This is the Mighty South USA!

I had been driving for a good few hours, so when the sun finally began to set and Karlos agreed to take over, I was grateful. I pulled into the dusty forecourt of a little gas station, somewhere in the state of Mississippi, and marvelled at the dark pink, dusky sky. The air was warm, still slightly muggy and heavy, but with a cool breeze that hadn't existed in the daytime, or in the air conditioned car. As we changed seats, I took my time to breath in the cool night air, enjoying the warmth of my sun kissed skin and the protection of my cardy from the nip of the breeze.

I noticed that the clouds were arranged in strange, but pretty, grid like patterns, and the tall bush surrounding us had turned a deep green - mysterious and alluring. I also noticed that I was actually taking the time to appreciate my surroundings. I felt more present than I had done for a while. This is the USA, I said to myself. The mighty south of the USA. And here I am exploring this country. A country that is far more beautiful than I ever imagined it would be. I have a car, a backpack, my buddy, and an open road ahead.

"You good?" Karlos asked.

"All good." I replied. And I really was.

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Southern USA, May 2010

~ Over 5000 miles, in 2 weeks.

The last leg of our southern route was extremely varied. We cruised with aligators on humid swamps in Mississippi; had rock n roll dreams in Memphis, Tennessee; explored the peaceful, green countryside of small town Arkansas; drove along the long, dry, stretches of prairie land in Oklahoma, and met the families of local Indians; before finally reaching the rugged, orange desert land of old town New Mexico. The diversity was amazing.

We got into a routine in our life on the road: drive to a place, find a place to stay around midnight, stay the night, explore the next day, drive to a place, find a place to stay around midnight, explore the next day, drive to a place... and so on. We took our turns at driving - often 6 hours at a time, between us - and also took our turns at gazing out the window, marvelling at the long stretches of straight roads, and the gradual changes as we moved between states. We fell into the routine of stopping at the "next gas station," to use the restrooms, and I would wander through these strange smelling shops, that all looked the same, only knowing we were in a different state by the sounds of the foreign accents. Each would shelve the same strangely processed foodstuffs, and every now and then there would be an old man, sitting in the back of these crummy, small town gas stations, playing pokie machines, and leaving me wondering as to his story.

No matter where we were driving - through the lush green fields of Louisiana, the flat, dry plains of Oklahoma, or the orange, mountainnous desert land of New Mexico - each small town we reached carried the same thread of America: donut shops, hamburger restaurants, and giant neon billboards advertising "girls." Many of these small towns, these "pass through" towns, have merged into the same memory for me. "Oh, there's another MacDonalds... another Starbucks... another Taco Bell... another roadside motel..." But once we had passed those small, skirting towns, we got into the heart of the state(s), it was there we saw the heart(s) of America...

Some highlights from our trip:

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A swamp, somewhere along the Mississippi river.

Before we left New Orleans, we were determined to experience life on the Mississppi river. So we drove a while, before finding a small fisherman's village and a sign saying "swamp critters tours." That was us.

We asked some locals in the nearest store, "how do we get on the critters tour?", and were advised (in the lovliest southern accent) that we had to make a telephone call. So a telephone call, and 15 minutes later (including time spent sitting in our air conditioned car to avoid the sweltering heat, and the stench of crabs and fish "for sale" that were piled nearby) we were boarding 'Swamp Queen I,' ready for our Mississippi aventure.

Our boatman knew everything there was to know about swamp critters and the flora found in the river, as well as the struggles local fisherman have faced throughout the years. He was fascinatating. Baby aligators swam alongside our boat and he threw marshmellows to them, whilst pointing out snakes, turtles, and interesting birds.

We passed shrimp boats sailing back into the harbour, and our boatman waved out to them amid murmours of "best catch this season," whilst I looked on, expecting Forest Gump to walk out of the boat's cabin.

