My last night in New Orleans was weird without Donna there. I felt a bit over it, a bit of that sense of "yes yes now let's move on". I was missing Shaun, missing Gleeton, missing Donna despite knowing I'd see her again the next day.. I went to bed thinking I had had enough of New Orleans.
I woke up reasonably early and packed up, triple-checked I hadn't left anything behind and jumped in my trust yellow steed to head up to Atlanta. Seven hours, my GPS tells me it'll take. "Ok, seven hours.." I think to myself, "I'll drive for two, stop for breakfast, drive for three, stop for lunch, drive for two, stop for coffee. This should be manageable".
Well it would have been manageable, if the trip was indeed seven hours, or at least anywhere within the vicinity of seven hours. I had plans to meet Donna and Mandy and their friends at Rosell Tap for five o'clock happy hour. By three o'clock it became apparent to me that my GPS seems to believe we were going to drive 100mph the entire way to Atlanta, and that I'm not going to be on the road for a mere seven hours. Ohhh no. After nearly falling asleep a few times despite having drunk quite a few 16 ounce coffees, I finally reached the outskirts of Atlanta around 6pm. I rang Donna and apologised profusely but I would not be able to make happy hour.. I just couldn't face the thought of having to drive past my hotel and across to Roswell and stay awake for much longer. I finally got to my glorious hotel about 7pm, and fell into a bit of a heap on the crazy-big comfy bed. I had made a wise choice, cutting Memphis out of my itinerary. Twelve hours on the road, by myself, and I was done driving.
Donna, Mandy and Matt surprised me by coming over to my hotel for a swim (one that involved us dodging the security guards hell bent on keeping us out of the pool after hours). It was great to see Mandy again, as I hadn't seen her since our last games night in San Diego in 2010. Matt is brilliant company, and made me laugh with his insights into the latest season of True Blood. If I ever head back to Atlanta again, I imagine my trip will heavily involve spending time with Mandy and Matt.
I was so exhausted the next day that I just kinda lounged around my room, alternating between watching TV and reading the Charlaine Harris books I'd picked up at Barnes & Noble for $7 each. Seriously, WTF is going on with prices in Australia.
I spent my five days in Atlanta lounging, sleeping, reading, doing a small spot of shopping, eating (of course..) and.. cooking! It was so unbearably hot in Atlanta that weekend - they were having their hottest weekend on record, just my luck - so I couldn't manage to do much more than drive around the neighbourhoods, see key attractions, and be grateful for air conditioning when I had it. My cooking class was stellar. Kookie (a gorgeous coincidence in name), our chef and instructor, walked us through how to make some of the classic southern dishes from the movie, The Help. We learned how to make southern fried chicken - tender and juicy in the flesh, crispy and light on the outside. We learned how to make the most amazing featherlight biscuits; rich, flavourful collard greens; deliciously grainy cornbread; velvety chocolate pie.
My second day I got a call from a teary Mandy telling me that she would have to cancel our dinner date that night because her faithful dog, Girlfriend, was nearing the end of her time with us. It must've been fate, because I was only ten minutes away when she called. I raced over there and was greeted by a blotchy-faced Mandy, looking very sad, and her enthusiastic son, Alex, who for some bizarre reason I kept calling "Hunter". I think I got confused about a hunting story Mandy had told me a few years earlier, and misinterpreted the information as "hunter" being her child's name. As I knelt down and gave Girlfriend a big, loving pat, I couldn't help but notice how similar she looked to our beautiful Penny that left us in January. It's a cruel fate that sees us love something so intensely that won't be with us for anywhere near long enough. Mandy, Alex and I went out for the afternoon, and visited an historic plantation in the heart of Historic Roswell, which was a lot of fun. I've decided Roswell wins my vote for 'favourite place in Atlanta' with no close competition. It is simply beautiful. The Chattahoochee River runs through, providing plenty of beautiful picnic spots and jogging trails. It has a quiet, respectful, quaint vibe, which was only enhanced by the Ye Olde style ice cream parlour we went to after the plantation. Damn, that was some good ice cream!
My last day in Atlanta was crazy. I left my hotel after spending hours rearranging my luggage (I had to buy a whole new suitcase as I had shopped a little too hard the day before at the factory outlet mall), and headed for yet another mall, this time to buy some MAC and some memory foam pillows in a country that wouldn't make me give up my first born for them. I bought Shaun and I Martha Stewart brand dual memory foam/feather pillows, and then I had another problem - two big suitcases, one little carry one, a handbag, a laptop, and a giant santa-sack style bag of pillows. That's a lot for one person to carry into an airport and try to manage alone. Somehow, I managed. There was a trolley involved, a little bit of swearing, and LOT of wrangling, but I managed.
By the time it was time for me to head to the airport and fly to Dallas, I was ready to leave the States. The heat was taking it out of me and I was missing home. I dropped off my trusty yellow steed at Dollar, who were perfectly lovely to deal with, I have no idea why some people are snooty about them, and hopped on the inter-airport shuttle. I decided the shuttle bus was that appropriate time for me to change out of my dress and into my tracksuit that I would fly home in. I couldn't, however, manage to pull the dress off and put my shirt on because there was another bus on the same circuit, right next to us, staring directly at me. So, I checked in, dressed stylishly in grey GAP tracksuit pants, purple Vans, and a bright orange floaty maxi dress.
I had a painful three hour layover in Dallas before boarding my epic sixteen hour flight home, on which I didn't sleep for more than a couple of hours. I'm not sure what's happened to my plane/sleeping mojo, but it appears to have left me.
I was greeted at the airport by my darling Mellie and her fiance Cess, and they were a very welcome sight. By George it was cold in Brisbane!! Cold, but pleasant.
And by the time I actually arrived home.. crept into our house in the wee hours of the morning, avoiding catching the cat's eye lest he leap up and start screaming at me and wake up Shaun... I realised I hadn't had a shower in about thirty-forty hours. EEWWW.
So I'm home now (obviously), and I'm starting to get the itch already. I've got at least another three trips I want to do in the USA: the mid-west, with its wide open plains and country vibe; the North-East, so I can check out the Hamptons and Chicago; and the North-West, as I've not been further North than San Francisco. That I remember, anyway. I'm trying to convince Shaun we should go and do the North-East early next year sometime. Naturally, I fully expect to do a layover in ATL or SD so I can catch up with my gorgeous friends who make the trip such good fun.
In no particular order, Donna, Andrew, Paulina, Mandy, Matty, Alicia, Greg, Dru (we had a good chat...), Ma'ayany, Shawn, Ned, the people at Buffalo Wild Wings for their spicy garlic sauce - thank you. I had such a wonderful time with all of you and it is so difficult to have people you care about so much, so far away. I can't wait for our next adventure.
Love M xx
Sunday, August 26, 2012
Thursday, June 28, 2012
"A-holes and bin juice"
So Mandy was right about "if you think Savannah stinks wait till you get to New Orleans..."
Donna and I have agreed it smells like.. well.. read the title of the blog. It is REALLY on the nose! At least the French Quarter is, anyway. Walking the streets of the old gas lamp district is an assault to your senses: your ankles and feet are treading carefully along cracked and uneven footpaths; I've already mentioned the STENCH coming from everywhere; the grit, grime and grungy streets and decor offend the eye.
Donna and I managed to see nearly all of the neighbourhoods in New Orleans; we started with the French Quarter and then we headed East to Marigny and Fauribourg. It wasn't a far drive (in fact we didn't consciously do it) till we hit the Lower Ninth Ward, and boy oh boy - the poor really are poor here. So many people left when Katrina hit and the Lower Ninth Ward was wiped out - evidence is still clear of the devastation the flood waters left behind and many of the poor black people who populate this neighbourhood haven't been able to afford to come back and rebuild. We locked our doors (sad but true) and proceeded to cruise around, taking in the sights and lamenting the condition of mankind. Donna introduced me to a fast food chain that originated in New Orleans; Popeye's Chicken. I had the smallest meal possible and have to say, it was nowhere near as greasy as KFC and actually not that bad as it was all breast meat and if you just have the chicken, it's not too naughty.
We took a drive out to the Barataria Preserve and did a walk through the beautiful, haunting, HOT, bayous there (the National Parks have built a boardwalk through the bayous to prevent erosion and human interference with the fragile ecosystem). The bayou was fully alive with roaring insect noise; it fills your ears and sounds like a carefully conducted orchestra playing as you wind your way through the cypress trees sprouting out of the stagnant waters, pretty mini lily-pads and bullrushes provide a lovely green backdrop as far as the eye can see. After getting our fill of the heat (it was unbelievably hot, we couldn't bear one more minute of walking) we took a drive (yay for airconditioning!) to a plantation out of New Orleans city limits. A plantation built in 1792 that has seen so many different families and industries it has a very rich and interesting story, skillfully told by our tour guide, Ronnie. Tales of children dying from yellowfever; slaves uprising and burning down plantations along the riverbanks until eventually being tried in the upstairs parlour and executed by firing squad in the front yard; demonstrations of how to make the insulation in the house made from clay and dried spanish moss. It was voted attraction of the year in 2010 and it is easy to see why. Rich in history and intrigue, it was well worth the lengthy drive North-West.
We shopped, we ate, we drank, we ate, we shopped, we ate, we ate, we collapsed in our apartment with heatstroke. The heat is so utterly oppressive it is impossible to be outside for more than two hours at a time without feeling desperate to escape it. While we were at Destrehan Plantation, it began to rain. Big splotches of cooling water lazily fell down upon us, gathering speed until Donna and I just stood in the rain, enjoying the cooling sensation and feeling not in any real hurry to take shelter. We watched the dragonflies do their afternoon ritualistic swarming around the plantation grounds; fascinating and seemingly random dancing up and down, left and right. I did take a video but I'm not entirely sure it will really convey the intensity and the volume of dragonflies.
I had my first Po'Boy - and it was spectacular. Donna ordered gumbo, jambalaya and crawfish ettoufe and I tried all three. Tuesday I had been violently ill most of the morning and it wasn't until around 2pm I started feeling well enough to get up and explore the city.. Donna was very kind and spoke soothing words to me while I gingerly got out of bed and showered (note: do not eat oysters in New Orleans in a month that is void of an 'r') and eventually we managed to get out and about and start soaking in the Eastern districts.
