USA Email Series 20: Brown liquid, no necks, a solid basis and a years supply of hairnets‏

(First sent: 4th November 2009)

Good evening my friends,

And lo, it is with a mixture of regret, sadness and unerring terror that I leave Louisiana to head north(-ish). Destination: Memphis. As I write, I am sitting very comfortably indeed on the Amtrak train that is not only nutter free, but equipped with cavernous leg room and a cafe that serves up a brown liquid not dissimilar to coffee (NB, EU regulations refrain me from actually calling it coffee, but it's pretty close indeed).

It's been quite some time since I've splashed out on the comparative comfort of the train. Funds, schedules and a general tight arsed attitude meant that the Greyhound became the go-to choice for this weary traveller, but for once, like a shimmering beacon, the train came up with a decent price to match anything the Greyhound could offer and I was scooped up into a mythical world of reclining chairs, flushing toilets and rancid sandwiches for a sky high fee.

Travelling by Greyhound really is the pits, crammed into the tin casket, gasping for air like floundering codfish and being slowly refrigerated by the militant air conditioning policy. With these wonders to distract you, it's easy to forget that there is always a very strong possibility of the person sitting next you wittering on and on for the entire journey until you are left broken and sobbing, hoping that we might be approaching an American Air force base selling tickets for one of their popular 'Torture planes', which rank rather highly with me as an Easy Jet-like 'alternative' to bus travel.

Although technically heading North, it's important to point out that I remain firmly in 'The South', which I place in inverted commas, as many visitors from Northern states to New Orleans see 'the South' as a disparate nation, cut off and independent (or isolated, depending on your outlook) from the rest of the country, and the locals seem more than happy with that arrangement. Obviously, the events surrounding Katrina help to solidify this bullish viewpoint in the minds of the residents of New Orleans, but I think it's a harsh indictment on the richer states that they view 'The South' with such head pattingly patronising terms.

You can really only judge a place by the people who inhabit it and the experiences had. I'll freely admit that there is no way I'd walk alone around certain parts of New Orleans after dark, but that was true of New York. I'll also freely admit to being a middle class traveller who can drop in and out of a place on a whim and write a good 750 words trying to sum up an area for the amusement of chuckling readers from back home.

However, the people I met, who are proud residents of this city, are warm, funny, talkative and brash. After the hurricane, only about 55% of the people came back (this was a stat supplied by a tour guide who teases alligators with sticks, so perhaps not a very solid basis), which means that the people who do live in New Orleans must either love the place, or have so little that they can ill afford to leave and so must make the best of it.

So the 'us vs. them' attitude is most acutely seen in the reactions of the Northern state tourists who come into New Orleans - gawping at the broken houses of 9th street, turning their noses up at the ramshackle outskirts and pouring shoddy drinks down their throats and vomiting on the pavements of Bourbon Street. So it's all a bit like Telford town centre on a Friday night really. The locals need the tourists to survive, the tourists peer down their noses at the locals. It's a social melee that makes for a fun old cocktail of delights when some over zealous, bum wettingly irritating, college no brain, bowls into town to go looking for the booze.

I was lucky enough to be here over the Halloween weekend which offered some surreal images and, despite my initial thoughts that it might serve up more gaudy, guffawing, knucklefaced, square necked morons than a rodeo held in the playboy mansion, I had a wonderful time. My costume was thrift store based and my superb collection of $2 rags were only bettered by the make-up supplied by a hostel worker who is studying to be a Hollywood make-up artist. I went as The Joker (Heath Ledger version, as Jack Nicholson can never be topped, or imitated, by a mere mortal such as myself) and actually troubled some of the younger children on the street who were a bit freaked out by me, which is obviously the sign of a GREAT costume.

So, with my senses overloaded from the dizzying sights of Bourbon street, I begin my long journey North. The weather will be getting colder and colder from here on in, so expect my smugness to die down a little in future mails.

