It certainly has been a while since the last blog and I sure do have alot to catch up on, so here we go.
After the wonder that was New Orleans we were all anxious to get in a car and spend sometimes in excess of 14 hours a day driving, so that is exactly what we did. Emma and Alex the two drivers went to pick up what I can only describe as a red Cheverolet and arrived, excited, back at the India House hostel where Pat and I had spent the the time feasting on gumbo and talking to an odd little fellow about marriage. On their arival we scooped up our bags and hopped in.
A long days driving followed past the oil fields and refineries, as well as the swamps and bayous of Louisiana, alot of which I hear is now underwater. It is a long flat drive only broken up, with alarming frequency I might add, by Penetentiaries. We counted a dozen in the 4 hours it took to leave Louisiana and enter Texas.
During the drive we had alot of time to listen to local radio, which is always a good way to guage the lay of the land in the area you happen to be driving through. As we left Louisiana ad entered the wilds of Texas the radio took a turn for the weird.
"Boycott Home Depot" one particularly fervant preacher screamed into his mic. The reason? Well they employ the most homosexuals of course.
"If Ahmed or Fahmed or whatever he's called wants to get reparations after we LIBERATED THEM..." This was a particularly measured and thoughtful talk radio debate about the mayor of Baghdad having the temerity to ask his liberators for reperations to rebuild his crater ridden, yet free, city back to it's former glory.
All four of us looked at each other open mouthed. There is no doubt, that had this been the UK, the preacher and shock jock alike would have been hauled up on charges and rightly so. This, was all we heard for the remainder of our time driving through Texas. Which took a while.
After a fine drive from Alex and Emma we entered Texas and at roughly 10 o'clock pulled into a horrible little Motel in Beaumont Texas. Beaumont seemed to consist of about 10 churches, the same amount of Fast Food outlets and about 5 Motels. I wouldn't reccommend it as a relaxing holiday destination.
We dragged our bags up into our room and stretched our legs and tried to remove the car journey from our muscles. As I went outside I noticed a car with absolutely irresponsible rims park up as three guys emerged from one of the other Motel rooms. The tinted window came down and something was passed from the window into the eager hand outside it. As this happened, the driver looked up and saw me, seeing him. I put out my cigarette and went back into the room to push something against the door.
The next day we piled into the car and drove most of the day to Austin, which is like a weird island of liberalism floating in a T-Party heartland. The radio stations all retransmogrified from shrieking preachers telling us all gays will die to a plethora of excellent music channels.
We had a good couple of days in Austin, visiting many bars and as well as the state capitol building, which they delighted in informing us was roughly 2 feet taller than the Capitol building in Washington. It's an almost pathological need of most Texans for Texas to be biger and better than everywhere else in the states. Any amateur psychologist could offer you an explanation of why that might be. It was illustrated beautifully while we took our guided tour of the capitol building. I asked a question with regard to what kind of legislation was being passed and we got into a chat with a group of schoolkids, creepily dressed as adults, there with their teacher. The teacher offered extra credit if they could answer me. No driving whilst texting, one proffered. Something I always thought would be covered by basic common sense. Along with a couple of other things that would be so frighteningly obvious you shouldn't be doing them that I had to stifle a laugh. After enlightening us, one of the girls stepped forward and awkwardly whispered "y'all are in the BEST state" then looked at the ground and stepped back into her group. "Oh, right, I see" I replied. The teacher was explaining about a new law they were passing in order to up the minimum fine for being caght driving without a license. "Alot of people just take the fine rather than apply for the license" And by way of further explanation she clasped her hands together with a pained expression and said "We have alot of immigrants".
Austin was excellent, warm all year round with superb bars and live music, something we wouldn't see again for quite some time as the landscape turned to desert.
We drove alot the next few days, through tiny town after tiny town, pausing only to venture into a gun range to see if we could fire some guns. We got three quarters of the way through the process which involved only handing over my fake ISIC student card and writing my name on a bit of paper before we hit the first stumbling block "What gun dy'all want?" The nice lady with the perm and a huge handgun strapped to her side asked. "Errrm, a wee one?" I replied. She eyed us suspiciously and went to talk to her supervisor.
