The same day we left Little Rock, a tornado swept through the area, devastating suburbs and killing 15 people. Interstate 40 is still closed in Arkansas today, after overturned trailers and debris were blown into its path. That's the highway we took to Tennessee.
The coming storm...
...Somewhere approaching noon, under blackened skies and in an eerie wind, we put gas in the car at a rural garage. The lady serving us (energetic, elderly, and comfortably rotund, with one of those strong southern slurs that you can only pretend to understand), advised us on our oil top-up and forced additional supplies upon us, for free, in anticipation of the "coming storm." We were her only customers at that time. She told us how she had a feeling it was going to be "one of those days" after a bird flew in with her when she opened up that morning, and she struggled for more than an hour to get it out, and just as she successfully ejected the winged intruder, three more baby-versions flapped their way in... My irrational but gut-yanking instinct wanted to ask if her family all had tornado shelters, but I bit my superstitious tongue. Once in the car, I said to Guillaume, "you know what a bird trapped in a building means, right? ...That someone in your family is going to die." He replied "no, it just means a bird flew in the shop." Of course, he's right. Not me. The feathered fledglings had most likely heard of this woman's generosity and were merely seeking treats... or (even more likely than that) were utilising their irrefutable sixth-sense, and finding shelter from the imminent tempest.
It was supposed to be a five hour drive to Nashville, but it took us more than seven. Aside from the endless roadworks inconveniently coinciding with the bad weather, flash floods appeared in lanes impassable by any other means. Our already-heroic 13-year-old car, became temporarily amphibious, as it was battered by copious quantities of rapidly falling 'big-ol' fat' rain, and waded unpredictably through lengthy, knee-deep puddles. Not to mention the hurricane-force gusts that shook us about, and forced lorries and trucks to park on the hard-shoulder, and hope for the best.
Knowing that the worst of the weather was behind us at this point, and we needed to drive away from it, we ploughed bravely on, via Memphis, journeying north and eastward to Music City...
I could've produced 'Tobacco Wars'
As I noted in the 'Bye-Five' blog, the best thing about living life in chapters - is the endless array of characters who have an impact and leave a mark - the people you otherwise would never have met. When I was 16, I attended a film, television and radio production course in Boston, Massachusetts (funded partly by sponsorship, including the monies of other Ryde High School attendees, who willingly paid for me to shut-up for 24 hours. A challenge made all the more difficult as news that my GCSE Media coursework had been lost, arose that very day... Not able to get any answers from my determined silent-self, a frustrated Mrs. Rickards concluded she was just going to give me an A, but not to tell anyone. BUSTED, MRS. RICKARDS! ...too late now, I'm not doing it again!).
For six weeks in Boston I befriended like-minded 14-18 year olds, mostly from America. One of these was John, a dungaree-donning farmer's son from Bowling Green, Kentucky. Two years after the course, my good friend Georgia and I traversed the United States on Greyhound buses, paying only for one night's accommodation in seven weeks, as we stayed with friends across the continent, that I had first met in Boston. One of them was John. He had taken us to a "party" in a field, by a river, on the out-skirts of Adairville, KY (The now location of CMT's 'Tobacco Wars'). Everything had surpassed stereotype-generated expectations, as big-bearded straw-chewing men with no shoes on, drank local bottled brew and wholeheartedly believed Georgia and I, as I thrust my dinosaur-of-a-video-camera in their faces and told them we were from the BBC. (If only I had known these people would one day make good television...?)
That was 10 years ago. This time, we met John and his lovely wife Sarah, at the Knight's Inn Motel (where we were staying) on Spring Street, in Nashville, Tennessee. Ever-the-brilliant-host John drove us around the city, pointing out sights such as 'Music Row' - Home to the offices of Nashville's record labels, publishing houses and recording studios, Music Row is widely considered the heart of the city. Guillaume rightly commented that many of the the very neat-looking colonial-style buildings housing the aforementioned, appeared to be very expensive. John astutely replied that he imagined they were...