After an hour or so cruising along and taking photos of the swamp from all directions and angles, I sat back in my seat. I relaxed in the afternoon sun, skin gleaming with the humidity, nostrils filled with the smell of water lilies, and and I happily listened to the tales of this local man, feeling happy that he was sharing his home with us. A place so far from what I would otherwise know.




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Memphis, Tennessee.

After the truly wonderful time we had in New Orleans, the one thing we were grateful to escape was the heat, and the humidity. Memphis heard us - we reached the state of Tennessee to a (slightly) milder climate, and our first sighting of rain in almost a month. So good. Not that the rain stopped my hair from curling, as I'd hoped the weather in Memphis would do - but I was happy to see it none the less.

Ok. To anyone planning on going to Memphis, I have one word: Elvis. I myself have never been a huge fan, I confess. I mean, I know who Elvis is, and I am familiar with some of his biggest hits, but he has never really 'shook me up' (see what I did there). This all
changed when I went to Graceland however (to those who are unsure - Graceland was Elvis' home, and is now open to the public for guided tours).

Graceland, for starters, is a beautiful house surrounded by beautiful gardens. Elvis had the money, and the inclination, to deck the house out in a full-on 70s style - so to tour through the house is fascinating in itself. There was some trippy decor in there I can tell you - carpet covered walls and ceilings, an indoor waterfall, a 7-seater couch, and so on. If you didn't mind the odd blimp bumping into you now and then (seriously - some tourists types are about as smart as shit. "Excuuuuuuse me." "Err, no, I won't actually.") then the walk through the house is a lot of fun. You even get to see the piano Elvis played on the morning of his death - I have some kind of morbid fascintation with stuff like that.

There were also several rooms bursting at the seams with music awards, memorabilia from both his music and film careers, and evidence of his various charity work. Being there and learning about this man's life, was pretty special. In a nation that celebrates their talents and worships their pop idols, Elvis is second to none, and we were getting a true slice of American culture. I stepped around the lady sobbing into her hanky and left Graceland thinking that not only was Elvis talented, he was a generally good bloke, actually. Good on him, I thought. Well done little Elvis. Not a bad looking chap either, in his day. Elvis had suddenely become 'cool' for me.

As much as I had begun to appreciate Elvis, I was really in Memphis to pay homage to Mr Johnny Cash... so the rest of our time here was spent searching out a peice of his history... much of which was found at the famous Sun Studios, where I eagerly held a microphone he had once sung into, and on a wall in a Hard Rock Cafe, somewhere along Beale St. But even in both these places, Mr Cash was far outshone by the legacy of a one Mr Presley. The closest I would remain to Johnny Cash, would be through his music...



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A freeway, somewhere between between the states of Arkansas and Oklahoma.

After a busy day passing through country-bumpkin Arkansas, driving through ranges and dodging deer, paddling with turtles in fresh water creeks, and supping beer in a small town bar - we hit the road for Oklahoma. We hadn't been on the road long before my eyes slowly fell shut, in time with the sun going down.

I woke up in pitch darkness to the sound of Karlos yelling: "holy shit!"

My eyes quickly searched for their focus, as my brain caught itself up with 'where are we' and 'what's happening.' Karlos, meanwhile, quickly slowed and pulled us to the side of the freeway, saying: "there's a dead body."

My first thought was "do I remember him hitting anything/one," shortly followed by, "what the hell?!"

It wasn't long before Karlos explained that he had simply seen the body. He couldn't be sure if it was dead or not, but given that we were in the middle of no where, on a freeway, and he was face down on the ground - this poor man's chances didn't look good. As we sat on the side of the freeway, I anxiously pushed the locks down on all the doors, whilst Karlos called the cops.

About an hour later, we'd left our phone number with the cops, filled our heads with possible answers to this the poor man's fate, and finally found a road sign saying "motel." By this stage it was after 11pm, so we pulled off the freeway eager to get ourselves a room and off the road for the night.

