Monday. Early. Flicking back through the notebook as I'm fairly sure that J's written something that's in the book before the bit I wrote yesterday. (Does that make sense?)
J.
30th October. We are sat on the Amtrak in our own private room. Just had breakfast in the observation buffet car. Great views.
Back in the room now and simply feeling so grateful. We really are blessed to be able to be enjoying a holiday like this. Currently speeding through open fields of Mississippi, heading towards New Orleans.
Everything was so organised. We arrived at the station by Uber (driver: Oscar) in good time, waited about half an hour/40 mins in the waiting room, with big wooden benches that you see in the movies.
The train arrived bang on time, the whistle blowing as it pulled into the station. It's massive and we were just stood on the platform with no idea where to be. The guard said to just wait where we were. So we did. Next thing, we were allowed on and we were in exactly the right spot for our room (number 6).
And when we got upstairs to our room, the observation car was right next door.
I mean, it was all just so perfect.
I.
This was me writing in blue ink. Because my black pen was in my bag. I write in black. In block capitals. It's a thing I do.
2pm. Mississippi. No signal. Saw a bayou. Saw a creek. Saw the Tallahatchie River. No bridge though. Probably a different part of the river. Probably a really long river.
Stopped at Jackson (probably the right one this time), Brookhaven, YAZOO! We went to Yazoo! Yeah the band but - the blues label. McComb City has a Bo Diddley Pavilion. Which we obviously greet with a breezy "Hey! Bo Diddley!" Things like this make me really happy.
Memphis at 7.30am was 6 degrees. Cold. Wasn't going to rise over 10 degrees all day. When we looked at the long term weather before we left everywhere was 28 degrees (there's probably a way to type the 'degree' symbol, no idea what it is). We have one hoodie each. No coats. Thankfully New Orleans is going to be warmer, but not as warm as we'd thought.
The journey is filled with roadside shacks, small towns, places that have rows of shops sitting with genuine boardwalks in front of them. Some working still, some towns appearing totally dead. This is the real country. As Robert M Persig put it, "We keep passing unnoticed through little moments of other people's lives." I love that quote. Had it on a bookmark for years. No idea where it is now.
And at every stop, we see boxcars. I spend vast stretches of the journey earwormed with Pixies. "Outside there's a box car waiting."
Eight hours from Memphis to New Orleans. Sixteen degrees when I start writing again. Bit of a chill but as warm as it's going to be for the next few days. Till the sun comes out on Thursday afternoon before we head for the airport. We're starting to be aware that this is the third leg of the journey, that there's less time ahead than has gone before. Philosophise over that as you will.
BUT.
'NoLa' is awesome. Loved it from the first second. From our taxi ride from the station to the hotel, driven by a guy who's been here his entire life, whose cousin was a drummer who ended up being the leader of Dr John's band, who arranged the music on an album the good Dr won a Grammy for. Not sure which one, felt rude to ask.
His other cousin, also a drummer, opted not to leave town to drum for James Brown when he was sixteen, as he didn't want to let down his current bandmates and James was, well, James, wasn't he? A bit terrifying for a sixteen year old.
The hotel is magnificent. We're up on the fourteenth floor, right in the middle of the French Quarter. Went for a walk, a look round, ended up on Bourbon Street. We'd been there two minute when a bird shat on my head.
Bourbon's about 90% tacky tourism and 10% 'Jesus, how good's this place?' Case in point: Fritz's Jazz Bar, watching a jazz trio - banjo, bass (stand up of course), drums.
At the break, I asked the banjoist what the guitar was he had on stage (Epiphone Joe Pass - my exact guess from my seat) and if he'd be playing it. We popped out for a drink elsewhere, got back for the second set. He commented on our conversation, switched to guitar and we got George Gershwin's 'Summertime' dedicated to us (no idea if this video's going to play, looks a bit weird from this end):
Tea in the royal Oyster House. Had the 'Taste of New Orleans': Crawfish, Jambalaya, Red beans and rice. Absolutely stunning.
And that's how we arrived in New Orleans. Tomorrow? J starts writing at 5.15am and ends at 7.01. It's going to be all J (and will, therefore, be everyone's favourite).
Oh. And. A guy in the Peabody lift (Memphis) thought I was Australian. And the girl in the Peabody Deli asked if I was speaking French. French? Queen's English this. If the Queen had been born in the Marian Square.
On the 23rd of October ten years ago, I was supposed to write here for the final time. I was writing up until my 50th birthday then stopping. Job done. The task I'd set myself at the start of 2013 complete. Obviously that didn't happen. I enjoyed it too much, had too much to say. But, in time, it dwindled. I didn't feel the need to write here as I had so many other things to write elsewhere - - aside: I intended to write a 'What Happened Next' piece here for my 60th. Started it, semi-planned it, was going to talk about everything that had happened after the blog/partly because of the blog. But other things came up and I wasn't convinced people would be that interested. So I didn't. And none of that is the point. None of it's the reason I'm back here for this one. J's cousin, Paula, bought us a book: a notebook, lined empty pages and a pocket at the back for memorabilia (of the paper kind, snow globes would have been an issue), nicely bound, impr
Note to self: yesterday was about a single, it played at 45rpm, change the speed. Full on John Peel "this one plays at 33" moment there. Which didn't benefit Michael Stipe in any way at all. "We're REM, from Athens Georgia. This one's new." They were all new, we knew nothing about them other than the whispers that were coming out in the music papers. (Aside: J's on a video call in the living room, Daisy's in with me; she's currently hiding either under the banjo on its stand or behind the Rickenbacker in its case. Both are worrying me. i am, quite ironically, having kittens here. See what I did there? Dad jokes all over the place.) REM were one of the groups that made me want to own a Rickenbacker. These and The Church more than The Jam or The Beatles strangely enough. Back to the point. The radio wasn't playing REM in 83. Not that I recall. (Another aside, I'm writing this while watching/listening to PMQs - we've just had a Tor
Sunday morning. Nothing opening at breakfast time, lots of things not opening all day as it turned out, so we went for a walk. A long walk. A long walk to another state. Down to the Mississippi, along the Mississippi, to the 'Big River Crossing'. A bridge over the river. A one mile long bridge from Memphis in Nashville to West Memphis in Arkansas. Jumped over the state line, mid-river. Got to the other side, put our feet on the soil of Arkansas, turned round, walked a mile back. Genuinely brilliant and worth every second. Found ourselves in an Exxon station, in the middle of very little, waiting for an Uber. An Uber to take us out to McLemore Avenue and the Stax Museum. Which was, and I hate to say this because it's Stax and everything that came out on Stax is brilliant, massively disappointing. It's on the site of Stax, in the way that the Cavern is on the site (almost) of the Cavern. It looks like Stax. In the way the Cavern looks like the Cavern. But it's no
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