We have also driven west and north, south and east, and of course explored the central neighbourhoods, and I have to say, my favourite neighbourhood is the Lower Garden district. Full of beautiful restored houses - this is obviously where the wealthier classes live. Tall, old oak trees line the streets and arch over the streets, forming that classic and incredibly pretty frame for each street in this district. The houses are close together, yes, but they have such character and are what I imagined when I thought about the inner city antebellum style properties of New Orleans.
Spontaneous live jazz makes it way down the street in front of our apartment every other few hours, especially from about 5pm onwards when it's more like 35oC instead of 38oC, and the men carrying the tubas and drums can manage to march down the streets without collapsing from heatstroke. It is amusing and entertaining, but after a while, and in combination with the heat (have I mentioned the HEAT yet??) all the noise just prompts me to retreat inside our apartment, close the heavy, well insulated door and block it out until I have drunk enough water and recouped enough to be able to enjoy the music, rather than be irritated by it.
Voodoo here is very alive and well, and it is fascinating to explore the holes in the walls the line the French Quarter, and after doing a bit of this exploring, I decided to go to the Voodoo Spiritual Temple. It was fascinating, and Priestess Miriam is very warm and inviting. She had me call her 'honey' when I left, and we shared a moment of genuine warmth and mutual respect. I went to an out of the way (i.e. NOT a tourist destination) voodoo supply store and met Felix, the owner, who also filled me with warmth and I strangely felt like crying when he showed me how to cast a spell and gave me the ingredients I will be taking home for someone I care about who needs a little help right now. F&F Candles is full of local voodoo and hoodoo practitioners, all trying to turn their luck around, and it smells like a spicy slice of heaven. No oppressive live magic here like there was in Hex Witchcraft yesterday; I had to leave the store almost as soon as we walked in because someone was casting spells at the altar in the store and it was cloying and invasive.
We have twice now eaten at a restaurant called Muriels, and I've decided I'm going to eat there again tonight, for my last dinner in New Orleans. I don't normally go to the same place twice when I'm on holidays, but Muriels is just perfect. I don't have to say anything else really; it is simply perfect. Fantastic, attentive, warm but not overly familiar service; relaxing and truly beautiful ambience; spectacular, inventive food; and it isn't expensive. There's so much on that menu that I want to try but I have a feeling I know what I'll be having tonight. I'll post photos on facebook!
Today as I was driving back to the hotel from doing a bit of last-day exploring, I saw the most amazing house, that Donna and I have driven past at least three times in the last four days. It is a perfect example of how nature claims back what man has made once man leaves. Vines and trees and flowers seem to strangle the abandoned property, in a haunting but beautiful kind of way. It is how I imagine a post-apocalyptic world to be.. ramshackle remnants of man-made structures, overcome with nature bursting her beautiful renewing life out of the cracks and crevices.
So I'm signing off from New Orleans (this blog's been a bit all over the place, but then again, so is the Big Easy, so I think it's rather fitting) - I'll chat again when I hit Atlanta.
Chat soon,
M x
Donna and I have agreed it smells like.. well.. read the title of the blog. It is REALLY on the nose! At least the French Quarter is, anyway. Walking the streets of the old gas lamp district is an assault to your senses: your ankles and feet are treading carefully along cracked and uneven footpaths; I've already mentioned the STENCH coming from everywhere; the grit, grime and grungy streets and decor offend the eye.
Donna and I managed to see nearly all of the neighbourhoods in New Orleans; we started with the French Quarter and then we headed East to Marigny and Fauribourg. It wasn't a far drive (in fact we didn't consciously do it) till we hit the Lower Ninth Ward, and boy oh boy - the poor really are poor here. So many people left when Katrina hit and the Lower Ninth Ward was wiped out - evidence is still clear of the devastation the flood waters left behind and many of the poor black people who populate this neighbourhood haven't been able to afford to come back and rebuild. We locked our doors (sad but true) and proceeded to cruise around, taking in the sights and lamenting the condition of mankind. Donna introduced me to a fast food chain that originated in New Orleans; Popeye's Chicken. I had the smallest meal possible and have to say, it was nowhere near as greasy as KFC and actually not that bad as it was all breast meat and if you just have the chicken, it's not too naughty.
We took a drive out to the Barataria Preserve and did a walk through the beautiful, haunting, HOT, bayous there (the National Parks have built a boardwalk through the bayous to prevent erosion and human interference with the fragile ecosystem). The bayou was fully alive with roaring insect noise; it fills your ears and sounds like a carefully conducted orchestra playing as you wind your way through the cypress trees sprouting out of the stagnant waters, pretty mini lily-pads and bullrushes provide a lovely green backdrop as far as the eye can see. After getting our fill of the heat (it was unbelievably hot, we couldn't bear one more minute of walking) we took a drive (yay for airconditioning!) to a plantation out of New Orleans city limits. A plantation built in 1792 that has seen so many different families and industries it has a very rich and interesting story, skillfully told by our tour guide, Ronnie. Tales of children dying from yellowfever; slaves uprising and burning down plantations along the riverbanks until eventually being tried in the upstairs parlour and executed by firing squad in the front yard; demonstrations of how to make the insulation in the house made from clay and dried spanish moss. It was voted attraction of the year in 2010 and it is easy to see why. Rich in history and intrigue, it was well worth the lengthy drive North-West.
We shopped, we ate, we drank, we ate, we shopped, we ate, we ate, we collapsed in our apartment with heatstroke. The heat is so utterly oppressive it is impossible to be outside for more than two hours at a time without feeling desperate to escape it. While we were at Destrehan Plantation, it began to rain. Big splotches of cooling water lazily fell down upon us, gathering speed until Donna and I just stood in the rain, enjoying the cooling sensation and feeling not in any real hurry to take shelter. We watched the dragonflies do their afternoon ritualistic swarming around the plantation grounds; fascinating and seemingly random dancing up and down, left and right. I did take a video but I'm not entirely sure it will really convey the intensity and the volume of dragonflies.
I had my first Po'Boy - and it was spectacular. Donna ordered gumbo, jambalaya and crawfish ettoufe and I tried all three. Tuesday I had been violently ill most of the morning and it wasn't until around 2pm I started feeling well enough to get up and explore the city.. Donna was very kind and spoke soothing words to me while I gingerly got out of bed and showered (note: do not eat oysters in New Orleans in a month that is void of an 'r') and eventually we managed to get out and about and start soaking in the Eastern districts.
We have also driven west and north, south and east, and of course explored the central neighbourhoods, and I have to say, my favourite neighbourhood is the Lower Garden district. Full of beautiful restored houses - this is obviously where the wealthier classes live. Tall, old oak trees line the streets and arch over the streets, forming that classic and incredibly pretty frame for each street in this district. The houses are close together, yes, but they have such character and are what I imagined when I thought about the inner city antebellum style properties of New Orleans.
Spontaneous live jazz makes it way down the street in front of our apartment every other few hours, especially from about 5pm onwards when it's more like 35oC instead of 38oC, and the men carrying the tubas and drums can manage to march down the streets without collapsing from heatstroke. It is amusing and entertaining, but after a while, and in combination with the heat (have I mentioned the HEAT yet??) all the noise just prompts me to retreat inside our apartment, close the heavy, well insulated door and block it out until I have drunk enough water and recouped enough to be able to enjoy the music, rather than be irritated by it.
Voodoo here is very alive and well, and it is fascinating to explore the holes in the walls the line the French Quarter, and after doing a bit of this exploring, I decided to go to the Voodoo Spiritual Temple. It was fascinating, and Priestess Miriam is very warm and inviting. She had me call her 'honey' when I left, and we shared a moment of genuine warmth and mutual respect. I went to an out of the way (i.e. NOT a tourist destination) voodoo supply store and met Felix, the owner, who also filled me with warmth and I strangely felt like crying when he showed me how to cast a spell and gave me the ingredients I will be taking home for someone I care about who needs a little help right now. F&F Candles is full of local voodoo and hoodoo practitioners, all trying to turn their luck around, and it smells like a spicy slice of heaven. No oppressive live magic here like there was in Hex Witchcraft yesterday; I had to leave the store almost as soon as we walked in because someone was casting spells at the altar in the store and it was cloying and invasive.
We have twice now eaten at a restaurant called Muriels, and I've decided I'm going to eat there again tonight, for my last dinner in New Orleans. I don't normally go to the same place twice when I'm on holidays, but Muriels is just perfect. I don't have to say anything else really; it is simply perfect. Fantastic, attentive, warm but not overly familiar service; relaxing and truly beautiful ambience; spectacular, inventive food; and it isn't expensive. There's so much on that menu that I want to try but I have a feeling I know what I'll be having tonight. I'll post photos on facebook!
Today as I was driving back to the hotel from doing a bit of last-day exploring, I saw the most amazing house, that Donna and I have driven past at least three times in the last four days. It is a perfect example of how nature claims back what man has made once man leaves. Vines and trees and flowers seem to strangle the abandoned property, in a haunting but beautiful kind of way. It is how I imagine a post-apocalyptic world to be.. ramshackle remnants of man-made structures, overcome with nature bursting her beautiful renewing life out of the cracks and crevices.
So I'm signing off from New Orleans (this blog's been a bit all over the place, but then again, so is the Big Easy, so I think it's rather fitting) - I'll chat again when I hit Atlanta.
Chat soon,
M x
Saturday, June 23, 2012
Ghosts, lies and more sore feet.
Savannah smells weird. There, I said it. Some streets I swear to all that is important I can actually smell the chamber pots, horse manure, food scraps, dirt and grime and god only knows what else, on the street today, as though it was 1733, when Savannah was first established.
The British had a problem - their economy was much like the USA's today; in the toilet. And they had all these citizens who suddenly couldn't afford to live, and so they were being locked up in poor people's prisons, as they couldn't repay their debts or their taxes. But this system was obviously not doing the British government or economy any good really, all it was doing was costing them more money keeping these otherwise helpful people in prison. The British also had another problem - the Spanish. While the twelve colonies of Britain were doing swimmingly across Northern America, the Spanish were doing rather well for themselves in the Southern regions of Northern America (namely, Florida). Not to mention the French were doing exceedingly well in Louisiana. The threat was always there. So one bright spark, British General James Edward Oglethorpe, caught King George II's ear, and suggested that they could, perhaps, send these men off to create a thirteenth colony, not as free men, but in debt to the Crown for a period of five to ten years, and perhaps they should be landed on the marshy ground between the prosperous Charles Town, and the Spanish owned Florida. There were differences between this colony and the others though:
1. They were not free men;
2. No Catholics, Jews, Lawyers or Rum allowed. Why Catholics? Because the Spanish were the Pope's people, and King George II was paranoid that a Catholic may spy for the other side. Why Jews? Well probably because they've been persecuted for a few thousand years thus far, why stop now. I'm sure I was told, I just can't remember!