Back on the road not having shot any guns but thankfully, not riddled with bullets we made our way to the Big Bend National Park. Right on the border with Mexico. So close in fact, that at one stage we were skimming stones that were landing on Mexican soil. After walking, woefully underprepared, in heats well in excess of 95F, we rolled over the nastiest looking thorn I've ever seen, in one of the most remote areas I've ever been. We fitted the donut and started to drive, slowly, to the nearest town. 50 miles away.
Showing posts with label New Orleans. Show all posts
Showing posts with label New Orleans. Show all posts
Friday, 20 May 2011
Saturday, 19 February 2011
Who Dat? Oh, Hey Baby!
After the trauma of a bus journey so long and so tedious and hair raising that it should have it's own blog post we needed somewhere to relax and Tulsa was just the ticket. Gorging on delicious food and drinking micro brewed beer from across the states really recharged the batteries and a big thank you must go out to Sam and family for putting us up and making us feel like part of the family. Much needed.
We arrived in N'Orleans after a 13 hour drive from Oklahoma in a comfortable and air conditioned car which made the whole journey seem like a pleasent dream. Especially when we arrived and noticed a positive swing of 40C compared to Tulsa's -20C the previous evening. We found ourselves basking in a positively balmy 18C in the positive which we hadn't felt since the height of the UK summer.
The first night was taken up adjusting to what can only be described as a debauched atmosphere prevelant throughout the city. Drinking in the street is encouraged and a ubiquotous Daiquiri called the 'hurricane' a bright red icey concoction so strong it actually hurt to drink, was a nice way to ease the 13 hours of stiffness from our weary limbs.
The music in New Orleans is unlike anything I've ever experienced. Every bar had a hugely talented band comprising of, at least, a trumpet, a guitar, a saxaphone and drums and the music drifts out and mingles together with the smell of Jumbalaya and Gumbo to create an absolutely unbelievable atmosphere. How an entire city can be so laid back I have no idea, particularly after the still raw and visible effects of Katrina a mere six years ago.
The next day, a saturday and our first full day in what was rapidly becoming our favourite leg of the trip so far, we decided to throw caution to the winds and follow the advice given to Judge and Pat, our travelling companions, on their flight to meet us in the Big Easy.
"If you aren't completely drunk the whole time you're in New Orleans, then you have completely missed the point".
Words we took to heart and the saturday turned, in predictable fashion, to flash memories of a fantastic time had along Bourbon and Frenchman Streets listening to Jazz, Blues and an assortment of Brass Bands, that piss from a great height onto the twitching, talentless corpses of 99% of the dross that infects the UK and American charts. I honestly can't find the words to impress on you how good New Orleans is, and if you ever get the chance I urge you in the strongest possible terms to visit.
The next day, our last, began with a chorus of what sounded like screeching drills, hammering and angle grinding. I thought it may have been coming from inside my own head and was a new side effect of a hangover so intense that it hurt to look at the inside of my eyelids, but no, it was the soothing tone of the hostel building some new rooms to accomodate the influx of guests for Mardi Gras. It turned out to be heaven sent because it made sleep impossible and we were forced out of our beds to get some breakfast and it was here that we met Phillip a young canadian who as it turns out has a knack for finding the craziness.
"Yeah I got the route down here but I was just wondering how safe it was going to be?" I started listening as Phillip quizzed one of the hostel workers regarding something called the 'Second Line Parade' which happens every sunday in different areas of New Orleans. On this particular Sunday it was happening in the Lower Ninth Ward, an area you might recognise as being the one completely devastated by Katrina. Phillip it turned out, needed people to go with, as the area itself is one of the poorest and therefore one of the less salubrious and more problematic, shall we say, that N'Orleans has to offer and a 5ft 5 white Canadian would have been a curiosity to say the least. It sounded like it was a little edgy, a little off the beaten track and alot of amzing fun. The only thing was that the route was not published as it was strictly a local tradition and one that few tourists ever got to hear about. Phillip had got the information from a local guy who was returning to rebuild his mothers house, long since devastated by the Levees collapse. We were on board.