No choice but to order rum from betwixt those legs...
What was pleasantly apparent from this thorough exploration, was that Nashville - with all it's historic districts, University dwellings, and hidden charm, is more than just a tourist destination. It's pretty-much awesome everywhere. Nonetheless, we had to hit THE District - where Lower Broadway and Second Ave merge to explode with life and many a musical medley belting 24/7 from renovated warehouses and old bars. John and Sarah took us to Tootsie's World Famous Orchid Lounge, (unassuming from it's narrow purple exterior), Tootsie's is a honky-tonk bar where long-legged performers sing and jig from atop the bar, so you must shout your rum order from betwixt their constantly side-stepping cowboy boots.
Willie Nelson, Patsy Cline, Kris Kristofferson - they've all been there. As have many other country-music artists, and still they come. Often bands will play at Tootsie's before they make-it-big. Like the Catalyst Club in Santa Cruz - only less dark and not as smelly.
I've no doubt Nashville has an atmosphere that can't be matched. It's brilliance is untainted by greed, too. Genuinely creative, good people with soulful stories to tell in expressive, lyrical ways are sharing their talent because they love what they do, and they want to be heard. Not one bar charged us an entry fee, and not a single drink was over-priced. In fact, it was cheaper than a night out in Calgary. The way they operate there, you tip the band if you want to - whatever amount you like, and you never feel obliged. I'd say six out of ten give generously. Every bar within the district had energetic live music, some of them have multiple stages where an acoustic-engineering genius has clearly performed magic, to enable unconflicting perfection from one set of melodic decibels to another.
'Shopping while impaired'
Mike and Larry are from Chicago and had come to Nashville to run a half marathon together. Not what we were expecting to hear upon first impressions, in Whiskey Bent Saloon. (Proof that first impressions are, often, actually a load of bollocks.) Turns out, this jolly duo host games of 'Bags' at BBQ socials throughout the summer. Teams play against each other to try and get small bean-bags into a tiny hole a certain distance away. I guess some locations in along Lower Broadway offer these games... After 8 Sailor Jerrys and a B-52, I was pretty-darn good at 'Bags'.
Gift shops in Nashville are open until the early hours too, which you might expect to encourage 'Shopping while impaired.' As we discovered during our second day in Nashville, it matters not what hour of the day these vendors are open for business when it comes to inebriated patrons. A curly haired man we'd assume was in his late 30's, who we had earlier seen walk confidently into a post box, was now perusing the aisles of one such shop, where he proceeded to slowly stuff his jacket with souvenirs before embarking on a snail-paced wobbly-strut to the exit. The woman working at the till was having none of it. She stood broadly in the doorway, waiting for him. "Excuse me, ma'am", he stumbled, hugging his bulging coat. "You better give me what's under your coat, Sir. You can't exit this store with that." Oblivious to the transparency of his own wrong-doing, he drunkenly declared; "Miss, I don't have anything." She said, "Yes you do Sir, I can't let you leave." He said "No ma'am, I don't know what you're talking about." and as he tried again to leave, she stood firm. "Sir, I can see a red cap protruding from your coat." After much hilarious back and forth, the man reluctantly pulled five identical caps from under his clothes and handed them one by one to the woman. Once satisfied, she stepped aside and allowed him to stagger into the street. We later saw the same man sitting alongside a family of people who were dining in a restaurant. That was at 2pm.
Despite the continued stormy weather, over-eating and painful hangovers, Nashville was undoubtedly a flavourful highlight of our road trip. Columbus, Ohio, was not. But that's because it was just a stop over. A point between two long, grey drives where we stayed at the Hawthorn Inn and got a free upgrade to an enormous suite, which we decided was worth celebrating with a chinese takeaway.
Our next stop was Niagara Falls, where we are now. Getting back across the border into Canada was easier than getting out - but still the official delighted in asking us both numerous irrelevent questions, including "what did you do for work in Calgary?", "what was your favourite place in the US?" and "how dirty is your tent?" - (although I think the last one might have something to do with ensuring the hungry gruffalo's stay out.)