3. NO SLAVERY. These men were not free men! Why would they be allowed slaves! They had to work off their debts to the Crown, and then they would be free men.
Savannah did rather well for itself, and provided an excellent buffer between the Spanish & French settlements, and the Carolinas. But not only did Savannah provide this protection; it also turned into a very prosperous city indeed.
Savannah is allegedly America's Most Haunted City. The reasons as to why it is so damn haunted became apparent to me today, when on my tour, the tour guide (Savannah Dan, I recommend) began telling the stories of where the old cemeteries used to be.. and how the rapidly expanding city decided to just BUILD OVER THEM. In addition to just blatantly building over graves, they also decided to build a monument to one of the cities (white) heroes over the TOP OF AN INDIAN KING'S BURIAL SITE. Literally, built on an Indian burial ground. EESH. Oh but it doesn't stop there! When the Confederate soldiers were in town during the Civil War, the offices got to sleep comfortably inside the houses in the city, but the mere soldiers had to camp out in a large flat grassy area - you guessed it - a cemetery. Not only did they break off headstones and move them out of the way to create more flat space to erect their makeshift tents, but some of them out of boredom changed the engravings on other tombstones, and some, to my utter disbelief and disgust, broke into the raised mausoleums and did one of two things; either busted open the coffins and used the wood to make a fire for warmth, OR kicked out the skeletons and then climbed in to sleep in the coffin to get out of the cold.
Little wonder really, why there's just so many restless dead in this city.
Some truly scary shit is going on here, and after the two hour ghost tour of the city last night (no, I saw no ghosts, and was more distracted by the stupid drunk bachelorette party that came with us and one especially stupid loud-mouthed drunk attention seeking biatch in their party), I don't particularly want to go poking around at certain houses. Some of the mansions here haven't been lived in this century because they just can't handle the hag attacks. Bites, scratches, welts, wounds, bruises.. all happening by some heavy-pressure shadow form that attacks at night and can be seen by your partner lying in bed next to you watching you suddenly come up with scratch marks. According to local voodoun, Calhoun Square is a layway for hag energies to cross into our world and apparently hags aren't item or location bound like most spirits - they can go anywhere, follow you anywhere. Tobias - my tour guide who has been doing this tour for years - said he no longer takes the group over onto the other side of the street to stand in front of one of the worst haunted houses, because he was getting too many emails back from people saying they were experiencing hauntings. So to be safe, we stood across the road from one of the most haunted houses in America, and took photos trying to see if we could capture anything. I don't know exactly what happened, but I took a series of photos, and in one of them the house is completely obscured by what appears to be a white-grey fog right over the camera lens. Tobias showed us a photo that had been taken by three separate people on one of his tours - and in it, you can see a little girl standing by the front door of the house, staring back at the tour group. There's a story about this poor seven year old girl whose father did horrendous things to her (I'll spare you the details - if you want them, you've got Google); but Tobias doesn't believe it's her, he believes it's a hag taking her form.
I don't think I ever want to leave this hotel. This is the danger with booking nice hotels, especially ones that have real charm like this.. this to me is far nicer than any Palazzo Versace or Sheraton etc could be.. this house was built in 1847 and I have the exposed brickwork in one wall of my room which just adds so much darn charm it's ridiculous. The bathroom is gorgeous and even has a small fireplace!! And with 'complimentary and casual' wine & cheese hour from 6pm - 7pm, and 'complimentary and casual' dessert hour (with coffees) from 8pm - 9pm, plus free hot breakfast lovingly hand made by "momma" virginia, why the hell WOULD you want to leave?? I typed this sitting in my four poster bed, on the most luxurious-feeling sheets you can possibly imagine, with beautiful combination feather and something else filling pillows propping me up, looking out my double white-shuttered windows at the trees and cobblestone street below. I could live here. In this room. Seriously. If this was a boarding house, I could actually live here. Never thought I'd say that I could live in a boarding house!
So I eventually pulled myself out of bed and said a fond farewell to both the hotel and the city, and headed down the I-95 to Brunswick, where I had the best gourmet hotdog of my life, and did a bit of sightseeing around the Golden Isles before heading back on the I-95 and being quite serious about getting very close to Alabama before turning in for the night. I had planned to drive to Tallahassee, the half-way point between Savannah and New Orleans, but as I left earlier than planned, I just kept driving until I could feel I was fatiguing. So I have pulled into a trusty Motel 6 in Pensacola, after going into the downtown area and having the best shrimp of my life in this seafood shack restaurant called Sam's. Blackened shrimp - and they were amazing. God they were so good.
I am apparently only three hours (give or take how leaden my foot becomes) out of New Orleans, so I'm planning on not setting an alarm (for once!!!) and just giving my body the sleep it needs, because oh boy, does it need it. Too many five or six hour nights (of sleep time I mean), too many ten hours of walking days, too many three hours or driving days (in addition to the walking).. I'm just about ready to catch me a cold if I don't get a good night's sleep. I DO want to go see what the fuss is all about re Pensacola's beaches - apparently the sand is pure white and the water is like something out of a Tahiti brochure, so I'll see how I feel about that in the morning.
I've learned a few things on this trip.. (this is clearly not an exhaustive list)
1) Speed limits are more of a suggestion, than a limit.. I have actually witnessed drivers go flying by me and NOT be pulled over by the Sheriff lurking to catch people speeding because they weren't going 'fast enough' to warrant him putting on his sirens.. mind you, if I'm doing 75, and they're flying past.. god only knows what they're doing..
2) EVERYTHING is cooked in meat products, so you have to be super careful if you wish to avoid eating a fatty meal - there's this meat product called 'fat back' and it seriously looks like just a lump of pig fat - apparently restaurants cook damn near everything in it.
3) Motel 6's might be scoffed at by the Americans as a 'pov' type hotel, but they are always clean, comfortable, and cheap.
4) The Lady & Sons is bloody ordinary (Paula Dean's restaurant). I have spared you my full opinion on the place because I would just rant for a good whole blog about it. TRULY disappointed. Do NOT go.
5) I'm actually pretty darn good at being solo. Who'd'uve thunk it?
Next stop - NEW ORLEANS!!
Later y'all!
M xx
The British had a problem - their economy was much like the USA's today; in the toilet. And they had all these citizens who suddenly couldn't afford to live, and so they were being locked up in poor people's prisons, as they couldn't repay their debts or their taxes. But this system was obviously not doing the British government or economy any good really, all it was doing was costing them more money keeping these otherwise helpful people in prison. The British also had another problem - the Spanish. While the twelve colonies of Britain were doing swimmingly across Northern America, the Spanish were doing rather well for themselves in the Southern regions of Northern America (namely, Florida). Not to mention the French were doing exceedingly well in Louisiana. The threat was always there. So one bright spark, British General James Edward Oglethorpe, caught King George II's ear, and suggested that they could, perhaps, send these men off to create a thirteenth colony, not as free men, but in debt to the Crown for a period of five to ten years, and perhaps they should be landed on the marshy ground between the prosperous Charles Town, and the Spanish owned Florida. There were differences between this colony and the others though:
1. They were not free men;
2. No Catholics, Jews, Lawyers or Rum allowed. Why Catholics? Because the Spanish were the Pope's people, and King George II was paranoid that a Catholic may spy for the other side. Why Jews? Well probably because they've been persecuted for a few thousand years thus far, why stop now. I'm sure I was told, I just can't remember!
3. NO SLAVERY. These men were not free men! Why would they be allowed slaves! They had to work off their debts to the Crown, and then they would be free men.
Savannah did rather well for itself, and provided an excellent buffer between the Spanish & French settlements, and the Carolinas. But not only did Savannah provide this protection; it also turned into a very prosperous city indeed.
Savannah is allegedly America's Most Haunted City. The reasons as to why it is so damn haunted became apparent to me today, when on my tour, the tour guide (Savannah Dan, I recommend) began telling the stories of where the old cemeteries used to be.. and how the rapidly expanding city decided to just BUILD OVER THEM. In addition to just blatantly building over graves, they also decided to build a monument to one of the cities (white) heroes over the TOP OF AN INDIAN KING'S BURIAL SITE. Literally, built on an Indian burial ground. EESH. Oh but it doesn't stop there! When the Confederate soldiers were in town during the Civil War, the offices got to sleep comfortably inside the houses in the city, but the mere soldiers had to camp out in a large flat grassy area - you guessed it - a cemetery. Not only did they break off headstones and move them out of the way to create more flat space to erect their makeshift tents, but some of them out of boredom changed the engravings on other tombstones, and some, to my utter disbelief and disgust, broke into the raised mausoleums and did one of two things; either busted open the coffins and used the wood to make a fire for warmth, OR kicked out the skeletons and then climbed in to sleep in the coffin to get out of the cold.
Little wonder really, why there's just so many restless dead in this city.
Some truly scary shit is going on here, and after the two hour ghost tour of the city last night (no, I saw no ghosts, and was more distracted by the stupid drunk bachelorette party that came with us and one especially stupid loud-mouthed drunk attention seeking biatch in their party), I don't particularly want to go poking around at certain houses. Some of the mansions here haven't been lived in this century because they just can't handle the hag attacks. Bites, scratches, welts, wounds, bruises.. all happening by some heavy-pressure shadow form that attacks at night and can be seen by your partner lying in bed next to you watching you suddenly come up with scratch marks. According to local voodoun, Calhoun Square is a layway for hag energies to cross into our world and apparently hags aren't item or location bound like most spirits - they can go anywhere, follow you anywhere. Tobias - my tour guide who has been doing this tour for years - said he no longer takes the group over onto the other side of the street to stand in front of one of the worst haunted houses, because he was getting too many emails back from people saying they were experiencing hauntings. So to be safe, we stood across the road from one of the most haunted houses in America, and took photos trying to see if we could capture anything. I don't know exactly what happened, but I took a series of photos, and in one of them the house is completely obscured by what appears to be a white-grey fog right over the camera lens. Tobias showed us a photo that had been taken by three separate people on one of his tours - and in it, you can see a little girl standing by the front door of the house, staring back at the tour group. There's a story about this poor seven year old girl whose father did horrendous things to her (I'll spare you the details - if you want them, you've got Google); but Tobias doesn't believe it's her, he believes it's a hag taking her form.
