Florida City II, New Orleans I

And relax I did, well and truly. The people were excellent, especially Sweet River Revolver, who I later accompanied back to Miami to get my bus out. Got on the bus (on time! On Time! ON TIME!) and set off amidst a hail (have I used that quirky statement yet?) of worrying text messages: Teri told me Sheffield was flooded and they had no electricity and furthermore her phone was just running out of battery so I wouldn't be able to find more; and Rowan saying "I've just got out of hospital but don't worry and I'm not telling you why". I finally wrung an explanation out of her (also available at rowanwithafiddle.blogspot.com).

ANYHOW after a truly long bus Journey (27 hours hostel to hostel) I got to New Orleans which is very cool although I'm only just about to go and explore properly because I was looking up Sheffield and Rowan on the net first after changing hostels because the first one was horrrrrible although there was a nice guy who was trying to rebuild NewOrleans (it's funny having a city with the initials 'NO' - makes acronyms funny - NO police force, NO-Bank etc) but could only find companies making profit by building houses in the front yards of people's destroyed property. 120,000 people are still displaced after Katrina, by the way, but all the big companies etc are shining fine already.

Was that all boring? I can't tell - I think sleeplessness still affecting me. Pretty sparse of details, maybe I'll put another entry about the same time with more actual stuff on.

Miami III, Florida City I

I'm alive, still, by the way; I haven't yet been killed, but not for lack of trying on the part of the mosquitos down here. I'm staying in the everglades hostel, florida city, which is south of miami and near the everglades (suprisingly) which is a reciepe for insect attack extreme. I just bought some nasty chemical spray, though, so should be alright.

The hostel is fantastic, again, lots of nice people etc musicians (a duo influenced mots by Ani Difranco - hooray) to play the guitars and drums in the lovely gazeboey (best word in this blog so far) thing outside, skydivers, and just down the road from ROBERT IS HERE, the greatest farm shop ever, filled with fruits i'd never heard of and still don't quite believe - dragon fruit?

The last day in Miami was spent examining the hopelessly trendy hordes skating by, then going to a jazz club with Luke the Australian. We saw a pretty odd act (a massive scatting-filled monster-bassy version of 'Fever' complete with some kind of scary erotic dancing) and had a drink - a bottle of beer for $6 - which scared us off until the main act came on -$6 for 6 beers in the supermarket across the street - then returned to dance to the excellent south american band now playing - we bought whiskey, which we figured would be cheaper, but actually cost $10 a go - an entire day's food budget, pretty much. Strong though and the next day travelling by bus, monorail, more bus and foot was pretty much hangover filled. It was worth it though as this is a good place for relaxing. Speaking of which...

Miami II

Two posts in one day? You lucky scoundrels. But I'm in an internet cafe (I bought a radiohead cd earlier - I know I'm bad, but it was only released in America - and I'm putting it onto my mp3 player and 'm also looking up live music in Miami (near the new hostel I moved to this morning which is miles nicer and only worse than the other one by a single count - the beautiful playful kittens that lived at cockroach hostel), and, for reasons too tedious to explain, looking on wikipedia for the history of motorcycles. Really) so I thought I might as well.

I met some nice people (the classic way of meeting people and getting into conversation; they asked me how to pronouce 'tzatziki'. We were in a pita shop, I suppose. Naturally I set them straight) earlier called Mike and something possibly Kate I can't remember. They invited me to their house for a jewish celebration of some kind tonight. I think. Anyway, I'm awaiting a text message. And if I dissapear forever tonight, it's because Mike and maybe Kate kidnapped and ate me. Just so you know.

Fort Lauderdale III, Miami I

I finally made a move. To bring you up to date on the last few days;

I went to the beach. I lay in the sun for about half an hour - my legs shone like pearls studded with the rubies of mosquito bites. I had 'sunblock' on, but pathetic english stuff is no match for mighty floridian sun, and after only 30 minutes some locals came and told me I looked like a lobster, so I retreated into the shade. I had a good time looking at the sky and the pretty beach.
Another day lazing around after that - Blondie gig on TV and a classic game of american football - American-style TV sloth is a part of the experience - I even ate some 'chips'.