You can only imagine how happy I was to discover that this motel we were fortunate to stay in was quite possibly the shittiest of motels in the history of accommodation. Beetles in the air con, bathtub falling through the floor... 'welcome to life on the road... I guess...'

But these things do make great stories!

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Anadarko, Oklahoma.

We waved goodbye to Robyn, and walked back to the car. What a totally unexpected afternoon, one of those spontaneous days that end up surprising you, and reminding you to always be open to who might cross your path.

We'd arrived in Anadarko, Oklahoma, in search of some native american culture. Karlos thought there may be a pow wow or something happening and was really keen to meet some american indians. At our first stop however, the visitor centre, we soon learned that any cultural celebrations would be likely to take place on weekends, and we were passing through midweek so our chances were next to none. Instead, we were pointed in the direction of the town's museum, and were hopefully that we'd find some interesting artifacts there.

When we first arrived at the little, off the beaten-track museum, I kind of rolled my eyes. It was in an old railway station and as soon as we walked in I could see it was chaos. Room after room filled to bursting with various, miscellaneous items, that I had no idea how we'd make head nor tail out of, let alone gain any cultural understanding of the place. It looked like a series of junk room. Robyn, the extremely friendly curator, offered to show us around, for which I was grateful.

It wasn't long though before I realised we were somewhere special. Robyn had a great enthusiasm for all of the local artifacts. She was the only staff member here at the museum and was currently in the process of sorting and organising, hence the chaos. But she told us many stories about the local town as we moved from room to room, and esplained the history behind many of the artifacts and the local people. We also learned that Robyn was married to an american indian from the Kiowa people. Her story in itself was fascinating - she told us about the culture of the Kiowa people, and her experiences as a white lady being a part of this group. Some of the
trials and tribulations she had experienced as a result of being an 'outsider' were amazing - and Robyn's story was inspiring, reminding me that no matter what life throws at you, be true to who you are.

And so, after several hours, we finally bid farewell to Robyn. We wished her all the best and went on our way, carrying a peice of her story with us, to always remember as a part of our journey.



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Albuquerque, New Mexico.


One of our final destinations on the southern adventure, was a beautiful little town in New Mexico called 'Albuquerque.' I was surprised when we arrived and awoke the next morning, to discover that this little town had so much to see and do. Some of the country's best vineyards were here to visit, along with endless streets of markets and handicraft shops. Karlos and I were more interested in seeing the land, however, so drove ourselves to the entrance of "the world's highest and longest cablecar ride" and bought ourselves two tickets.

About an hour later, we were several hundred feet in the air, looking down on a canyon of sizeable rocks and scattered trees that from our height looked like tiny plants. My ears were popping, and what - still higher to go! After I'd accepted that the glass box we were travelling in was not going to shatter under my feet, and the relatively thin cable carrying this box was not going to snap, I relaxed and enjoyed the view, keeping my eye out for bears and other wild animals. It really was something. The town was spread out in the distance, below us, and as we climbed higher and higher to the top of the Sandria mountains the terrain became more and more beautiful. Orange rocks, turning red and yellow depending where the sun hit them, and thick green trees getting denser and denser the closer to the top we came.

At the top of the mountain it was very windy, and we even found a small patch of snow on the ground, left over from the skiing season. We made our way to the mountain top cafe, and enjoyed an all american lunch as we watched the day float by...

The dry, orange terrain of mountainous New Mexico was a far cry from the green fields of our usual home - but we felt at peace here, in the calmness of nature.



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After two weeks, and over 5000 miles, we drove back into LA just as the sun set over the city. Hoards of cars were heading out of town, as it happened to be a holiday weekend, and we drove past them, happy to be on the free-flowing side of the freeway. I was happy to be returning to LA, on our way back to Jin's place. We had covered a large terrain and seen a great many things on our southern adventure, but life on the road can take it's toll after a while - it would be nice to settle for a while. Even if that while, for us, would only be another week, before the next adventure begins...