I don't think I ever want to leave this hotel. This is the danger with booking nice hotels, especially ones that have real charm like this.. this to me is far nicer than any Palazzo Versace or Sheraton etc could be.. this house was built in 1847 and I have the exposed brickwork in one wall of my room which just adds so much darn charm it's ridiculous. The bathroom is gorgeous and even has a small fireplace!! And with 'complimentary and casual' wine & cheese hour from 6pm - 7pm, and 'complimentary and casual' dessert hour (with coffees) from 8pm - 9pm, plus free hot breakfast lovingly hand made by "momma" virginia, why the hell WOULD you want to leave?? I typed this sitting in my four poster bed, on the most luxurious-feeling sheets you can possibly imagine, with beautiful combination feather and something else filling pillows propping me up, looking out my double white-shuttered windows at the trees and cobblestone street below. I could live here. In this room. Seriously. If this was a boarding house, I could actually live here. Never thought I'd say that I could live in a boarding house!
So I eventually pulled myself out of bed and said a fond farewell to both the hotel and the city, and headed down the I-95 to Brunswick, where I had the best gourmet hotdog of my life, and did a bit of sightseeing around the Golden Isles before heading back on the I-95 and being quite serious about getting very close to Alabama before turning in for the night. I had planned to drive to Tallahassee, the half-way point between Savannah and New Orleans, but as I left earlier than planned, I just kept driving until I could feel I was fatiguing. So I have pulled into a trusty Motel 6 in Pensacola, after going into the downtown area and having the best shrimp of my life in this seafood shack restaurant called Sam's. Blackened shrimp - and they were amazing. God they were so good.
I am apparently only three hours (give or take how leaden my foot becomes) out of New Orleans, so I'm planning on not setting an alarm (for once!!!) and just giving my body the sleep it needs, because oh boy, does it need it. Too many five or six hour nights (of sleep time I mean), too many ten hours of walking days, too many three hours or driving days (in addition to the walking).. I'm just about ready to catch me a cold if I don't get a good night's sleep. I DO want to go see what the fuss is all about re Pensacola's beaches - apparently the sand is pure white and the water is like something out of a Tahiti brochure, so I'll see how I feel about that in the morning.
I've learned a few things on this trip.. (this is clearly not an exhaustive list)
1) Speed limits are more of a suggestion, than a limit.. I have actually witnessed drivers go flying by me and NOT be pulled over by the Sheriff lurking to catch people speeding because they weren't going 'fast enough' to warrant him putting on his sirens.. mind you, if I'm doing 75, and they're flying past.. god only knows what they're doing..
2) EVERYTHING is cooked in meat products, so you have to be super careful if you wish to avoid eating a fatty meal - there's this meat product called 'fat back' and it seriously looks like just a lump of pig fat - apparently restaurants cook damn near everything in it.
3) Motel 6's might be scoffed at by the Americans as a 'pov' type hotel, but they are always clean, comfortable, and cheap.
4) The Lady & Sons is bloody ordinary (Paula Dean's restaurant). I have spared you my full opinion on the place because I would just rant for a good whole blog about it. TRULY disappointed. Do NOT go.
5) I'm actually pretty darn good at being solo. Who'd'uve thunk it?
Next stop - NEW ORLEANS!!
Later y'all!
M xx
Thursday, June 21, 2012
One city - three faces
I was initially going to call this blog “One city, two faces”, and then I found myself in the city later at night tonight than I was last night (not hard last night really, as I was in my room by 7pm..) and saw yet another different ‘face’ to Charleston.
Charleston is an old city. I mean really old. I mean colonial times, when the Americans were still British stock, before they became their own independent country. Charleston is a large city, always has been, back in the 1700’s they had a population of 40,000 – which as you can imagine – was a lot for the time. It is also geographically wide-spread, with a network of rivers and harbours encapsulating the peninsula which is essentially the downtown and historic district of Charleston. Initially Charles Town settled on the Northern bank of this peninsula, and decided they weren’t going to be some piddly colony to be messed with – oh no, they wanted to last. So they built a comprehensive sea wall fortification around the Northern banks of the peninsula, and fortified this with large parrot cannons (apparently Mr Parrot invented them). If you go to East Bay Street today, you can see where the old water line used to be, because every second ‘street’ that comes off East Bay Street to the North, is called somebody or another’s “wharf”. These little streets used to be actual wharves, but due to both nature and man influence, the river retreated out further, and the peninsula was built up to more solid ground.
If you go to Old Museum and Dungeon Provost, you can actually go underground and see the different eras of brickwork in the ‘dungeon’ downstairs where they used to do everything from sort mail that had come in from Britan, Spain, France etc, to keep naughty pirates awaiting the gallows. The bottom level of brick is from that initial sea wall fortification – dated at around 1680. It is amazing that given the constant flow of both sea water and natural ground water welling up, that this brickwork is still in better condition than much of the modern brickwork I have seen in my travels! Upon this brick work is built the fortifications that came in the Revolutionary War, and then of course, the Civil War. I am still entirely fascinated by the Civil War, and feel I have so much yet to learn, but thanks to my wonderful tour guide this morning, I think I have a better grip on it today. If you’re not interested in finding out what the hell happened re Civil War, skip the next paragraph. If you are, then by all means, read my abbreviated and much simplified version.
So the United States had come together in some shape to have a central government, and the Northern states had tried slavery, but it didn’t work for them. But in the South.. oh it worked a treat. The climate was exactly right for Africans to work hard in – humid, hot, sun beating down.. and of course this was the exactly wrong climate for the European settlers of the area, whose fair white skin burnt to a crisp if they attempted labouring outside in these conditions. It worked for the South. Slowly but surely the North tried to abolish slavery across all of the United States, and the South didn’t much like this idea. It was a huge industry – billions of dollars of industry – and the Southerners were getting wealthy off slave labour, thankyouverymuch. So instead of just leaving them be, the Northerners tried to impress their ideals upon the South (interestingly enough, a fair portion of the Africans brought over were brought on ships made by the fair people of Boston, who thought it was a great idea until slavery didn’t work out in their climate..). Sound like the America you know today..?? The South said ‘jog on’ and wanted to be left alone to continue in their prosperous ways. The North kept pressing abolition (of slavery) and tension started to rise. There were four presidential candidates that year, and any of them would’ve been just fine with the South… except for Lincoln. The day Charlestonians found out that Abraham Lincoln had been elected the President of the United States was the day that South Carolina seceded from the United States. NO ONE in the South had voted for him, and now they were a minority in their own country, with no representation in government. So they (and many other states.. thirteen in fact) said “hey, ok man, that’s what you want, that’s fine, we’re out of the union”. But Charleston was a very important port you see, with excellent military fortifications (Gen Pierre Beauregard built forts that LASTED), that received all of the goods from overseas they that didn’t have or couldn’t produce locally.. and thus was important in terms of both contributing wealth to the union, and goods. Abe Lincoln couldn’t have this – he needed Charleston in the United States. So a stand off begins, with South Carolina saying “we’re not kidding man, we will use force if we have to to protect our city.. just leave us be..” and the North thought they were bluffing. SC tried to get the union military out of Fort Sumnter, the fortified island in the middle of the Charleston harbour, and they ‘declined in the invitation to leave’. Eventually Beauregard pushed them out (cough cough) and they reclaimed their own fort. If you’re interested in more info here, feel free to give me a shout out, or there’s Google of course, but I learned a lot from the lovely Jack Thompson, tour guide, today, and I feel I have sufficient handle on the local Civil War info.
Anyhoo! My first day I drove in from Myrtle Beach and stopped into Boone Hall Plantation on the way – gorgeous, simply gorgeous. From the gardens to the massive 600 year old oak tree filled with Spanish moss to the cantilever staircase that greets you when you walk in the front door.. the house and gardens are just spectacular. Highly recommended. The Plantation is one of the only ones of its kind that still has the ‘slave street’ in tact.
I then proceeded to Fort Moultrie, the Northern most fortification (like I said, they were serious about ensuring the safety and security of their town..) that is on the Isle of Palms.. which is just gorgeous. I had my first taste of lowcountry shrimp n’ grits here, and it was wonderful. With a full belly I explored the beautiful strip of beach houses (and of course, beach), Fort Moultrie and generally stood and breathed in the beautiful clean salty air and felt that life, at that moment, was pretty darn good.
If you do come to Charleston, I highly recommend checking out Magnolia Cemetery. It is absolutely without a doubt the most gorgeous, soulful, haunting, touching cemetery I have ever been to. As is with all things lowcountry, it is in a swamp, so the graves are tucked in on patches of solid earth around this beautiful swampland, complete with marsh frogs and herons etcetera, and of course, the ever-present Spanish moss, weeping eerily from the many, many trees that are growing in, ON, and around the graves. You’ll see a lot of Confederate flags here, speared proudly into the ground at the feet of loved ones who were obviously staunch Southerners.
The two hour tour with Jack around the Historic District is without a doubt $20 incredibly well spent – the man is a veritable fount of information – throw any question at him and I pretty much guarantee an answer that not only covers the basic response to your question, but embellishes and elaborates upon the original thread of conversation. Not content to just give us our money’s worth by showing us genuine photos of pre-Civil War buildings and streets and then comparing them to the ones standing today (unbelievably, many of the buildings standing today are original, dating even pre-Revolutionary War), he also pointed out birds nesting in the tall trees overhead in Battery Park when I expressed an interest in the local fauna. He tried to get us to put ourselves in the shoes of those citizens living there in 1861, and was a Southern gentleman at all times, offering his arm to me to walk through the park with him (I was one of four on our tour, the other three being a husband, wife, and daughter), and taking off his hat to gently wave thanks at the cars that stopped so we could cross the street. At 72 years old, this man is an inspiration. He does the tour seven days a week ‘rain hail or shine’, and it’s around two hours of walking in the heat, and his brain is sharp as a tack and he’s even written and published a book on the wonders of Historical Downtown Charleston.
