A selections of some pf the interesting artifacts to be found in the French Quarter of New Orleans. Doors, roofs,walls, odds & ends   ...Read more

When in New Orleans with a camera, one tends to take pictures.   ...Read more

Once it gets under your skin, New Orleans is a difficult place to leave. It is the perfect mix of small-town and cosmopolitan lifestyle. With world-class restaurants, culture and a tight-knit community, the experience of New Orleans is something to be both savored and splurged. The puke-fest that is upper Bourbon is easy to avoid. A smidgen over two months after my arrival, the triumvirate Gods, Circumstance, Serendipity and Synchronicity made clear it was now time for me to leave. For weeks I had been saying "This is my last week," every week something happened that caused me to renew the weekly lease where I was staying.... not that I minded at all.

But the day came where my room was expiring and there were no further obligations, events or potential favors to be done that I could use as an excuse to stay another week.
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There is a curious effect that happens when traveling without an itinerary, plans change constantly. My original thought when reaching Pascagoula Mississippi was the next morning I would be heading north into Mississippi and then curl back West so I could renew my car registration in Missouri before heading North again. I happened to turn on the Weather Channel while I was getting dressed and heard the central parts of Mississippi would be reaching temperatures in the triple digits during the day. That's hot. It's even hotter when you are in a little pickup truck that doesn't have air conditioning.
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Known as the First City, St Augustine, Florida is a tourist haunt. I arrived there on a stifling day of the full moon and somehow managed to find my way to the Historic District simply by following the signs. Gosh those things are helpful and goodness what a lovely little downtown they have! The architecture is fantastic. Old Spanish-flavored stuff with terra cotta flourishes.

The history of the town is quite interesting. It is called the "First City" because it is. It was founded in 1565 by Don Pedro Menendez de Aviles. Actually, some French folk founded a settlement before Don Pedro showed up but his job was to stop their trespass. The two factions battled for a while and when the French finally surrendered, Don Pedro took them to the river and massacred them... nice fellow that Don Pedro.
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St Augustine is a nice town, but it is always time to move on. I have the deadline in Missouri to think about. I had now come all of the way East, now I could begin heading West again. So I jumped in my truck and headed North. North? I thought I was going to go west ! After much thought I came up with a couple of good rationalizations. One was I had just landed in St Augustine, from the West, to head directly west again would be to back track over territory I had already been over. What fun is there in that? I think, however the more honest reason was that I enjoy the ocean, I have just spent the previous decade in Missouri and I missed being on the edge of a continent. I wanted to have more incredibly fresh seafood before heading inland again.

So North it was. I started my drive and 20 minutes later I realized I had ended up on the wrong road and had to go back into St Augustine and start over… but they have a nice airport in St Augustine with airplanes and everything!
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Sunrise over the Atlantic ocean is a lovely sight. Unfortunately, my room was facing the west and I missed it. But with daylight showing I had to head out again. I needed to start my way back to Missouri to renew my truck registration. I packed up, started my engine and headed North. Yes, I know, Missouri is to the west, but Georgia is to the North and I was on a Seacoast. I might run across another wonderful seafood place like Singleton's. I was a seafood junkie rationalizing like a gambler who has just hit it big. I was on a roll... another big hit was right around the corner. North. North along the coastline. Another fishing village. Another fish shack. Then I would be set for good. Then I could go to Missouri, register my truck and head North into... well... that direction, North. Not to any place in particular but away from Missouri; to the future; the next thing, what/wherever it might be. But for now the plan was to stick to the coast and to stay where the fish might be.
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"Byewfert", (Beaufort) South Carolina. I woke up there on August 13, 2006. I knew from my attempted shower the night before that a hot water shower was not on the menu that morning. I woke up and, in spite of the cold shower, needed caffeine. There is a coffee shop hidden away in Beaufort, SC. I spied it the night before so I knew where to go for my fix. Once again, I was struck by the contrast between where I was (Beaufort, South Carolina) and where I was not (New Orleans, Louisiana... specifically Cafe Nicaud on Frenchmen Street ) I was overhearing conversations about "my baby, this" and "my baby, that" versus conversations about how to fund a music program for the children of the community or how they can engage the remaining residents in a neighborhood to be more involved in community activities. Ah, boomers, late bloomers.

Anyhow, I hit the road again. When I was driving in the previous day, I noticed a sign at a fruit stand. They were offering "Hot Boiled Peanuts." I saw it again on the way out. A few miles later, I saw another produce stand with "Fresh Boiled Peanuts." Again I passed it by. There was a third one. People learn off of each other. This is how regional things become regional I suppose. Somebody has a great idea and it works... Their neighbor down the road tries the same thing and it works for both. No one is hurt. I passed the third one and my curiosity was so piqued that I vowed to stop at the next place that offered boiled peanuts and buy some.
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It is still August 13. Leaving the basket weaver outside of Charleston South Carolina, I continue North on Highway 17. A long, straight drive between the managed pine plantations that seem to make up so much of the southland that I have driven through.

Of course there is another bridge and on the other side of the bridge there are a duo of delightful manufacturing plants. One is a paper mill all grey, smoky and smelly. The other is a steel mill. This is the first steel mill I have seen. My first view from the height of the bridge is one of black mystery. Buildings and gigantic ducting all black licorice in the distant haze. So much a contrast to every kind of manufactory or milling plant I've seen I can't look away. At the moment, I didn't know it was a steel mill. I had no idea. When my truck was passing the mill I found I could not drive beyond, I had to get a close up look. I turned immediately and circled the streets that encompassed the mill. Fences, frustrating fences that I couldn’t' see through. Then I turn the last street down to the river. Ah, a six-foot cyclone fence topped with barbed wire. This I can handle. I'm an old hand at standing on my truck to get a better picture. Up close the colors of the structures clarified.
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From Ocean Isle Beach, North Carolina I knew I was to be heading inland and leaving the ocean's side. So I spent and extra day there to swim in the ocean some more. Swimming in the ocean is so different from swimming in a lake or a pool, the water is alive and moves with and against you. You certainly get more exercise swimming in the ocean for an hour than swimming in still water. I also learned to look for any along-shore current and start by swimming against it. I didn't learn that by doing it, but by doing the opposite! I swam an easy mile down shore and discovered that fifteen minutes after turning around and heading back, I was still facing the house where I had turned. Obviously I hadn't been trying hard enough. Fifteen minutes later I left the Ocean and walked back up shore to where I had parked. It had been a good workout, that's for sure. I slept good that night too. The next day I took the opposite tact but it didn't seem to make any difference because the direction of the current had changed. Ah, there is always something more to learn.
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Gastonia, North Carolina is one of those places that is easy to leave. The previous night, I drove around quite a bit looking for a non-franchise place to eat. I almost stopped at a place called "Hillbilly Steakhouse." Actually, I did stop there, how could I pass a place named "Hillbilly Steakhouse?" I went into the place and immediately found myself in a cattle queue. It was a buffet. All you can eat meat for a fixed price. It was oriented toward families and people who eat all they can. Wide lanes roped off to get you properly oriented to the food. Wide enough so you can get a good backswing before you whack the little brat.
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