in quite a posh restaurant, definitely the most expensive meal we have had. I have fried green tomatoes to start. I have wanted to try fried green tomatoes on this trip and I take the last opportunity to do so. They were good, but just far, far too much food to have as a starter. Consequently I could not eat much of my main meal. I have duck breast and dirty rice. I eat the duck but not much of the rice, I’m just too full. Ed has quail. It is really a weird dish. It’s two breaded quails, deep fried served with waffles and some pluses. The balance seems all wrong. Serving a waffle with something deep fried is an odd thing to do it really needed something simple and fresh to balance it out.
We’re up early to return the car and go to the airport. While waiting at the airport I email in a submission to the pun street planning committee of a business I saw in Charleston. A portaloo company call “Nature’s Calling” with the tag line “when nature calls we supply the walls”.
Our first flight, New Orleans to Huston, is delayed which consequently means we miss our main flight home and then means we miss our bus back to Taunton. The flight home is almost empty and so we get to stretch out with three seats each. I watch 4 films and 2 episodes of Curb Your Enthusiasm and don’t sleep at all. We end up getting a bus from Heathrow to Reading and then a train to Taunton. For some reason I don’t go to bed until 10pm which means I have been up for over 30 hours.
I had a great time on my holiday. I haven’t had a proper holiday for over three years. The last three holidays I went on to foreign places (Italy, Prague and Hong Kong), were nice and interesting places with great food but for other reasons they were all pretty bad holidays. This holiday has been ace. It certainly won’t be another three years before I go on holiday again…
Bye