I did the usual wandering around taking happy snaps of places and streets and sidewalks (original pre-Revolutionary War slate sidewalks need a photo, don’t you think??) for a few hours, then I went by Magnolia Plantation and Gardens and checked out the amazing swamp gardens – I didn’t do the full gardens or house because at that point (3:30pm), my entire days spent walking and nights spent sleeping only 6 hours or so had caught up with me, and so I crashed at my hotel for a couple of hours’ nap, to get ready for the evening ahead…
Tonight I did my lowcountry cooking class. Lowcountry, by the way, so named because the country is low (duh) – but it is the swamps, marshes, flood-prone areas, that have different soils and different types of foods available, which has melded and shaped the cuisine these people eat, and so, given simply the name ‘lowcountry’. It was a fantastic way to spend a few hours – with like-minded women who enjoy cooking and entertaining – peeling shrimp turned into a hilarious adventure with the ladies I had on my team, and after cooking: lowcountry shrimp n grits; rubbed, glazed, marinated pork ribs; banana pudding; zucchini somethingoranother; and cheddar and proscuitto cheese sticks – I am inspired to give it all a go when I get home. I have stocked up on the ingredients I feel would be a struggle to get at home (namely grits and lowcountry boil spices), so some of you should look out for an invitation in the next few months!
So you have one side of the city, which is historic Charleston, and then you have the other, the Southern side of the peninsula, which is an absolutely gorgeous marina, complete with beautiful waterway wildlife (mostly birds, you know I loves me some birds) and luxurious boats moored next door to fishing boats. Next time I’m in Charleston I’m going to rent a boat and head out into the waterways for a full day of sightseeing and fishing/shrimping. The Southern side seems untouched, I mean I know there’s a bloody great marina right there, but the water is so blue, and the green reedgrass growing in it is so GREEN, and the sky is so blue and it seems so peaceful, and this side of town isn’t as built up as the older side of town.. it really is postcard material.
As I alluded earlier in the blog, the third side of town that I haven’t even remotely explored because I’m being a smart traveler and sticking to early, sober nights, is the nightlife. Now Jack tells me there “isn’t much of a nightlife in Charleston” but I have to beg to differ. If what I saw in the ten minutes it took me to walk from my cooking class back to my car is anything to go by, Charleston is going to be going OFF in the next hour or so. Already there were pubs in full swing, with different live acts – one girl was soulfully singing a rendition of Gotye’s famous and now totally overplayed song; another had live jazz cheerfully blasting out into the street. A bar called the ‘noisy oyster’ looked like a good time, and all in all it was rather tempting to step inside for ‘just one drink’ to soak in the atmosphere. But knowing I have to drive to Savannah first thing tomorrow morning – and it will be first thing, and knowing that I am only me, no friends to keep me company or watch my drink or handbag while I go to the bathroom.. I’m erring on the side of sensible. Although I have to say, I feel completely safe in Charleston. I actually feel much safer in the downtown areas than I do in my motel, so I highly doubt any harm would come to anyone wanting to soak in a bit of the nightlife ambience.
I really do love this town. And it is with a little bit of heaviness in my heart that I’m starting to pack up my little overnight suitcase and get ready to wind down and go to bed. Knowing I’m heading to Savannah tomorrow morning is helping alleviate the sadness though, as I’m 100% sure I’m going to love Savannah.
A little piece of my heart left in Franklin, a little piece left here in Charleston. Three cheers for the genteel Southern cities that don’t feel they need to be overwhelming or commercial or ‘modern’ to win your heart. Hip hip?
Chat soon,
M x
Charleston is an old city. I mean really old. I mean colonial times, when the Americans were still British stock, before they became their own independent country. Charleston is a large city, always has been, back in the 1700’s they had a population of 40,000 – which as you can imagine – was a lot for the time. It is also geographically wide-spread, with a network of rivers and harbours encapsulating the peninsula which is essentially the downtown and historic district of Charleston. Initially Charles Town settled on the Northern bank of this peninsula, and decided they weren’t going to be some piddly colony to be messed with – oh no, they wanted to last. So they built a comprehensive sea wall fortification around the Northern banks of the peninsula, and fortified this with large parrot cannons (apparently Mr Parrot invented them). If you go to East Bay Street today, you can see where the old water line used to be, because every second ‘street’ that comes off East Bay Street to the North, is called somebody or another’s “wharf”. These little streets used to be actual wharves, but due to both nature and man influence, the river retreated out further, and the peninsula was built up to more solid ground.
If you go to Old Museum and Dungeon Provost, you can actually go underground and see the different eras of brickwork in the ‘dungeon’ downstairs where they used to do everything from sort mail that had come in from Britan, Spain, France etc, to keep naughty pirates awaiting the gallows. The bottom level of brick is from that initial sea wall fortification – dated at around 1680. It is amazing that given the constant flow of both sea water and natural ground water welling up, that this brickwork is still in better condition than much of the modern brickwork I have seen in my travels! Upon this brick work is built the fortifications that came in the Revolutionary War, and then of course, the Civil War. I am still entirely fascinated by the Civil War, and feel I have so much yet to learn, but thanks to my wonderful tour guide this morning, I think I have a better grip on it today. If you’re not interested in finding out what the hell happened re Civil War, skip the next paragraph. If you are, then by all means, read my abbreviated and much simplified version.
So the United States had come together in some shape to have a central government, and the Northern states had tried slavery, but it didn’t work for them. But in the South.. oh it worked a treat. The climate was exactly right for Africans to work hard in – humid, hot, sun beating down.. and of course this was the exactly wrong climate for the European settlers of the area, whose fair white skin burnt to a crisp if they attempted labouring outside in these conditions. It worked for the South. Slowly but surely the North tried to abolish slavery across all of the United States, and the South didn’t much like this idea. It was a huge industry – billions of dollars of industry – and the Southerners were getting wealthy off slave labour, thankyouverymuch. So instead of just leaving them be, the Northerners tried to impress their ideals upon the South (interestingly enough, a fair portion of the Africans brought over were brought on ships made by the fair people of Boston, who thought it was a great idea until slavery didn’t work out in their climate..). Sound like the America you know today..?? The South said ‘jog on’ and wanted to be left alone to continue in their prosperous ways. The North kept pressing abolition (of slavery) and tension started to rise. There were four presidential candidates that year, and any of them would’ve been just fine with the South… except for Lincoln. The day Charlestonians found out that Abraham Lincoln had been elected the President of the United States was the day that South Carolina seceded from the United States. NO ONE in the South had voted for him, and now they were a minority in their own country, with no representation in government. So they (and many other states.. thirteen in fact) said “hey, ok man, that’s what you want, that’s fine, we’re out of the union”. But Charleston was a very important port you see, with excellent military fortifications (Gen Pierre Beauregard built forts that LASTED), that received all of the goods from overseas they that didn’t have or couldn’t produce locally.. and thus was important in terms of both contributing wealth to the union, and goods. Abe Lincoln couldn’t have this – he needed Charleston in the United States. So a stand off begins, with South Carolina saying “we’re not kidding man, we will use force if we have to to protect our city.. just leave us be..” and the North thought they were bluffing. SC tried to get the union military out of Fort Sumnter, the fortified island in the middle of the Charleston harbour, and they ‘declined in the invitation to leave’. Eventually Beauregard pushed them out (cough cough) and they reclaimed their own fort. If you’re interested in more info here, feel free to give me a shout out, or there’s Google of course, but I learned a lot from the lovely Jack Thompson, tour guide, today, and I feel I have sufficient handle on the local Civil War info.
Anyhoo! My first day I drove in from Myrtle Beach and stopped into Boone Hall Plantation on the way – gorgeous, simply gorgeous. From the gardens to the massive 600 year old oak tree filled with Spanish moss to the cantilever staircase that greets you when you walk in the front door.. the house and gardens are just spectacular. Highly recommended. The Plantation is one of the only ones of its kind that still has the ‘slave street’ in tact.
I then proceeded to Fort Moultrie, the Northern most fortification (like I said, they were serious about ensuring the safety and security of their town..) that is on the Isle of Palms.. which is just gorgeous. I had my first taste of lowcountry shrimp n’ grits here, and it was wonderful. With a full belly I explored the beautiful strip of beach houses (and of course, beach), Fort Moultrie and generally stood and breathed in the beautiful clean salty air and felt that life, at that moment, was pretty darn good.
If you do come to Charleston, I highly recommend checking out Magnolia Cemetery. It is absolutely without a doubt the most gorgeous, soulful, haunting, touching cemetery I have ever been to. As is with all things lowcountry, it is in a swamp, so the graves are tucked in on patches of solid earth around this beautiful swampland, complete with marsh frogs and herons etcetera, and of course, the ever-present Spanish moss, weeping eerily from the many, many trees that are growing in, ON, and around the graves. You’ll see a lot of Confederate flags here, speared proudly into the ground at the feet of loved ones who were obviously staunch Southerners.
The two hour tour with Jack around the Historic District is without a doubt $20 incredibly well spent – the man is a veritable fount of information – throw any question at him and I pretty much guarantee an answer that not only covers the basic response to your question, but embellishes and elaborates upon the original thread of conversation. Not content to just give us our money’s worth by showing us genuine photos of pre-Civil War buildings and streets and then comparing them to the ones standing today (unbelievably, many of the buildings standing today are original, dating even pre-Revolutionary War), he also pointed out birds nesting in the tall trees overhead in Battery Park when I expressed an interest in the local fauna. He tried to get us to put ourselves in the shoes of those citizens living there in 1861, and was a Southern gentleman at all times, offering his arm to me to walk through the park with him (I was one of four on our tour, the other three being a husband, wife, and daughter), and taking off his hat to gently wave thanks at the cars that stopped so we could cross the street. At 72 years old, this man is an inspiration. He does the tour seven days a week ‘rain hail or shine’, and it’s around two hours of walking in the heat, and his brain is sharp as a tack and he’s even written and published a book on the wonders of Historical Downtown Charleston.