Then I scored a lift down here to Miami with Uncy Mike, and returned to hostel-life. This hostel -The South Beach - is the deep end of the hostelling experience (im writing from the front parlour thing so I don't know how nasty I can be in case some of the staff see, but briefly it's dirty and cockroachy and loud and unfriendly and smeeellllyyy boohooo but cheeeaaap)

So I spent the morning walking down the beach here (turn a corner and see a massive postcard with white sand curving into flawless sky sided by a sea which is that shade of blue we all know to mean 'perfect for paddling and for swimming and for frolicking. FROLICK IN ME.'.
I didn't have my camara, but if I did, I would have taken photos of:
-my feet stepping out through inches of perfectly clear water.
-tiny greywhite fish that swam in even the shallowest waves around people's feet.
-topless sunbathers.
-naw, not that last one really.

Anyhow, you'll just have to look up Miami South Beach on the internet - it's pretty pretty though, but with a crazy violent diamond sun to threaten my neck. I'm checking out and moving to another hostel now - Adios.

Fort Lauderdale II

Yo um.

I've pretty much been relaxing amongst the glorious home comforts here. I must apologise to the great number of you who still harbour the illusion that I'm a hard bitten beatnik-bum travelling the highways and gutters of america.

17th I went for pizza on the beach, then got caught in the most enormous thunderstorm with lightning, which was accompanied by a fair amount of rain causing me (Me! An Englishman!) to take shelter in a bus-stop. Apparently I should have done that anyway because of the lightning, apparently, actually being a threat (apparently). Then I looked around the trendy area, saw the art musem closed for renovations and discovered, via the back roads on the way home, that Ft. Lauderdale is secretly like lots of other cities.

Yesterday I went for a swim.

Thirty-Eight Thousand Words

the boat

My cabin on the boat - #1

My nailed down CD player

My tied down TV

My nightime view of liverpool docks.

Oil rig with fire!


My boaty bedroom

My boating bathroom

Alarming sign on my door.

The actual boat, from Philadelphia docks

dc

My bed for the night all the beds were full

The view from said bed

Not the view from said bed

For a moment, I could see this in one direction...

...and this in the other

Tourism

etc

Dubious statement on WWII monument

The lake I boated and felt at home

charlotte, showing off

asheville


Miriam smoking something


My precious hard-won walk





atlanta

Same zen leaf with flash

and without

Where God (jesuslordoflordskingofkings) and I fell in love

Look at the people for Butch Cassidy

and the Sundance Kid

I actually just wanted the abandoned baby shoe, but mother turned up

Flowers I liked

Friendly frog on bench

Crazy glass sculpture

Fat bird, reminded me of Sonic. Hello, Sonic.

Close geese

Asheville III, Atlanta I, Ft Lauderdale I

A day's recovery in Asheville is a shockingly productive activity. After lounging around and making friends (asheville friends) me and Miriam went out for tasty pizza. She paid - perfect pizza. I watched 'Hero', which was ok - not very 'asheville' though.
The next day, however, I truly reaped the reward of the asheville-friend making. I awoke to find breakfast pancakes (six) had been cooked for me by Yana from puerto-rico and Aldi, and they were nice (very). The cool guy whose name escapes me (not pablo) gave me a radiohead sticker for my guitar. Downtown I met, in a nice coffee shop in the bohemian district (one of), a person who had helped me with directions the other day. I next found a brilliant cafe called Loretta's where catwoman (it was superhero wednesday, of course) sat down with me to lunch and told me about a gig of her friend's, playing that night indian music on the chora.
I would have killed to have gone but people were still queueing up to be nice to me and Wallace and Jackie (not wallace stevens and robert frost) drove me to atlanta. Which was superb - they were good company and played good music loud in the car (their friend's band: 'the human art department'). We got to Atlanta and met Mr+Mrs Frost, Jackies Uncle+Auntie, who scared me a little with tales of downtown areas where "white people are set on fire for fun". They drove me to a train station which I could use to get to my hostel. I rolled in safely at 11.30.