Picture me rummaging around the nether regions of my pack for a long forgotten hoodie to keep me warm as I huddle, Nanook like, under the wafer thin blankets dished out in a windswept hostel. I'll probably have visions of ghosts long departed appearing at the window, while you readers have my only my weekly roundup to haunt you from the past. Why not take a dip into my memory pool and have a good old rummage?

1. Overheard some guys from Alabama having an intellectual debate in the hostel on international and domestic travel - key quotations:
"Where you been then?"
"Hey, you got nothin' on me I been to LA"
"You aint never been to LA?"
"Sure I have: Lower Alabama"
I wasn't sure whether I should be very afraid, or worship at the feet of a comedy genius.
2. Went on an excellent swamp tour, headed up by Captain Jack, who knew everything worth making up about the swamp. The big 'gators are hibernating now, but some of the smaller ones came out to play, as well as a huge number of turtles who are so common, you stop noticing them after a while.
3. I then got the opportunity to hold a baby one after the tour, and I'm not sure who was the more afraid. Very soft skin though, the baby alligator. Someone should really think about making some items of clothing out of them, they'd make a killing. Hmmmmm...
4. Enjoyed a truly spectacular Po-Boy sandwich. Fried shrimp on french bread with all the sauce, hot and spicy fries, pickle... mmmmm-mmmm. I took a picture of it. I might take it to Vegas and marry it.
5. Met so many lovely people at the New Orleans hostel. Especially Earl. This is a guy who lives in the hostel and is so funny and warm that it's impossible not to like him immediately. I worry though because the guy is surely involved in developing a new brand of advanced medical science by attempting to use alcohol to systematically disassemble his liver without extracting it from his body. A sample exchange went along the lines of:
E: I'm so drunk. I really am
R: I can see that, Earl. So what have you been doing today?
Together: DRINKIN'
If it weren't so very sad that a lovely man will most probably kill himself it would be comic. But unfortunately, it's not. It's just heartbreaking.
6. We just pulled into Yazoo City, Mississippi. Wicked.
7. Bade a fond farewell to my short term travelling companion, Tyler. It was a bit weird to have an actual companion for the travelling side of the trip, as I mostly meet people when I get to a new town, then head in different directions. Nice while it lasted.
8. Found out that the selection of tat that I sent home by Fed Ex has been stopped by customs which will largely lead to a series of lengthy phone calls to dimple headed automatons telling me to 'have a nice day'. I guess that when you mail a package to yourself from the other side of the world, it looks a bit odd, but I can already envisage my furious phone calls. Damn you international border control for keeping our country safe - I just want an easy life.
9. Urggghhh, not so wicked. Yazoo City looks like one stop short of the tenth level of hell.
10. Favourite Halloween costumes: The complete set of Ninja Turtles (including Splinter, who, for those of you born earlier than the 80's, was the mystical leader of the Turtle brood. Who was also a mutant rat. Yes, it was crap), Rainbow Bright, anyone in a catwoman suit, and the bloke who came as a shower. Can't really explain that one, but I do have pictures to verify.
11. Had Mardi Gras beads launched at me from the balconies overlooking Bourbon Street. I found out that it was tradition for any well endowed female to respond to this by pulling their shirt up and treating the locals, to the sounds of much whooping and clapping. I found a slightly less favourable response when unleashing my puppies, but memorable nonetheless.

Well, that's pretty much all the news that's fit to print at the minute. I'm still getting the odd American based story from those with tales to tell, but there are some sorry and glaring omissions from people who I know could spin a good yarn. Time is on your side, but don't miss out. Write in within the next 20 minutes and you will also take away this beautiful 24 piece dinning service, as well as the mop and years supply of hairnets. Don't miss out on this fantastic offer.

And until next time; stay safe, miss you all.

Byeloveyoubye xx

...this mail represents an alarming foray into a sort of dim witted social commentary, but seeing as how I wrote it, I totally love it. In other news, the reason that Earl was always drunk is that he is actually dying, so is living out every moment exactly how he wants - with no regard for the rules. This news is very sad and I shall always remember him fondly for taking a bedazzled traveller under his wing and being very funny indeed. Cheers Earl. Hope the bar is well stocked, wherever you are heading...