I did the usual wandering around taking happy snaps of places and streets and sidewalks (original pre-Revolutionary War slate sidewalks need a photo, don’t you think??) for a few hours, then I went by Magnolia Plantation and Gardens and checked out the amazing swamp gardens – I didn’t do the full gardens or house because at that point (3:30pm), my entire days spent walking and nights spent sleeping only 6 hours or so had caught up with me, and so I crashed at my hotel for a couple of hours’ nap, to get ready for the evening ahead…
Tonight I did my lowcountry cooking class. Lowcountry, by the way, so named because the country is low (duh) – but it is the swamps, marshes, flood-prone areas, that have different soils and different types of foods available, which has melded and shaped the cuisine these people eat, and so, given simply the name ‘lowcountry’. It was a fantastic way to spend a few hours – with like-minded women who enjoy cooking and entertaining – peeling shrimp turned into a hilarious adventure with the ladies I had on my team, and after cooking: lowcountry shrimp n grits; rubbed, glazed, marinated pork ribs; banana pudding; zucchini somethingoranother; and cheddar and proscuitto cheese sticks – I am inspired to give it all a go when I get home. I have stocked up on the ingredients I feel would be a struggle to get at home (namely grits and lowcountry boil spices), so some of you should look out for an invitation in the next few months!
So you have one side of the city, which is historic Charleston, and then you have the other, the Southern side of the peninsula, which is an absolutely gorgeous marina, complete with beautiful waterway wildlife (mostly birds, you know I loves me some birds) and luxurious boats moored next door to fishing boats. Next time I’m in Charleston I’m going to rent a boat and head out into the waterways for a full day of sightseeing and fishing/shrimping. The Southern side seems untouched, I mean I know there’s a bloody great marina right there, but the water is so blue, and the green reedgrass growing in it is so GREEN, and the sky is so blue and it seems so peaceful, and this side of town isn’t as built up as the older side of town.. it really is postcard material.
As I alluded earlier in the blog, the third side of town that I haven’t even remotely explored because I’m being a smart traveler and sticking to early, sober nights, is the nightlife. Now Jack tells me there “isn’t much of a nightlife in Charleston” but I have to beg to differ. If what I saw in the ten minutes it took me to walk from my cooking class back to my car is anything to go by, Charleston is going to be going OFF in the next hour or so. Already there were pubs in full swing, with different live acts – one girl was soulfully singing a rendition of Gotye’s famous and now totally overplayed song; another had live jazz cheerfully blasting out into the street. A bar called the ‘noisy oyster’ looked like a good time, and all in all it was rather tempting to step inside for ‘just one drink’ to soak in the atmosphere. But knowing I have to drive to Savannah first thing tomorrow morning – and it will be first thing, and knowing that I am only me, no friends to keep me company or watch my drink or handbag while I go to the bathroom.. I’m erring on the side of sensible. Although I have to say, I feel completely safe in Charleston. I actually feel much safer in the downtown areas than I do in my motel, so I highly doubt any harm would come to anyone wanting to soak in a bit of the nightlife ambience.
I really do love this town. And it is with a little bit of heaviness in my heart that I’m starting to pack up my little overnight suitcase and get ready to wind down and go to bed. Knowing I’m heading to Savannah tomorrow morning is helping alleviate the sadness though, as I’m 100% sure I’m going to love Savannah.
A little piece of my heart left in Franklin, a little piece left here in Charleston. Three cheers for the genteel Southern cities that don’t feel they need to be overwhelming or commercial or ‘modern’ to win your heart. Hip hip?
Chat soon,
M x
The Cancun of South Carolina?
I enjoyed the lengthy drive to Myrtle Beach, and I was rather excited to finally meet Ned, or should I say, Nancy, Donna’s friend that she had put me in touch with. A quick trip to the Tanger Outlets saw a few things crossed off my ‘to do’ list, and I met up with Ned, who is incredibly warm and fun and wearing the most fabulous hat I have seen in a VERY long time – very Audrey Hepburn – and we went to Murrells Inlet for lunch. It is meant to be the hot spot for seafood, and judging by all the seafood restaurants lining the waterway, I would say it is indeed! I had an appetizer plate which was certainly more than enough, and we got to know each other over lunch, and then after a tour of the city, Nancy took me to the beach – something I haven’t been to in well over 12 months – and we plonked on the sand and people watched whilst chatting away happily. I don’t think we had a single awkward pause in the conversation, which was really refreshing. After a couple of hours of people watching we made a move to get back to her truck, and went on another tour so I could see the lay of the land. She was a very good tour guide, and pointed out things that others may not have thought of – such as a historic railway station, and historic school for ‘colored children’. She took me to dinner, and wowee it was flash. I had the most beautiful shrimp dish with wild rice and vege, and it was just lovely. It was a bit sad saying goodnight because I’d only just met her damnit! But it was 11pm, and I knew I was getting up early to drive to Charleston, so I eventually dragged my carcass out of her truck and headed up to my hotel room… to discover that the balcony door wouldn’t close properly, and had a chain lock on it. AKA a rape lock. That is ALWAYS what I think of when I see those things, and then the second thing I think of is “fat lot of good it’s going to do when psycho kicks the door down..” (I’ve clearly seen far too many movies). So naturally I start freaking out, despite the fact that I’m EIGHT STORIES HIGH.. and ended up huddled underneath my sheets like a big baby, just praying I’d fall asleep and wake up alive and without some weirdo sitting on the foot of my bed watching me sleep.
Myrtle Beach is very much a tourist trap. The main strip, Ocean Boulevard, looks like it is straight out of Jersey Shore the MTV show. It's rather garish with bright lights and colours and t-shirts with all kinds of slogans including ones made infamous by the TV show itself; I asked Nancy about this and she seems to recall the crew came to Myrtle Beach to film something or another. It is what the Gold Coast would be if we were American. So very beachy, very tourist, very OTT. Nowhere near as OTT as Vegas or Pigeon Forge though!! And once you step back from the beachfront there's real charm in the houses in the hind dunes and other mall areas. I will say the sand there is much, much grittier than the sand in Australia, and whilst initially I was like "eh? this isn't soft.." I realised I actually prefer it like that because it means it's much, much easier to brush off!! Y'all know how much I just looove sand, right?
Myrtle Beach is where I overheard the woman behind me ordering her breakfast that included a pancake combo meal plus four rashers of bacon and two eggs and french fries, and then swap out her sausage for more bacon again. God. I'm really doing my absolute best to eat at least one meal plus my snacks 'in house'.. usually I have my breakfast in my hotel room as long as there's a fridge in my room - I've chosen hotels where I could that have fridges, unfortunately I was without one at Myrtle Beach, so no milk to go on my All Bran. Trust me, All Bran is the best choice available for breakfast cereals here, because EVERYTHING has High Fructose Corn Syrup (AKA the health/weight devil) in it. So it's a constant game of going to a grocers and finding things like low sodium ham or sliced chicken or turkey breast and pairing that up with my low fat Triskets for a snack or a lunch while I'm on the go. Doing my damnedest not to return the size of well.. your average American.
I will say at this point, that Nancy isn't your average American, and has a smokin' body. I didn't want to go from that paragraph above, to the one below, without pointing this out, lest anyone think I'm subtly hinting she's fat. She's not. She's phat. Hehee!
Thank you Nancy, you made Myrtle Beach for me, you really did. If you come to Brissie, you’ve got yourself a host. Promise!
Chat soon,
M x
Myrtle Beach is very much a tourist trap. The main strip, Ocean Boulevard, looks like it is straight out of Jersey Shore the MTV show. It's rather garish with bright lights and colours and t-shirts with all kinds of slogans including ones made infamous by the TV show itself; I asked Nancy about this and she seems to recall the crew came to Myrtle Beach to film something or another. It is what the Gold Coast would be if we were American. So very beachy, very tourist, very OTT. Nowhere near as OTT as Vegas or Pigeon Forge though!! And once you step back from the beachfront there's real charm in the houses in the hind dunes and other mall areas. I will say the sand there is much, much grittier than the sand in Australia, and whilst initially I was like "eh? this isn't soft.." I realised I actually prefer it like that because it means it's much, much easier to brush off!! Y'all know how much I just looove sand, right?
Myrtle Beach is where I overheard the woman behind me ordering her breakfast that included a pancake combo meal plus four rashers of bacon and two eggs and french fries, and then swap out her sausage for more bacon again. God. I'm really doing my absolute best to eat at least one meal plus my snacks 'in house'.. usually I have my breakfast in my hotel room as long as there's a fridge in my room - I've chosen hotels where I could that have fridges, unfortunately I was without one at Myrtle Beach, so no milk to go on my All Bran. Trust me, All Bran is the best choice available for breakfast cereals here, because EVERYTHING has High Fructose Corn Syrup (AKA the health/weight devil) in it. So it's a constant game of going to a grocers and finding things like low sodium ham or sliced chicken or turkey breast and pairing that up with my low fat Triskets for a snack or a lunch while I'm on the go. Doing my damnedest not to return the size of well.. your average American.
I will say at this point, that Nancy isn't your average American, and has a smokin' body. I didn't want to go from that paragraph above, to the one below, without pointing this out, lest anyone think I'm subtly hinting she's fat. She's not. She's phat. Hehee!
Thank you Nancy, you made Myrtle Beach for me, you really did. If you come to Brissie, you’ve got yourself a host. Promise!
Chat soon,
M x
Big city, southern heart
Just like Asheville, when I stepped out of my car, took a breath, shook off the four hours of driving and looked around.. I fell in love with the city pretty much immediately. I parked at one end of Tryon St, which is one of two main streets in Charlotte – the other being Trade St. Tryon and Trade Sts were both crucial Indian trails, and when the white men moved in they of course used the same well established trade routes, and now the city has these two intersecting trade routes as their two main roads. I knew that the Visitor Center (they are INVALUABLE and I highly recommend you utilise them if you do a trip around the States) wouldn’t open until midday, as it was Sunday and Father’s Day to boot (happy Father’s Day Dad!), so I proceeded to lace up my new walking shoes, and get a feel for the city.
The city is divided into four wards, and I’ve decided Fourth Ward is where I would move to, if I were to move to Charlotte. It is just gorgeous. Lovely greenery, big park complete with curious and not at all scared squirrels.. friendly people, beautiful genteel houses, lovely meandering walkways between apartment complexes.. and a gorgeous gushing fountain at the entrance to the main park. To have so much greenery in the middle of a major city makes such a difference. No concrete jungle vibe here!
