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.
Saturday, 16 June 2007
Tuesday, 12 June 2007
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.
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.
Sunday, 10 June 2007
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.
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.
Friday, 8 June 2007
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.
I slept on the balcony here last night, exposed to the world, and it was beautiful. I slept like a pig.
Thursday, 7 June 2007
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.
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.
Wednesday, 6 June 2007
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.
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.
Sunday, 3 June 2007
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.
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.
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