Who knew that we would spend time in El Paso? If you did, why didn’t you tell us? Also, why didn’t we know that you could just stroll over to Juarez, Mexico for a lunch of tacos and margaritas?
The bar is called The Kentucky Club, and it opened in 192o, just in time to lure thirsty Americans stuck in prohibition over the border. It’s here where “they say” (who the hell are they?) that the margarita was invented. No matter your margarita-lore beliefs, the margaritas (plural) were some of the best we’ve had.
The delicious tacos were served as a side dish to the margaritas on an amazing bar. It was hand carved in France and shipped to Juarez in 1934.
Fun Fact: In 2010 Juarez was the murder capital of the world. It’s not anymore, so that’s nice. The government made a pretty big sweep of the main street that is just over the border, literally tearing down every bar and bordello where the cartels might carouse. Now, there are cell phone stores, a few knick knack shacks, and other ordinary non-murdery businesses.
The Kentucky Club seems to be one of the few bars to survive the sweep. Well, that and the Holywood club (see below).
We joined this gator on the beach to watch the sunset—our last sunset in Louisiana…
Hey alligator brother from our cosmic mother… thank you! And thank you Louisiana for your beauty and hospitality. You’ve entertained me and welcomed me and embraced me. You’ve confused me and encouraged me and inspired me. You’re beautifully warm, wonderfully weird, and naturally engaging. We will be back no doubt, maybe even to lay down some roots. But for now I’ll just take these stickers. And my gumbo gut.
Lafayette (Laugh-EE-ET) Louisiana is in the heart of Cajun country, and our visit there helped to solidify our love for Louisiana. A town of not much size, but jam packed with huge helpings of friendly people and shrimp. Shrimp: I’ve eaten three times my weight in them, three times.
Upon first arrival in Lafayette, I was greeted in French by a lovely woman at the threshold of the Mouton House Inn, and quickly handed a drink made from tea-infused bitters and Bourbon (Burr-Bonne). And so yeah, that hooked me.
And then there were the Po-Boys (shrimp) at Pop’s Po-Boys, and the kind boy that told us what to order, and where to go.
ROAD WISDOM: Ask a local their favorite places to go, and then go there immediately. We’ve found the greatest gems through this method.
Allen, our swamp guide, made sure to take us to his favorite spot in the swamp to meet his lady friend named Stella. Stella is an alligator that is big. Also, she has 17 babies that are small. And oddly cute.
SWAMP WISDOM: A swamp is a flooded forest. A bayou is a slow-moving body of water.
Cajun culture is rich and fascinating and lovely. A trip to recreated Vermillionville (the original name of Lafayette) took us back to 1755 when the Acadians in exile moved there after being kicked out of Canada (Acadia/Nova Scotia) by the punk-ass British of the time who saw the Acadians as a threat, especially because they refused to swear allegiance to the British Government.
French is still spoken here, and the Cajuns continue to celebrate life through food and music and dance… despite the long history of attempts to suppress and erase their culture by the Americans.
A cajun bartender taught us a word: fache (fah-shay) which means annoyed or pissed off.
EX: People that try to suppress others, especially because they are afraid or feel threatened by people that are different, really makes me fache.
There is a profound and pervasive vibe here: experienced through all of the senses, and expressed as both euphoric and stank. The smell of chicory coffee and fresh baked pastries might be followed by a smell cloud of natural gas, or pee. Studying the branches of a stately and elegant Magnolia tree or the intricate French Colonial wrought iron work of a brightly colored home might be interrupted by a spill into an enormous pot hole, or or a trip over an exposed sewer pipe being birthed from the swamp.
Yes, this beautiful town is built on a swamp. And yes, most of the city is below sea level: creating a bowl that traps energy and lets it fester and blossom and decay. The city is haunted by the ghosts of slave traders and free people of color, lords and ladies (titles both inherited and bought) criminals and common folk, Creole and Cajun.
Katrina flooded the city, but she did not wash away the spirit or spirits of this place. She was brutal and destructive, stealing the homes and lives of many, and yet New Orleans thrives. From the perspective of a visitor, it seems that New Orleanians have evolved into a community that has learned to face adversity and challenge (be it potholes or poverty) with a strength and positive forward movement that is as dynamic as the parades that they cherish.