I got to the Visitor’s Center and they were at a bit of a loss as to what to suggest I should do next, as I had walked thoroughly around the city for about three hours at this point, and had seen literally all the suggested sites on their ‘walking trail’ map, which include historical areas and more modern business areas as well. The old cemetery was beautiful; I really do enjoy my cemeteries. But so were the more modern areas of town – the ‘walkway of arts’ (or whatever it was called) was very modern and funky and inspiring. If only I had an artistic bone in my body…
I wound down for the day with a drive through the outskirts of Charlotte, and quickly recognized that Myers Park must be the upmarket, or ritzy even, area of town. When you notice that someone’s front lawn is larger than most people’s house, and everything is pristinely manicured and trimmed and hedged… it’s a bit of a tip-off you’re in Snootsville. Myself, I preferred the quaint charm of Fourth Ward. The lavish (and very obvious) wealth in Myers Park isn’t really my thing. I liked the open verandahs with built-in ceiling fans, rocking chairs, and bird feeders in Fourth Ward.
I went to Mint Museum of Art and checked out a few exhibits – the special exhibit that was on at the moment was the Fantasies, Fairytales and Fear exhibit.. it was very clever. Some of the art was very evocative and indeed induced a feeling of fear or at the very least, anxiety and apprehension. I was convinced at one point that someone was going to leap out at me from around a corner and scare the beejeesus out of me. Didn’t happen. Thank god. I probably would’ve been all flailing arms and screaming. There was an exhibit on ‘glass, wood, metal’ and a few other things thrown in, that was very, very good. After finishing absorbing as much culture as possible from this museum, I headed down the street, to the Levine Museum of the New South.
The Levine is designed to educate people as to how the South became the New South, and what the Old South was like in a small taste. It is a step by step exhibit, that is prefaced by a short film on the evolution of Charlotte as a city, and it takes us from the era of slavery through each decade, showing things like what a slave’s cottage looked like – actual to-scale models with actual bedding and utensils and OH!
I have just remembered something I have been meaning to tell y'all since I left Franklin! I have discovered the origin of the saying “goodnight, sleep tight, don’t let the bed bugs bite”. Well the bed bugs one is obvious, but it really refers to bugs and beetles of any description, because mattresses were often made from straw back in the 1900’s and 1800’s, and you had to shake out your mattress and watch all these bugs fall to the floor before you climbed into bed. And the ‘sleep tight’… comes from rope beds. You know our slat beds? Well these beds have rope instead of slats, and every now and then, the rope would loosen, so you would go to the end of the bed, and using a specially made rope-tightening tool, you would tighten the rope in your bed, to provide firm, not sagging, support, on which to lay your bug-filled mattress. Aren’t you happy you live in the 21st Century??
Back to the Levine Museum. So it takes you era by era through everything that’s happening in the New South (“New” once slavery was abolished when the federal forces “Yankees” won the Civil War), and the evolution of Charlotte as a city and an economy… things like Roosevelt’s visit to Charlotte whereby he talks about ensuring the cotton farmers receive at least 10c for their crop instead of the abysmal 5c the market had plummeted to when there was a huge oversupply of cotton.. and then of course, the reasons that led to segregation of white and ‘coloreds’. Reading all about it.. listening to recorded TV interviews (they have areas where you can perch and push a button to watch and listen an interview on a TV) from some of the first black men and women who protested against segregation, who started the ‘sit in’ movement.. I couldn’t help but get all choked up. Thinking about the injustice of such utter discrimination against a group of people simply because their skin was darker. The atrocities committed.. the Klu Klux Klan.. and how they with their propaganda had actually managed to convince the North that blacks were rampantly coming into white people’s homes and raping their women and stealing their livelihoods, and that the KKK were ‘knights on white steeds coming to the rescue…’ just blood-chilling. I cannot recommend highly enough, that if you are in Charlotte, that you go to the Levine Museum. It helps put a lot of the jigsaw puzzle together to understand why things were the way they were, and what happened to help change them.
One thing I did see in Charlotte that I must say I was in no way prepared for, was the Billy Graham Library. I had no idea who he was or what it was about, and I went because it was ranked highly on Trip Advisor’s list of things to do in Charlotte, and it was free admission. Good Lord. Ha! No pun intended. It was so evangelistic, I felt my skin practically crawling as I hurried out of there. I strongly, STRONGLY, recommend not going there if you a) aren’t staunch Christian and b) don’t like having religious propaganda shoved into you from every angle. The house that his family grew up in was interesting though, and incredibly well preserved – the same couches, same paint etc.. it was its own little museum to his upbringing.
My last night in Charlotte I was reading my book (oh so good..), having a beer and generally minding my own business, when I was harangued into joining the ‘long stay’ tenants (I was at an ‘extended stay Studio 6’.. you can stay for days, weeks, months.. forever..) who are like their own little family, and pretty soon we were discussing everything from racial tensions to religious beliefs; sexuality (we had three gay boys in our group – the black gay dude (Patrick??) was just the funniest dude I’ve met in a while) to the American Health Care System (or lack thereof), to what’s different in Australia. At ten o’clock I said “ok team I’m off for bed..” and got a chorus of “oh say WHAT?” (did I mention there were a few black women in our ragtag group?) and “noo! Staaay!” etcetera. Patricia even tried telling me it was only a one hour drive to Myrtle Beach, my next destination! Lies! All lies! Knowing full well it was a four hour drive, I said my goodbyes, and had a chuckle at how wonderful our little group was… we had black and white, both men and women, gay and straight and (I suspect) lesbian… religious and not religious.. I thought the next morning all we needed was to throw a few asians into the mix and you’ve got one of those terribly posed posters you see promoting equal opportunity workplaces. I suppose it really is testament to how far the South has come though, in integrating whites with blacks again, and the newfound tolerance of gay people made my heart all warm and fuzzy. We were just a bunch of friends, having a yarn about whatever came up. It was great, and it’s a memory I’m going to cherish after having been to the Levine Museum where I shed a few tears in the exhibit on segregation and the ‘sit ins’.
Chat soon,
M x
The city is divided into four wards, and I’ve decided Fourth Ward is where I would move to, if I were to move to Charlotte. It is just gorgeous. Lovely greenery, big park complete with curious and not at all scared squirrels.. friendly people, beautiful genteel houses, lovely meandering walkways between apartment complexes.. and a gorgeous gushing fountain at the entrance to the main park. To have so much greenery in the middle of a major city makes such a difference. No concrete jungle vibe here!
I got to the Visitor’s Center and they were at a bit of a loss as to what to suggest I should do next, as I had walked thoroughly around the city for about three hours at this point, and had seen literally all the suggested sites on their ‘walking trail’ map, which include historical areas and more modern business areas as well. The old cemetery was beautiful; I really do enjoy my cemeteries. But so were the more modern areas of town – the ‘walkway of arts’ (or whatever it was called) was very modern and funky and inspiring. If only I had an artistic bone in my body…
I wound down for the day with a drive through the outskirts of Charlotte, and quickly recognized that Myers Park must be the upmarket, or ritzy even, area of town. When you notice that someone’s front lawn is larger than most people’s house, and everything is pristinely manicured and trimmed and hedged… it’s a bit of a tip-off you’re in Snootsville. Myself, I preferred the quaint charm of Fourth Ward. The lavish (and very obvious) wealth in Myers Park isn’t really my thing. I liked the open verandahs with built-in ceiling fans, rocking chairs, and bird feeders in Fourth Ward.
I went to Mint Museum of Art and checked out a few exhibits – the special exhibit that was on at the moment was the Fantasies, Fairytales and Fear exhibit.. it was very clever. Some of the art was very evocative and indeed induced a feeling of fear or at the very least, anxiety and apprehension. I was convinced at one point that someone was going to leap out at me from around a corner and scare the beejeesus out of me. Didn’t happen. Thank god. I probably would’ve been all flailing arms and screaming. There was an exhibit on ‘glass, wood, metal’ and a few other things thrown in, that was very, very good. After finishing absorbing as much culture as possible from this museum, I headed down the street, to the Levine Museum of the New South.
The Levine is designed to educate people as to how the South became the New South, and what the Old South was like in a small taste. It is a step by step exhibit, that is prefaced by a short film on the evolution of Charlotte as a city, and it takes us from the era of slavery through each decade, showing things like what a slave’s cottage looked like – actual to-scale models with actual bedding and utensils and OH!
I have just remembered something I have been meaning to tell y'all since I left Franklin! I have discovered the origin of the saying “goodnight, sleep tight, don’t let the bed bugs bite”. Well the bed bugs one is obvious, but it really refers to bugs and beetles of any description, because mattresses were often made from straw back in the 1900’s and 1800’s, and you had to shake out your mattress and watch all these bugs fall to the floor before you climbed into bed. And the ‘sleep tight’… comes from rope beds. You know our slat beds? Well these beds have rope instead of slats, and every now and then, the rope would loosen, so you would go to the end of the bed, and using a specially made rope-tightening tool, you would tighten the rope in your bed, to provide firm, not sagging, support, on which to lay your bug-filled mattress. Aren’t you happy you live in the 21st Century??
Back to the Levine Museum. So it takes you era by era through everything that’s happening in the New South (“New” once slavery was abolished when the federal forces “Yankees” won the Civil War), and the evolution of Charlotte as a city and an economy… things like Roosevelt’s visit to Charlotte whereby he talks about ensuring the cotton farmers receive at least 10c for their crop instead of the abysmal 5c the market had plummeted to when there was a huge oversupply of cotton.. and then of course, the reasons that led to segregation of white and ‘coloreds’. Reading all about it.. listening to recorded TV interviews (they have areas where you can perch and push a button to watch and listen an interview on a TV) from some of the first black men and women who protested against segregation, who started the ‘sit in’ movement.. I couldn’t help but get all choked up. Thinking about the injustice of such utter discrimination against a group of people simply because their skin was darker. The atrocities committed.. the Klu Klux Klan.. and how they with their propaganda had actually managed to convince the North that blacks were rampantly coming into white people’s homes and raping their women and stealing their livelihoods, and that the KKK were ‘knights on white steeds coming to the rescue…’ just blood-chilling. I cannot recommend highly enough, that if you are in Charlotte, that you go to the Levine Museum. It helps put a lot of the jigsaw puzzle together to understand why things were the way they were, and what happened to help change them.
One thing I did see in Charlotte that I must say I was in no way prepared for, was the Billy Graham Library. I had no idea who he was or what it was about, and I went because it was ranked highly on Trip Advisor’s list of things to do in Charlotte, and it was free admission. Good Lord. Ha! No pun intended. It was so evangelistic, I felt my skin practically crawling as I hurried out of there. I strongly, STRONGLY, recommend not going there if you a) aren’t staunch Christian and b) don’t like having religious propaganda shoved into you from every angle. The house that his family grew up in was interesting though, and incredibly well preserved – the same couches, same paint etc.. it was its own little museum to his upbringing.