Niagara Falls is a really big waterfall
It's not the first time we've been to Niagara. The first was on 28th December 2010. My 25th birthday. I met Guillaume on 3rd December in Quebec City, where I had been living and working as a Nanny for 4 days. We had our first date on 7th December, and somewhere between those two days I had text and asked if he wanted to go on a road-trip to New York over Christmas and New Year, to welcome in 2011 in the Big Apple. (I used the online translator to ask him in French too, so it might have said something else.) Anyway, he said yes, and the rest is history. Although I will add, that we had to wait until our 2014 road trip to have our first kiss at Niagara Falls...! (I didn't get a smooch until the Times Square ball dropped. He later told me he thought English girls needed more tea before being canoodled. - That's true.)
Niagara Falls -- is a really big waterfall. (Actually, it's two really big waterfalls (actually, technically, I think it's three - but I'd liken the third to a trickle, really - so it doesn't count) - the more impressive of the two being 'Horseshoe' falls, (probably named such owed to it's shape, more than anything) which can definitely be best viewed from the Canadian side of the river.) Yesterday - 1st May, we walked from Michael's Inn - by the border - to the far end of Horseshoe Falls. You need a coat, or a brolly, or both - goggles might even be a good idea... flippers on a bad day. The spray is intense, and it's like it's always raining - the closer you get, the more that applies - obviously. It seems every time Guillaume and I visit one of Earth's natural wonders, we get wet. I hope this is not a trend that will continue.
The great thing about the spray on a sunny day, however, is that rainbows are inevitable. And if you miss one, they light the falls up at night in an array of bright colours. Niagara is noisier than the Grand Canyon - of course, there's 150,000 gallons of water per second, hurtling down the 170ft cascade, into the churning torrent below. I said to Guillaume; "that's not just for half an hour that's doing that you know... it's all day, every day... forever." (Well, maybe not forever.)
A 400lb Indian man with drawn on eyebrows, cheers for the Boston Bruins...
As beautiful, blue, and gargantuan as it is, there's only so long (approximately two hours on this occasion) you can look at Niagara Falls. However, a popular tourist destination, there is a number of attractions nearby, probably best suited to young teenagers we'd guess. Lots of museums, things like Ripleys Believe it or not, wax works, haunted houses, mirrors that make you look like a midget, and plenty of themed restaurants like Planet Hollywood, Hard Rock Cafe and Rainforest Cafe. There's a huge ferris wheel, a viewing tower, and all the usual gift shop tat. But, again, thankfully, nowhere is anyone trying to bleed you dry, no street performers pretending to levitate over blanket covered poles or celebrity impersonators inviting you to pose with them in exchange of $10. (Yes, I am still rattled by the money grabbing nightmare that is Vegas.) Niagara is nice.
We're still elated after Montreal beat Boston in the first round of the semi-finals in the NHL playoffs last night. They won 4-3 in the second bout of overtime. We watched it at the bar of Boston Pizza, where a 400lb indian man with drawn-on eyebrows banged repeatedly on the table whenever Boston scored. I can only assume he represents the average Bruins fan.
Our next stop is Guillaume's family chalet. It's about an hour's drive from Ottawa, in the woods, far from anything. We won't have internet there, or phone signal, or a television - but the scenery is spectacular and we'll have music, booze, a fireplace and plenty of fresh ingredients for tasty home-made meals. The snow should be gone by now, and the river thawed so we can use the water from there to wash and flush the loo. (Wash ourselves, not wash the loo. I thought I'd add that clarification here in brackets, rather than put a comma after 'wash', because then the fabulously ridiculous among you might, for the briefest of moments, imagine that we would go to that trouble to wash the toilet. And that's marvelous.) We'll take a week, or maybe two, to re-set our body clocks, walk and hopefully not encounter any bears, wolves, skunks or porcupine. I don't want to predict too much about how good for our minds and bodies this particular part of our trip will be, because I, like you, will just have to wait to know for sure...
