Slow train to Memphis

New Orleans was very hot and very humid this morning. This played havoc with my hair, but was a small price to pay for the free walking tour that we got from Danny the National Parks Ranger. You have to turn up at the Parks office at 9am, but as we limited ourselves to one cocktail last night (in a gay bar called "Napoleon's Itch") that wasn't too much of a headache either.

The British took a bit of a battering on the tour, mainly because we turned up in 1813 expecting to march into the city for Christmas. They're still proud that they held us off until we retreated in disgust. The city is also not built below sea level - it's below river level, and the natural river levees didn't break in 2005. If you lie a map of the 1800s New Orleans over the modern day one, so we were told, it matches almost exactly what survived Katrina. But no one has yet decided how the city will be rebuilt, and the Ranger described how they "sweated out" hurricane season last year and are counting the days until this one. Life seems a bit precarious there at the moment, but we were genuinely thanked by several people for coming and taking a look at how things were going.

We caught our train to Memphis but were only coach class this time. Once you get a taste for that first class accommodation it's hard to go back! But we roughed it out in the massive superliner coach seats that fully recline with footrests etc. The train was a double-decker with a wonderful observation car, allowing us to keep up with the drastically changing scenery of the Mississippi delta as swamps gave way to forests and farmland.

Arriving in Memphis was more than a little scary. The train station was completely deserted with no signs to any other transport. We wandered onto a deserted street to find (praise the Lord!) a streetcar. The driver started up as soon as we got onboard, and for a dollar each we got to our hotel and even had a limited sightseeing commentary (limited because we had to follow the tram rails, and it was 10.45 at night).

Enough! It's bedtime, and tomorrow is a very big day. Elvis Presley gets to meet me and Hannah.



Ranger Danny leads the way



The highest point in New Orleans. Not very high.



A paddleboat on the Mississippi



A New Orleans cemetary - graves built above ground because of the water table.



Beignets - little fluffy pillows of cholesterol



Hannah tucks in regardless



New Orleans station's hi-tech arrivals board



Hannah watches a terrapin in the swamps - can you spot him?



Prime Louisiana swamp land



A Memphis streetcar

P.S. Happy St. David's Day! They seem to be more interested in St. Patrick over here.

Down Louisiana

It’s taken a day to get my head around New Orleans. Once you accept that when people on the street say “hello” it might just be a friendly hello, rather than a precursor to mugging, stress levels reduce.

We woke up early and walked down to the Mississippi River. It was cold and shrouded in thick fog so we wandered the French Quarter to get our bearings. The “tourist” bit of New Orleans is very compact and was largely undamaged by the hurricane, yet the effects of Katrina remain everywhere with lower prices and a vastly reduced workforce. We had a chat with a lady in the cathedral here who told us that the lack of damage to the French Quarter, and the dollars that it can bring in, at least gives the city a chance at recovery. Everyone’s very pleased that a corporate conference of 25,000 is taking place here at the moment.

After that we found our way to a jazz recital, which wasn’t too bad, and enjoyed a New Orleans lunch of jambalaya, gumbo, red beans and rice. We came back to the hotel via the New Orleans Voodoo Museum, whose attempts at portraying voodoo as a religion of profound spirituality are undermined by various shrunken heads, an albino python and a skeleton wearing sunglasses. Voodoo appeared when West African tribes mixed missionary Catholicism with their native religion, so captions next to statues say things like “Ogou, god of lightning and thunder, also known as St. John the Baptist”. The whole thing was extremely pleasing from a religious tat point of view.

It’s 4.45pm now, and things are starting to hot up for the evening. I’ve found two places that offer free wi-fi access. One’s a coffee shop, the other’s a cocktail bar. We’ll see which one we end up in...

New Orleans, early morning (even fewer people than New York)



Hannah gets her bearings in Jackson Square



St. Louis Cathedral. A bishop was ordained here this afternoon.



Inside the cathedral



Typical French Quarter house



Impromptu (or highly rehearsed to look impromptu) street entertainment



Hannah's "Taste of New Orleans" at lunch



Previous visitors to the voodoo museum



A "voodoo" altar. Notice anyone familiar?

Warm in the south

A night on the train wasn’t bad! The driver kept hooting the horn, possibly for his own amusement, but the gentle rocking was very soothing. The driver wanders past our room now and again. He looks about 90 and wears denim dungarees in a very old-school style.

We’ve left the snow behind in the North East, and the landscape here in Georgia and Alabama is wooded and dry. There are patches of some kind of bind-weed that covers everything, including buildings and lampposts. The gaps between towns are vast, and last night it was pitch-black outside. I woke to a golden sunrise filtering through the trees.

Breakfast was great! Even Hannah’s “lite bite” continental style had to have a side order of sausage (pork or turkey). Not much happened until lunch, and then there was another wait until dinner! The best bit about train travel is that you don’t feel guilty about sitting around doing nothing, because you are doing something! You’re going somewhere!! Thoughts like these come to you after 30 hours on a train.

We got to step off the train at Birmingham, Alabama, where it was lovely and sunny. It was even hotter in New Orleans when we arrived amazingly only 20 minutes late. We got from the train station (described by the guide as being in “no man’s land”) to our hotel (“don’t go in that direction, it’s not safe” said the taxi driver as he dropped off our bags) and then walked down to Bourbon Street.