The next day I left Atlanta hostel, not so friendly as the rest, and went to the park. I bought a book of Allen Ginsberg poetry from a gay bookshop (I seem to be spending a lot of time in gay bookshops - I think because I just like lively looking bookshops - and now I remember the names of the last two - 'out-spoken' and 'out-write', maybe I should learn to take a damn hint) and took it and read it in a secluded treehouse thing I found in the botanical gardens, which also had some real pretty orchids and enormous insect sculptures.
That evening 'Screen On The Green' happened to be showing, so I went and watched, as the sun went down, 'Butch Cassidy+The Sundance Kid' amongst thousands of happy americans, who cheered when the bad-guys got shot, in the park again. I spent all day in the pretty park, in fact. A man came and told me at one point that God (not just any god, he hastened to add: 'Jesuschristlordorlordskingofkings') loved me because of the peace I understood - he knew I understood such peace because he 'saw me chillin'. The park had lots of what I believe were chipmunks. Cool.

The next day I spoke to a crazy southern man that explained Europe was run by socialists, especially Germany ('noone from the east isn't a communist'), and that Sarkozy was only pretending to not to be socialist, and that was why the poor were suffering. He got very angry when I asked what he was talking about. After reeling for a few minutes, I enjoyed a classic 19.5 hour Greyhound journey south, the highlight (lowlight) of which was the bus leaving the guy I was sitting next to - Muhammed - in a gas-station. I tried to get the bus to stop, but the driver was cold, man: cold. I tried to ring Muhammed but the phone number on his bag didn't work. So there was nothing I could do but stretch out my legs a little further and listen to Paul Simon, who is one of the greatest songwriters of all time.

I just got into Fort Lauderdale and it's brilliant to be here. Say hello to my family of uncles and auties and cousins, and two binny-pigs.

Asheville II

So, yesterday was pretty lively. I followed up on the Hiking promise I made, so started by looking in a book of good local walks. In true American style, every walk required a car to drive to the start point. I determined to show the yanks that things could be done on foot, so found a walk which was only 10 minutes drive away, packed provisions and set off.

I pretty quickly discovered the 10 minutes drive was along a highway - 10 minutes at 60mph is 10 miles. Plus 2 miles after the highway - I reckon the 3 hours it took me to walk there covered about the 10 miles. If that seems pretty slow remember I was walking alongside a highway - so no paths really, just grass mainly. However I had the glorious hills ahead to inspire me and funny friendly people (a thin woman borrowed my phone and in thanks her little daughter gave me a stone, warpped in a leaf). I stopped for a waffle, and emerged into a little rainstorm, complete with thunder and all, but which passed pretty quickly.

I arrived, rambled through pretty forest - incredibly peaceful, I think for the first time since I got into the US - for two hours, then came back. I enjoyed it, even the walk home - there's something incredibly satisfying about trudging along and along, if you know what I mean. I got back at 9ish, and went out back for a quiet read and a feet resting before an early night.

But this is Asheville, and I quickly got talking to some white water canoers fresh from a near death experience, and a crazy brilliant woman - marianne - aged 60 from virginia - who lived on a commune, and has been to laurieston. What're the chances? Ping-pong ball. So the conversation moved quickly, I gathered some communes to visit/contribute to while I'm here, and at some point a beer appeared.

That lone beer was followed by another; and then scotch; a campfire; and at some point a request for 'house of the rising sun'; got my guitar; and a couple more people; then another guitar. People, alocohol, and instruments trickled in. I came inside for a minute (samwij), and when I went back outside, there was not only a dozen or so people, but three guitars, a banjo and a double bass. DOUBLE-BASS. So naturally we had a crazy-party soundtracked by an entire band - the highlight musically being Wagon-Wheel and Hallelujah - a version I'd never heard played before in 4/4.