The coming storm...
...Somewhere approaching noon, under blackened skies and in an eerie wind, we put gas in the car at a rural garage. The lady serving us (energetic, elderly, and comfortably rotund, with one of those strong southern slurs that you can only pretend to understand), advised us on our oil top-up and forced additional supplies upon us, for free, in anticipation of the "coming storm." We were her only customers at that time. She told us how she had a feeling it was going to be "one of those days" after a bird flew in with her when she opened up that morning, and she struggled for more than an hour to get it out, and just as she successfully ejected the winged intruder, three more baby-versions flapped their way in... My irrational but gut-yanking instinct wanted to ask if her family all had tornado shelters, but I bit my superstitious tongue. Once in the car, I said to Guillaume, "you know what a bird trapped in a building means, right? ...That someone in your family is going to die." He replied "no, it just means a bird flew in the shop." Of course, he's right. Not me. The feathered fledglings had most likely heard of this woman's generosity and were merely seeking treats... or (even more likely than that) were utilising their irrefutable sixth-sense, and finding shelter from the imminent tempest.
It was supposed to be a five hour drive to Nashville, but it took us more than seven. Aside from the endless roadworks inconveniently coinciding with the bad weather, flash floods appeared in lanes impassable by any other means. Our already-heroic 13-year-old car, became temporarily amphibious, as it was battered by copious quantities of rapidly falling 'big-ol' fat' rain, and waded unpredictably through lengthy, knee-deep puddles. Not to mention the hurricane-force gusts that shook us about, and forced lorries and trucks to park on the hard-shoulder, and hope for the best.
Knowing that the worst of the weather was behind us at this point, and we needed to drive away from it, we ploughed bravely on, via Memphis, journeying north and eastward to Music City...
I could've produced 'Tobacco Wars'
As I noted in the 'Bye-Five' blog, the best thing about living life in chapters - is the endless array of characters who have an impact and leave a mark - the people you otherwise would never have met. When I was 16, I attended a film, television and radio production course in Boston, Massachusetts (funded partly by sponsorship, including the monies of other Ryde High School attendees, who willingly paid for me to shut-up for 24 hours. A challenge made all the more difficult as news that my GCSE Media coursework had been lost, arose that very day... Not able to get any answers from my determined silent-self, a frustrated Mrs. Rickards concluded she was just going to give me an A, but not to tell anyone. BUSTED, MRS. RICKARDS! ...too late now, I'm not doing it again!).
For six weeks in Boston I befriended like-minded 14-18 year olds, mostly from America. One of these was John, a dungaree-donning farmer's son from Bowling Green, Kentucky. Two years after the course, my good friend Georgia and I traversed the United States on Greyhound buses, paying only for one night's accommodation in seven weeks, as we stayed with friends across the continent, that I had first met in Boston. One of them was John. He had taken us to a "party" in a field, by a river, on the out-skirts of Adairville, KY (The now location of CMT's 'Tobacco Wars'). Everything had surpassed stereotype-generated expectations, as big-bearded straw-chewing men with no shoes on, drank local bottled brew and wholeheartedly believed Georgia and I, as I thrust my dinosaur-of-a-video-camera in their faces and told them we were from the BBC. (If only I had known these people would one day make good television...?)
That was 10 years ago. This time, we met John and his lovely wife Sarah, at the Knight's Inn Motel (where we were staying) on Spring Street, in Nashville, Tennessee. Ever-the-brilliant-host John drove us around the city, pointing out sights such as 'Music Row' - Home to the offices of Nashville's record labels, publishing houses and recording studios, Music Row is widely considered the heart of the city. Guillaume rightly commented that many of the the very neat-looking colonial-style buildings housing the aforementioned, appeared to be very expensive. John astutely replied that he imagined they were...
No choice but to order rum from betwixt those legs...