We got the number 84 bus with more than a little apprehension and rode around the devastated lower Ninth Ward faces pressed against the glass in awe at the still prominent devastation. Houses still with furniture in them and eery messages spray painted on them. "NO DOGS SEEN"- "GAS OFF"- "1 SMALL DOG" and the strange crosses and code devised to let the clean up crews know which houses contained dead bodies and where they were located. These sat side by side with houses that had been completely renovated. It truly was an extremely strange feeling. We got off on one of the main roads before the bus returned back over the canal to New Orleans city centre and started trying to locate the parade.
We eventually saw flashing lights in the distance and followed the atmosphere. We walked past the NOPD vehicles that had been blocking the roads and found ourselves faced with a truly sureal scene. Row upon row of souped up cars lined the central reservations, 24 inch rims glinted in the sunlight as powerful stereos blasted out Hip Hop at ear bleeding levels and the smell of BBQ permeated the exhaust fumes of the high powered motorcycles openly doing wheelies past the yawning police officers with locals on horseback following behind. Absolutely. Fucking. Mental.
We looked around at each other, LITERALLY the only 6 white faces as far as the eye could see.
We carried on walking and tried to find the parade, it had recently passed and we caught up with it outside 'The House of Dance and Feathers' where the band had stopped and were playing in the middle of about 2000 dancing and singing bodies. I don't know what any of the music was or who it was by but what I can tell you is that it was exactly of the right and pertinent for that moment. The smell of weed was pungent and the police seemed to be mingling freely and shaking hands with guys who looked like extras from an episode of the wire. Gold teeth glinting and everyone in their finery out to impress and party away the warm sunday afternoon. A mobility scooter pulling a huge cooler passed and we walked alongside it and got a couple of beers to walk along with. Emma nipped over to a van with a guy in the back cooking BBQ Sausage, Burgers and 'Poke Chops' and the parade continued for another hour or so until it reached it's conclusion and eventually the crowd accepted the fact that the show was over. We walked to the bus stop and waited for the traffic to clear with huge smiles splitting our faces. We had all experienced something that we would never forget and this goes down as one of the standout experiences of our lives so far. I say that in all seriousness as I am not one for hyperbole.
In a way I was glad we left the next day as it would have been extremely difficult indeed to top the previous days shenannigans so it was tinged with sadness but fully satisfied that we picked up the hire car and set off with Judge and Pat on the next leg.
Next stop, loads of different places. Road trip from N'Orleans to Vegas.
We arrived in N'Orleans after a 13 hour drive from Oklahoma in a comfortable and air conditioned car which made the whole journey seem like a pleasent dream. Especially when we arrived and noticed a positive swing of 40C compared to Tulsa's -20C the previous evening. We found ourselves basking in a positively balmy 18C in the positive which we hadn't felt since the height of the UK summer.
The first night was taken up adjusting to what can only be described as a debauched atmosphere prevelant throughout the city. Drinking in the street is encouraged and a ubiquotous Daiquiri called the 'hurricane' a bright red icey concoction so strong it actually hurt to drink, was a nice way to ease the 13 hours of stiffness from our weary limbs.
The music in New Orleans is unlike anything I've ever experienced. Every bar had a hugely talented band comprising of, at least, a trumpet, a guitar, a saxaphone and drums and the music drifts out and mingles together with the smell of Jumbalaya and Gumbo to create an absolutely unbelievable atmosphere. How an entire city can be so laid back I have no idea, particularly after the still raw and visible effects of Katrina a mere six years ago.
The next day, a saturday and our first full day in what was rapidly becoming our favourite leg of the trip so far, we decided to throw caution to the winds and follow the advice given to Judge and Pat, our travelling companions, on their flight to meet us in the Big Easy.
"If you aren't completely drunk the whole time you're in New Orleans, then you have completely missed the point".