Today is recovery.

Asheville I

Okay: an entry of cold, hard commentary, to slake heg's desperate lust for 'travel details'.

My greyhound out of DC was scheduled for 8pm, so after spending a day in the heat (100 degrees farenheit - warning to stay indoors on radio - I burned) amongst bookshops (someone threw away my Dharma Bums 50 pages before the end) and war memorials (Vietnam; WWII with the inscription "Women who stepped up were measured as citizens of the nation, not as women...") I arrived at the station with one minute to spare.
After 90 minutes of waiting, the bus set off into the night - two hours next to a snorer, though ably blotted out by Paul Simon. Because of this delay, I missed my first connection and waited an hour at Raleigh, starting to git tired. Set off at 1.30 of the AM for the long bus ride to charlotte, where I'd change again.
This journey was meant to be 5 and a quarter hours, but was extended by a 90 minute breakydown to let us all watch the sun rise over the petrol station/mcdonalds. I played guitar by the highway with a navy-man through the dawn - he loved his bright eyes and the flaming lips. When the bus set off again I talked to a truck-driver. He was pretty interesting.
Because of the delay on one bus and breakdown on other I missed my connection at charlotte and waited 5 hours for the next bus. Luckily charlotte was lovely (the outskirts a deserted wasteland but then BAM it's all 60 floor skyscrapers and glass museums and waterfalls) and I even found a library with the dharma bums and particularly the last 50 pages, which I read although my bag was too big to be allowed into the library, apparently. It stayed outside.
I met three roughedged men, one of whom taught me a simple but pretty guitar part he'd written and named 'mandy' after his little sister.

I caught my bus to asheville, and took two more busses amongst white trash ('god-daymn's when my bag brushed by them) and finally got to the lovely hostel Bon Pauls + Sharkey Joe's Hostel, from whence (sorry heg - guardian moment) I blog.
Another Radiohead lover (really - they everywhere) prompted another marathon communal guitar/drinking session - highlight a drunken 'I will survive' - which left me crushed on top of last night's sleepless bus journeying.
So consequently today was pretty slow but cool with an Art Show throwing every studio - asheville has an entire district full of them - door open for me; I saw live performance painting (which immediatly sold for $4000) by an (apparently pretty well known) abstract artist called Jonas Gerrard who also explained afterward to me what the point of abstract art actually is - "subconscious communication between artist and observer" - and I talked to a 'subversive' artist - with beautiful pictures of sad-looking soldiers - called Skip - and talked to an artist and poet who studied at cambridge and was actually pretty good - I bought his book 'Blood Rose'. Everywhere played Jazz. Later a friendly lady - although old and conservative looking - gave me a lift downtown after learning I was english. She turned out to be a poet. Everybody here is an artist. I walked home in the dusk, past a coffee shop with the sign "friends don't let friends drink starbucks".

I should write more about his stunning place, really, but. An apology more about the style of my writing - heg's criticism was valid, but.

Tomorrow is hiking in the hills - we're just by the appalacian trail - in Buncombe (!!! - eh Rowan?) county.

DC III

After a yesterday of mainly looking for and partly finding Rock Creek Park, and playing my geetar and reading my book, I'm heading south. Raleigh probably, then Asheville, then all the way on down to Ft Lauderdale. Maybe.

I slept on the balcony here last night, exposed to the world, and it was beautiful. I slept like a pig.

DC II

Yesterday I went in a paddle boat on what they call a 'tidal basin', but I secretly suspect of being a lake. It was pretty much in central DC, one minute from the washington monument etc, but still beautiful. The sun kept making the water sparkle in the oddest prettiest way, and the temperature was just right. All the other boats had couples in and they perhaps thought I was odd for going on my own, but I had my book to read, and was completely happy.

I also saw the washington monument and the whitehouse. They were okay.