What was pleasantly apparent from this thorough exploration, was that Nashville - with all it's historic districts, University dwellings, and hidden charm, is more than just a tourist destination. It's pretty-much awesome everywhere. Nonetheless, we had to hit THE District - where Lower Broadway and Second Ave merge to explode with life and many a musical medley belting 24/7 from renovated warehouses and old bars. John and Sarah took us to Tootsie's World Famous Orchid Lounge, (unassuming from it's narrow purple exterior), Tootsie's is a honky-tonk bar where long-legged performers sing and jig from atop the bar, so you must shout your rum order from betwixt their constantly side-stepping cowboy boots.
Willie Nelson, Patsy Cline, Kris Kristofferson - they've all been there. As have many other country-music artists, and still they come. Often bands will play at Tootsie's before they make-it-big. Like the Catalyst Club in Santa Cruz - only less dark and not as smelly.
I've no doubt Nashville has an atmosphere that can't be matched. It's brilliance is untainted by greed, too. Genuinely creative, good people with soulful stories to tell in expressive, lyrical ways are sharing their talent because they love what they do, and they want to be heard. Not one bar charged us an entry fee, and not a single drink was over-priced. In fact, it was cheaper than a night out in Calgary. The way they operate there, you tip the band if you want to - whatever amount you like, and you never feel obliged. I'd say six out of ten give generously. Every bar within the district had energetic live music, some of them have multiple stages where an acoustic-engineering genius has clearly performed magic, to enable unconflicting perfection from one set of melodic decibels to another.
'Shopping while impaired'
Mike and Larry are from Chicago and had come to Nashville to run a half marathon together. Not what we were expecting to hear upon first impressions, in Whiskey Bent Saloon. (Proof that first impressions are, often, actually a load of bollocks.) Turns out, this jolly duo host games of 'Bags' at BBQ socials throughout the summer. Teams play against each other to try and get small bean-bags into a tiny hole a certain distance away. I guess some locations in along Lower Broadway offer these games... After 8 Sailor Jerrys and a B-52, I was pretty-darn good at 'Bags'.
Gift shops in Nashville are open until the early hours too, which you might expect to encourage 'Shopping while impaired.' As we discovered during our second day in Nashville, it matters not what hour of the day these vendors are open for business when it comes to inebriated patrons. A curly haired man we'd assume was in his late 30's, who we had earlier seen walk confidently into a post box, was now perusing the aisles of one such shop, where he proceeded to slowly stuff his jacket with souvenirs before embarking on a snail-paced wobbly-strut to the exit. The woman working at the till was having none of it. She stood broadly in the doorway, waiting for him. "Excuse me, ma'am", he stumbled, hugging his bulging coat. "You better give me what's under your coat, Sir. You can't exit this store with that." Oblivious to the transparency of his own wrong-doing, he drunkenly declared; "Miss, I don't have anything." She said, "Yes you do Sir, I can't let you leave." He said "No ma'am, I don't know what you're talking about." and as he tried again to leave, she stood firm. "Sir, I can see a red cap protruding from your coat." After much hilarious back and forth, the man reluctantly pulled five identical caps from under his clothes and handed them one by one to the woman. Once satisfied, she stepped aside and allowed him to stagger into the street. We later saw the same man sitting alongside a family of people who were dining in a restaurant. That was at 2pm.
Despite the continued stormy weather, over-eating and painful hangovers, Nashville was undoubtedly a flavourful highlight of our road trip. Columbus, Ohio, was not. But that's because it was just a stop over. A point between two long, grey drives where we stayed at the Hawthorn Inn and got a free upgrade to an enormous suite, which we decided was worth celebrating with a chinese takeaway.
Our next stop was Niagara Falls, where we are now. Getting back across the border into Canada was easier than getting out - but still the official delighted in asking us both numerous irrelevent questions, including "what did you do for work in Calgary?", "what was your favourite place in the US?" and "how dirty is your tent?" - (although I think the last one might have something to do with ensuring the hungry gruffalo's stay out.)