This is the centre for the nightlife here, with every bar boasting a different live band. You can drink on the streets too so everyone’s walking around with their cocktails (we enjoyed 24oz of frozen margarita in a polystyrene cup). It’s also more than a little scary, with every establishment employing several people to get you inside, but a large police presence (who all wear mountie hats!) makes it feel pretty safe. The whole thing is a bit like Las Vegas but less organised. We scurried home and now I’m watching baseball. It’s the closest thing to cricket I can find.



Only two directions



The dining car, all ready for lunch



David demonstrates the ample in-room wash facilities



Hannah strolls around Birmingham station



New Orleans, from our hotel balcony



Live music



A little taste of home

Compact and bijou

I’m on the train, sat in our own little private sleeping compartment. It’s very nice – you can change the temperature, turn various lights on and off, slide the door open and closed...the in-room toilet has been interesting (see pictures above).

Everything has been running right on time so far. We had a stop in Washington DC, where we managed to run off and take a couple of pictures of the Capitol Building. This was achieved amid dire warnings from the train announcer that ours was the only train going south that evening, and if you weren’t there it would still go without you. We even had time to grab a bottle of wine from a station off-licence.

Hannah was disappointed with dinner, and the one waiter serving the carriage did seem to have amnesia. I thought it was great, although the insistence on giving you mashed potato, broccoli and carrots with everything didn’t really compliment my cheese tortellini. As the train judders and rocks along, everyone in the dining car sways in synchronised time!

After that we had our beds “turned down”, which involved the ceiling being lowered and the two seats below reclining to horizontal. In a flash our sitting room had turned into bunk beds, and you needed to be a contortionist to get changed. There’s even a net that you attach to the ceiling if you’re in the top bunk to prevent an unwelcome fall while you sleep (you’d end up in the toilet anyway).

Find out tomorrow if we actually get any shut-eye.

(Photos bigger at aged parents' request)



Diner scene (with actors)



Brand new skyscraper



Hannah boards (first class, of course)...



...studies the safety instructions...



...and enjoys the view.



Washington DC station



Capitol Hill



Hannah on the bottom bunk



David on the top

First class

More guerilla posting, this time from inside the Club Acela lounge in New York's Penn Station. If you book a sleeper car you're considered "first class" passengers (which, naturally, we are) and that means you get to sit in an overcrowded lounge with fake wood panelling and blue vinyl seats.

It's actually quite nice, with free coffee and soft drinks. I've just finished my sixth cup of coke and now I feel great!

Kath went off to work early and we had breakfast in a diner with Rob. I had french toast, which was served with a pot of butter and a jug of syrup, and the statutory bottomless cup of coffee. Mmmm mmm.

The New Orleans train seems to be running on time, which means that our 30 hour journey should begin when expected. Off now for some more coke.

The truth

It turns out that New York is not a 24 hour city. For several hours on a Sunday morning everyone is asleep, having partied hard on Saturday night. We left Rob and Kath in bed (after they wandered in at around 3.30am) and decided to walk up 5^th Avenue. It was freezing cold.

Things got a bit busier at Times Square and we were relieved to get into the warmth of the Museum of Modern Art. There are a lot of scribbles on walls here so we signed up for a free talk on post-impressionism. Or post-expressionism, I can’t remember, but it was useful to learn about what you were supposed to see in the paintings regardless of what was actually there. Most of it still looked rubbish.

We met a hung-over Kath and Rob at The Modern restaurant, connected to the gallery. Lunch was delicious and my pudding was donuts with their own dipping sauces. Other people stole them in a deeply unfair manner.

After lunch Kath took us around the gallery and again explained why some things were on the walls. Once we realised we were confusing German expressionism for abstract expressionism, everything became clear.

We came back via the New York Crumpler shop, where they will customise your messenger bag for an offensive price. I managed to steal a sticker and a mini match box.

Now the Oscar party is getting going and we’re watching the red carpet. Who are you wearing?

A street



Hannah, a smoothie



Times Square



The Rockerfeller Centre



MoMA



Hannah and some (important) scribbles



Splatters



MoMA from high up



Walking home at night

Big and small

We’ve done New York. This morning we wandered through ultra-trendy Soho, enjoying a pumpkin praline muffin at the Once Upon a Tart cafe. From there we made our way down Broadway and across to the Hudson River. This took us past Ground Zero, where they’re getting on speedily with reconstruction, and onto the bank by the Statue of Liberty.

Kath phoned to say that she’d finished work for the day (giving tours to VIPs around the Armoury art show – she’s so in with the celebs!) so we caught the subway back and went out for brunch, which seems to be food anytime between 8am and 3pm.

In the afternoon we went to a fair for up-and-coming artists, which included a silver man lying under a feather umbrella and a woman walking around with a television plugged into her tummy button. Kath did more schmoozing and we followed behind in confusion, although I did buy a sculpture for $2 from a man sat in a tiny house.

Rob and Kath are both out at various parties tonight so Hannah and I have had a night in. Falafel and red wine have been on the menu. Tomorrow includes more art and lunch at a posh restaurant called The Modern.

Fire escapes in West Village



Overlooking the World Trade Centre site



Hannah and the Hudson River



Self-portrait, like in the film Green Card



Seagull of Liberty



Impromptu New York street scene...



...OK, it was Rob and Kath



And now me and Hannah



Chandeliers in the New York Opera (until a security guard told me "there are no pictures in the house")



David collects his art from the man in the tiny house



Kath studies an installation



Central Park



New York by night



And here's my art! A genuine sculpture by someone called Jason Metcalf