The day was capped with a military tatoo. What that means is that I sat in glorious evening sun and watched enormous dragonflies dancing to a brass band playing that tune that goes 'doo be doo Bah Bah doo-dahdoo-dah-doo-de-doo-dahdah'. Howitzers fired, monsterous loud. Schoolkids cheered and sung hand-on-heart the national anthem. It was for D-day.

Then I came back to the hostel and slept on my 'couch' and now I'm deciding where to go next. Should I go to asheville? It's a little town, apparently a bit bohemian, but near lots of stunning countryside and good walking. But it's expensive to get to and away from, and I don't know when I need to be in miami.

Philly II, DC I

Things took off a little since the last entry, although not in such a blog-friendly way; I know you crave exciting stories etc, but I'm just not adventuring that hard. Yet at least.. So this is just some stuff that happened.


Mike (see above), who I thought was in a band, wasn't. He, though - and bear in mind he was literally the first person I'd make conversation with in the country - was from sheffield. Shit. The world has been reduced to the size of a ping-pong ball.


After a day of what could essentially be called shopping in philadelphia (i bought a guitar, and books, and a CD by a band I read about that morning in a Philadelphia Music Magazine. They are called World Blanket. Look them up and tell me what they're like - I don't have a CD player to listen to it) and resting in pretty parks, and successfully having a good time while bypassing tourist spots, I returned to the bank street hostel, which felt like home already.


Mike and his companion were replaced by Joe and Hanna and Jen who were from edinburgh (and whose cumulative favourite musicians are Radiohead and Tracy Chapman - the two reasons I've been to edinbrough, their city. Ping-pong ball). They were excellent and me and Joe sat up late teaching each other guitar parts. I swapped Blackbird for Let Down.
He went to bed and I became entangled talking earnestly with Sam about TS Eliot, elitism, satire, the comparisons of music and poetic devices and aesthetics, and esepcially radiohead. Everybody loves radiohead. It was perfectly wonderful.


The next day's 2 and a half hour journey to DC took 5 hours, after the Greyhound bus got lost amid a hail of redirections due to some accident or other. Anyway, it gave me a chance to get re-aquainted with my Mp3 player. So Hilltop Hostel where I am now is beautiful, and the weather is hot, and booked up tonight but I will sleep on the couch, for $5 more cheaply. Don't tell anyone, it's not allowed.


Cheers.

Philadelphia I

I made it across the atlantic ocean. It was easy, actually. I was lodged in 'cabin one' - labelled 'Owner'. So that gives an idea of the luxury I enjoyed (if you happen to know the exact amount of luxury a freightship owner receives - I do. Pfftthh). It was actually suprisingly imaginable. I read a vast amount, made friends with the one other passenger (Herman the German), enjoyed the crate of german beer I bought in the 'slapjus' (or something - a nautical word for buying things that are in the bottom of the boat), associated with lots of phillipino, romanian, liberian and polish crewmembers, including a good few rounds of table tennis, and film-watching, and I kept a journal, which, upon looking back over for interesting excepts for this entry, is staggeringly dull, and that was that. It was just as I wanted it to be.

I learned: There is NO better atmosphere for the second half of Blood On The Tracks than a dark and rolling evening and a few bottles of kostritzer; the distance between liverpool and chester, philadelphia is roughly 3000 miles, and a freighter crosses it at about 17 miles an hour; the whales promised by the crew are not that common; and, courtesy of Naomi Wolf, how The Beauty Myth is used to control the populace. You should find that out, too.

I made NO spiritual discoveries.

Philidephia has so far endeavored to make me feel at home by being grey and raining hysterically. I found a place to stay, from which I write - The Bank Street Hostel. It is really a wonderful place of friendly interesting people (I reckon the Mike I met is in a band!), and they showed 'Amelie', which is a nice film. Very nice.

Bert Jancsh is playing in Philadelpia tomorrow. I have seen no cream cheese.

SO okay there isn't anything fasctinating or useful in this entry, but maybe you can colour it in with the adventures that I may or may not have had: I cannot promise anything. Following articles will deliver more satisfaction.