Niagara Falls is a really big waterfall
It's not the first time we've been to Niagara. The first was on 28th December 2010. My 25th birthday. I met Guillaume on 3rd December in Quebec City, where I had been living and working as a Nanny for 4 days. We had our first date on 7th December, and somewhere between those two days I had text and asked if he wanted to go on a road-trip to New York over Christmas and New Year, to welcome in 2011 in the Big Apple. (I used the online translator to ask him in French too, so it might have said something else.) Anyway, he said yes, and the rest is history. Although I will add, that we had to wait until our 2014 road trip to have our first kiss at Niagara Falls...! (I didn't get a smooch until the Times Square ball dropped. He later told me he thought English girls needed more tea before being canoodled. - That's true.)
Niagara Falls -- is a really big waterfall. (Actually, it's two really big waterfalls (actually, technically, I think it's three - but I'd liken the third to a trickle, really - so it doesn't count) - the more impressive of the two being 'Horseshoe' falls, (probably named such owed to it's shape, more than anything) which can definitely be best viewed from the Canadian side of the river.) Yesterday - 1st May, we walked from Michael's Inn - by the border - to the far end of Horseshoe Falls. You need a coat, or a brolly, or both - goggles might even be a good idea... flippers on a bad day. The spray is intense, and it's like it's always raining - the closer you get, the more that applies - obviously. It seems every time Guillaume and I visit one of Earth's natural wonders, we get wet. I hope this is not a trend that will continue.
The great thing about the spray on a sunny day, however, is that rainbows are inevitable. And if you miss one, they light the falls up at night in an array of bright colours. Niagara is noisier than the Grand Canyon - of course, there's 150,000 gallons of water per second, hurtling down the 170ft cascade, into the churning torrent below. I said to Guillaume; "that's not just for half an hour that's doing that you know... it's all day, every day... forever." (Well, maybe not forever.)
A 400lb Indian man with drawn on eyebrows, cheers for the Boston Bruins...
As beautiful, blue, and gargantuan as it is, there's only so long (approximately two hours on this occasion) you can look at Niagara Falls. However, a popular tourist destination, there is a number of attractions nearby, probably best suited to young teenagers we'd guess. Lots of museums, things like Ripleys Believe it or not, wax works, haunted houses, mirrors that make you look like a midget, and plenty of themed restaurants like Planet Hollywood, Hard Rock Cafe and Rainforest Cafe. There's a huge ferris wheel, a viewing tower, and all the usual gift shop tat. But, again, thankfully, nowhere is anyone trying to bleed you dry, no street performers pretending to levitate over blanket covered poles or celebrity impersonators inviting you to pose with them in exchange of $10. (Yes, I am still rattled by the money grabbing nightmare that is Vegas.) Niagara is nice.
We're still elated after Montreal beat Boston in the first round of the semi-finals in the NHL playoffs last night. They won 4-3 in the second bout of overtime. We watched it at the bar of Boston Pizza, where a 400lb indian man with drawn-on eyebrows banged repeatedly on the table whenever Boston scored. I can only assume he represents the average Bruins fan.
Our next stop is Guillaume's family chalet. It's about an hour's drive from Ottawa, in the woods, far from anything. We won't have internet there, or phone signal, or a television - but the scenery is spectacular and we'll have music, booze, a fireplace and plenty of fresh ingredients for tasty home-made meals. The snow should be gone by now, and the river thawed so we can use the water from there to wash and flush the loo. (Wash ourselves, not wash the loo. I thought I'd add that clarification here in brackets, rather than put a comma after 'wash', because then the fabulously ridiculous among you might, for the briefest of moments, imagine that we would go to that trouble to wash the toilet. And that's marvelous.) We'll take a week, or maybe two, to re-set our body clocks, walk and hopefully not encounter any bears, wolves, skunks or porcupine. I don't want to predict too much about how good for our minds and bodies this particular part of our trip will be, because I, like you, will just have to wait to know for sure...