My last night in Charlotte I was reading my book (oh so good..), having a beer and generally minding my own business, when I was harangued into joining the ‘long stay’ tenants (I was at an ‘extended stay Studio 6’.. you can stay for days, weeks, months.. forever..) who are like their own little family, and pretty soon we were discussing everything from racial tensions to religious beliefs; sexuality (we had three gay boys in our group – the black gay dude (Patrick??) was just the funniest dude I’ve met in a while) to the American Health Care System (or lack thereof), to what’s different in Australia. At ten o’clock I said “ok team I’m off for bed..” and got a chorus of “oh say WHAT?” (did I mention there were a few black women in our ragtag group?) and “noo! Staaay!” etcetera. Patricia even tried telling me it was only a one hour drive to Myrtle Beach, my next destination! Lies! All lies! Knowing full well it was a four hour drive, I said my goodbyes, and had a chuckle at how wonderful our little group was… we had black and white, both men and women, gay and straight and (I suspect) lesbian… religious and not religious.. I thought the next morning all we needed was to throw a few asians into the mix and you’ve got one of those terribly posed posters you see promoting equal opportunity workplaces. I suppose it really is testament to how far the South has come though, in integrating whites with blacks again, and the newfound tolerance of gay people made my heart all warm and fuzzy. We were just a bunch of friends, having a yarn about whatever came up. It was great, and it’s a memory I’m going to cherish after having been to the Levine Museum where I shed a few tears in the exhibit on segregation and the ‘sit ins’.
Chat soon,
M x
City of Freaks
Good intentions. You know what I'm talking about. I left the hotel at 7:42am (I know, precisely, because I said "goodbye Pigeon Forge" as I was walking out look at my iPhone), with the good intentions of getting across the mountains to Asheville in the hour (more or less) that I have been advised it takes.
Welly well well. If it isn't old Mr Roadworks. For reasons totally unknown, the US25/US70 was closed after middleonowhere, and so I had to take the 107, to middleonowhere#2, and then the 208 to somewhere even FURTHER that those two places.. and the one hour journey, turned into THREE HOURS, and I didn't get to see the elk that swarm around the turn-off (I have it on good authority from the lady who came into my hairdresser's yesterday, a self confessed "hillbilly".. man, if she's a hillbilly she's got the best darn hair I've ever seen for one..) where was I? Oh yes. Crazy hillbilly lady with excellent hair and all her teeth tells me, that when you turn off to Asheville once you've gotten over the mountains, there's a field where elk apparently just SWARM. And tourists cause a massive pile-up annoying the living grief out of all the locals because they just pull up haphazardly to take photos.
So I missed that. You can imagine I'm thrilled with missing that.
BUT.
I did see a lot of men fly fishing in the river that winds along the detour I was forced to take, and a lot of beautiful native wildflowers, and of course the obligatory green, green, greeeeeen of Tennnessee.. so it wasn't all bad. I talked to Wendy Garmin (my sat nav device... she's Garmin brand, and the Wolfs call her Wendy, so I've extrapolated that to Wendy Garmin. Nice ring to it, ya think?), drank more bottled water than was wise, drank a massive 16oz cup of to-go coffee with 2% (I'm learnin' it!), muttered to myself when I spilt half the scalding hot coffee all over myself.. snacked on some of the fruit I bought in Nashville.. and generally enjoyed the solitude. Oh, and listened to FM-HICK pretty much the whole way. It dropped out here and there but I managed to find a suitable replacement till I could get high enough (in altitude people..) to retune into 107.7fm.
I learned a few things along this journey thus far.. and none so as important as NEVER pass up a chance to refuel your car or a chance to unfuel your body. If you know what I mean. I ended up pulling over in this quaint little national park (smokies) area where I found restrooms, and despite the fact that there was a CRICKET in the toilet and a spider whose leg span rivalled a huntsman, RIGHT NEXT TO THE FLUSH LEVER, I was grateful I had stumbled across this little refuge afterwards, because whilst I only mildly needed to go at the time, I discovered through the series of detours that TN/NC roads put me on, there was literally not another toilet stop for TWO HOURS. So I'm chugging 500ml bottles of water every 30 mins or so, and drinking my MASSIVE cup of coffee.. and if I hadn't gone.. oh lordy.
Anyhoo.
I arrived into Asheville off the mountains and made an immediate decision that I liked the place. It is utterly stuffed to the brim with artists, artsy types, freaks, yuppies, hipsters, groovers, tweakers (probably), hippies, urban organics, wiggers and well.. you get the picture. Ashevillians proudly wear their ubiquitous title of “City of Freaks” (apparently awarded in 2001 and not claimed by another city since..) and have a motto for whenever you see something truly strange (like the man wearing nun’s habit riding red sparkly unicycle complete with streamers flowing from handlebars) – “Its Asheville!” This joyfully said phrase explains away anything odd or unusual you could possibly see in this city that embraces the different. The locals laugh at themselves but I have a feeling they would also fiercely protect each other if someone was too seriously poking at their fun.
My first meal in Asheville was a blueberry and jalapeno biscuit (like a scone..) with country ham and organic cheese made by the restaurant’s dairy – they are BIG into sourcing or producing the food that goes into the meals in the restaurants here. Asheville also has the title of city who most loves beers – they have fifty microbrews in Asheville, and they loooove their beer.
As guided by my beloved LPG (Lonely Planet Guide, for those with short memories..), I hopped aboard the LaZoom Comedy Tour Bus and embarked upon a 90 minute tour of Ashevillle. It didn’t disappoint. It made me giggle and duck my head for fear the host would pick on me (thankfully lovely gay Mark from San Francisco held up the bus from leaving for about TEN MINUTES so he was most definitely her focal point the entire time); it was informative but entertaining, and I highly recommend anyone who goes to Asheville does the tour as a first port of call.
I bought some truly beautiful and unique local artist created items in Asheville, and I really hope the gift receiver enjoys them. If not, I’ll be snatching them back for myself!
Chat soon,
M x
Welly well well. If it isn't old Mr Roadworks. For reasons totally unknown, the US25/US70 was closed after middleonowhere, and so I had to take the 107, to middleonowhere#2, and then the 208 to somewhere even FURTHER that those two places.. and the one hour journey, turned into THREE HOURS, and I didn't get to see the elk that swarm around the turn-off (I have it on good authority from the lady who came into my hairdresser's yesterday, a self confessed "hillbilly".. man, if she's a hillbilly she's got the best darn hair I've ever seen for one..) where was I? Oh yes. Crazy hillbilly lady with excellent hair and all her teeth tells me, that when you turn off to Asheville once you've gotten over the mountains, there's a field where elk apparently just SWARM. And tourists cause a massive pile-up annoying the living grief out of all the locals because they just pull up haphazardly to take photos.
So I missed that. You can imagine I'm thrilled with missing that.
BUT.
I did see a lot of men fly fishing in the river that winds along the detour I was forced to take, and a lot of beautiful native wildflowers, and of course the obligatory green, green, greeeeeen of Tennnessee.. so it wasn't all bad. I talked to Wendy Garmin (my sat nav device... she's Garmin brand, and the Wolfs call her Wendy, so I've extrapolated that to Wendy Garmin. Nice ring to it, ya think?), drank more bottled water than was wise, drank a massive 16oz cup of to-go coffee with 2% (I'm learnin' it!), muttered to myself when I spilt half the scalding hot coffee all over myself.. snacked on some of the fruit I bought in Nashville.. and generally enjoyed the solitude. Oh, and listened to FM-HICK pretty much the whole way. It dropped out here and there but I managed to find a suitable replacement till I could get high enough (in altitude people..) to retune into 107.7fm.
I learned a few things along this journey thus far.. and none so as important as NEVER pass up a chance to refuel your car or a chance to unfuel your body. If you know what I mean. I ended up pulling over in this quaint little national park (smokies) area where I found restrooms, and despite the fact that there was a CRICKET in the toilet and a spider whose leg span rivalled a huntsman, RIGHT NEXT TO THE FLUSH LEVER, I was grateful I had stumbled across this little refuge afterwards, because whilst I only mildly needed to go at the time, I discovered through the series of detours that TN/NC roads put me on, there was literally not another toilet stop for TWO HOURS. So I'm chugging 500ml bottles of water every 30 mins or so, and drinking my MASSIVE cup of coffee.. and if I hadn't gone.. oh lordy.
Anyhoo.
I arrived into Asheville off the mountains and made an immediate decision that I liked the place. It is utterly stuffed to the brim with artists, artsy types, freaks, yuppies, hipsters, groovers, tweakers (probably), hippies, urban organics, wiggers and well.. you get the picture. Ashevillians proudly wear their ubiquitous title of “City of Freaks” (apparently awarded in 2001 and not claimed by another city since..) and have a motto for whenever you see something truly strange (like the man wearing nun’s habit riding red sparkly unicycle complete with streamers flowing from handlebars) – “Its Asheville!” This joyfully said phrase explains away anything odd or unusual you could possibly see in this city that embraces the different. The locals laugh at themselves but I have a feeling they would also fiercely protect each other if someone was too seriously poking at their fun.
My first meal in Asheville was a blueberry and jalapeno biscuit (like a scone..) with country ham and organic cheese made by the restaurant’s dairy – they are BIG into sourcing or producing the food that goes into the meals in the restaurants here. Asheville also has the title of city who most loves beers – they have fifty microbrews in Asheville, and they loooove their beer.
As guided by my beloved LPG (Lonely Planet Guide, for those with short memories..), I hopped aboard the LaZoom Comedy Tour Bus and embarked upon a 90 minute tour of Ashevillle. It didn’t disappoint. It made me giggle and duck my head for fear the host would pick on me (thankfully lovely gay Mark from San Francisco held up the bus from leaving for about TEN MINUTES so he was most definitely her focal point the entire time); it was informative but entertaining, and I highly recommend anyone who goes to Asheville does the tour as a first port of call.
I bought some truly beautiful and unique local artist created items in Asheville, and I really hope the gift receiver enjoys them. If not, I’ll be snatching them back for myself!
Chat soon,
M x
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