Words we took to heart and the saturday turned, in predictable fashion, to flash memories of a fantastic time had along Bourbon and Frenchman Streets listening to Jazz, Blues and an assortment of Brass Bands, that piss from a great height onto the twitching, talentless corpses of 99% of the dross that infects the UK and American charts. I honestly can't find the words to impress on you how good New Orleans is, and if you ever get the chance I urge you in the strongest possible terms to visit.
The next day, our last, began with a chorus of what sounded like screeching drills, hammering and angle grinding. I thought it may have been coming from inside my own head and was a new side effect of a hangover so intense that it hurt to look at the inside of my eyelids, but no, it was the soothing tone of the hostel building some new rooms to accomodate the influx of guests for Mardi Gras. It turned out to be heaven sent because it made sleep impossible and we were forced out of our beds to get some breakfast and it was here that we met Phillip a young canadian who as it turns out has a knack for finding the craziness.
"Yeah I got the route down here but I was just wondering how safe it was going to be?" I started listening as Phillip quizzed one of the hostel workers regarding something called the 'Second Line Parade' which happens every sunday in different areas of New Orleans. On this particular Sunday it was happening in the Lower Ninth Ward, an area you might recognise as being the one completely devastated by Katrina. Phillip it turned out, needed people to go with, as the area itself is one of the poorest and therefore one of the less salubrious and more problematic, shall we say, that N'Orleans has to offer and a 5ft 5 white Canadian would have been a curiosity to say the least. It sounded like it was a little edgy, a little off the beaten track and alot of amzing fun. The only thing was that the route was not published as it was strictly a local tradition and one that few tourists ever got to hear about. Phillip had got the information from a local guy who was returning to rebuild his mothers house, long since devastated by the Levees collapse. We were on board.
We got the number 84 bus with more than a little apprehension and rode around the devastated lower Ninth Ward faces pressed against the glass in awe at the still prominent devastation. Houses still with furniture in them and eery messages spray painted on them. "NO DOGS SEEN"- "GAS OFF"- "1 SMALL DOG" and the strange crosses and code devised to let the clean up crews know which houses contained dead bodies and where they were located. These sat side by side with houses that had been completely renovated. It truly was an extremely strange feeling. We got off on one of the main roads before the bus returned back over the canal to New Orleans city centre and started trying to locate the parade.
We eventually saw flashing lights in the distance and followed the atmosphere. We walked past the NOPD vehicles that had been blocking the roads and found ourselves faced with a truly sureal scene. Row upon row of souped up cars lined the central reservations, 24 inch rims glinted in the sunlight as powerful stereos blasted out Hip Hop at ear bleeding levels and the smell of BBQ permeated the exhaust fumes of the high powered motorcycles openly doing wheelies past the yawning police officers with locals on horseback following behind. Absolutely. Fucking. Mental.
We looked around at each other, LITERALLY the only 6 white faces as far as the eye could see.
We carried on walking and tried to find the parade, it had recently passed and we caught up with it outside 'The House of Dance and Feathers' where the band had stopped and were playing in the middle of about 2000 dancing and singing bodies. I don't know what any of the music was or who it was by but what I can tell you is that it was exactly of the right and pertinent for that moment. The smell of weed was pungent and the police seemed to be mingling freely and shaking hands with guys who looked like extras from an episode of the wire. Gold teeth glinting and everyone in their finery out to impress and party away the warm sunday afternoon. A mobility scooter pulling a huge cooler passed and we walked alongside it and got a couple of beers to walk along with. Emma nipped over to a van with a guy in the back cooking BBQ Sausage, Burgers and 'Poke Chops' and the parade continued for another hour or so until it reached it's conclusion and eventually the crowd accepted the fact that the show was over. We walked to the bus stop and waited for the traffic to clear with huge smiles splitting our faces. We had all experienced something that we would never forget and this goes down as one of the standout experiences of our lives so far. I say that in all seriousness as I am not one for hyperbole.
In a way I was glad we left the next day as it would have been extremely difficult indeed to top the previous days shenannigans so it was tinged with sadness but fully satisfied that we picked up the hire car and set off with Judge and Pat on the next leg.
Next stop, loads of different places. Road trip from N'Orleans to Vegas.
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