Attending a Second Line (community parades that cannot truly be described, only experienced) we were welcomed into the celebration with smiles and nods and love that could be felt in the music and the dance. Entering the rituals of this city (of which there are many) with confident kindness will most often be mirrored back, or at the very least silently respected.
There are very few social rules here, but the following are crucial if you wish to weave yourself into the fabric of the city:
We are honored to return here. Thank you New Orleans.
Just so you know, there is a correct way to pronounce the name of this city, and the locals take it very seriously. We’ve been practicing it for like 4 days: MO-BEEL (with the accent on the second syllable).
You should also know that much to the chagrin of New Orleanians, this is where the celebration of Mardi Gras as we know it in the New World first appeared. The French declared Mobile as the capital of the French colony of Louisiana in 1702, and by 1703 masked balls began to appear.
But it wasn’t until New Years Eve 1830 when a drunk dude named Michael Kraft raided a hardware store in Mobile with his friends and paraded down the streets of Mobile banging a cowbell. Over the next several years, they formed the first mystic society (or Krewe) called the Cowbellion de Rakin society, and eventually switched their parade-times-fun to Fat Tuesday. And thus, Mardi Gras as we know it today was born.
Mardi Gras has been celebrated here in Mobile every year except during the two World Wars, and was shut down completely during the Civil War. But in 1868, a local hero named Joseph Cain defied the rules of “no public gatherings” set forth by the occupying Union forces, and revived the parades of Mardi Gras, which have been happening ever since.
We were here before most of the Mardi Gras festivities began, but had the pleasure of attending a “people’s parade” (no Krewes, only ordinary citizens) on Dauphin (pronounced DAH-FIN) Island, just outside of Mobile.
As we head to New Orleans on Tuesday, stay tuned for how Mardi Gras first appeared there, one of our most beloved cities.
Since 1947, the mermaids of Weeki Wachee have called to carloads and busloads of curious travelers, beckoning the masses to experience mermaid magic for at least 23 minutes. The mermaid who introduced the show said that over the years such celebrities as Elvis and Don Knotts have followed the siren call. So.
I’ve wanted to go for at least 4 years, after reading about the mermaids on some phone screen somewhere. Or perhaps they came to me in a dream. Either way: dream fulfilled.
Just to reiterate: we are NOT on vacation. This is living.
L I V I N
So, while riding our bikes (Rage and Rampage) on Key West, Ted and I identified and solidified the important milestones that we want to accomplish EACH DAY. These can be categorized into the following 5 tenets:
*Books, articles etc. (Buzz Feed doesn’t count, yo.)
*A daily average of at least 10,000 steps. 6 miles would be ideal. Ooof. This will be tough.
*Fun facts, theories, conspiracies, historical tidbits etc. The knowledge can be found anywhere (Except on Dumbphones). Examples: Museums, plaques, local history on menus, oral history from locals, cereal boxes etc.
*At least 2 hours a day of writing in some form.
*It just depends you guys. But you know fun.
Well, hell. Miami is pretty cool: so specific in terms of vibe and architecture and culture.
After having touched the water of the Pacific Ocean on Christmas Day, it was a helluva thing to touch the water of the Atlantic today.
After getting jacked up on Cuban coffee, Joe’s Stone Crab did not disappoint.
Driving Julius in Miami rush hour was no problemo, and we squeezed (barely) into the tiny parking lot of our hotel on South Beach (not easy to stealth camp there). The next morning, I woke up early and in a semi-lucid anxiety-driven state went to the window to check on Julius—he was totally parked in.
Shit shit shit!
Worry was the accompaniment to my OJ and Frosted Flakes.
How the hell are we going to get out of here?
In a nice gift from the gods, just as we walked outside to try and sort things out, we watched as the two cars who had boxed Julius in were driving off.
Road goal: Don’t let anxiety trick us into thinking that it gives us control over the unknown.
And we haven’t even “started” yet. We are closing in on Siesta Key, Florida which we consider the beginning point of our journey: our circular and maybe circuitous route around North America. Our goal is to “follow the weather” avoiding as much cold as we can. Yeah, plans. We have to learn to kind of throw those out the window. It’s been around 20 degrees our whole journey, reaching the lowest of 8 degrees in Elk City, Oklahoma.
But once we get to Florida! Yeah, then our plans will become a reality. Or else we will just roll with whatever the hell comes our way.