The Green Mountain State

I realize that there seems to be a hefty gap in my writing for the period between North Carolina and Vermont – some one thousand miles driving time. The reason is that suddenly our journey became a high-speed race. We dipped into our Nations Capital for a couple of hours and scoped the National Mall (a must stop destination on a quest to see America), followed by a rapid conquering of the New Jersey Turnpike and a run in with rush hour traffic in Manhattan. We were originally going to stay in The Big Apple, but after the remarkable day of driving, we decided to press on and get our feet back into some grass and flip flops and out of tennis shoes and concrete sidewalks. We are still debating our return date to the big city. So it was decided – we were going to head strait to St. Johnsbury, Vermont to see some old friends from San Francisco and their new impressive family.


The second that we pass the border between Massachusetts and Vermont the world around us began to change. The Green Mountain State, as it is called, is a watercolor painting full of rolling hills, old wooden farm houses, white picket fences, and small towns that appear strait out of the fifties. Big white fluffy clouds are sprinkled like candy across the big blue background sky, and as we hug the turns of the highway we are more than satisfied with our decision to head north.

We rolled into St. Johnsbury on Tuesday afternoon and as the small town unfolds before us I look at Jarvis and ask him if this is some kind of joke. This, my friends, is an all American town and the quaintness of it all is far from any place that I have ever popped into.
We wind up the small town roads, passed old Victorian homes, and up to our friends home on the hill. I’m instantly overtaken with jealously when I lay eyes on their sweet lil’ home and their permaculture influenced garden. We are met by their beautiful fair-haired daughter, running barefoot laps around the garden with her flaxen locks blowing in the gentle breeze. Her dress is cute as a button and she gives us each a husk cherry (yummy) to taste. It takes her a day or two to grow familiarized with us strangers in her home, but after the daily warm-up we become friends. I might have roped her in with my jewelry collection which she grew quite fond of.

Ryan and Tara are old friends of Jarvis’ and we have a fabulous time catching up – I enjoy sitting back and listening to their nostalgic memories each evening as we sit in the yard and bathe in booze moonlight. We spent our daytime hours moseying around town (I had to sort through the local thrift stores because I’m on a hunt for some broken-in suede cowboy boots), riding bikes, and wandering around farmers markets.


I had my first experience with a blueberry patch where I got to pick, while eating mind you, a basket full of the best blueberries I have ever had. Our lovely hosts made homemade waffles topped with the garden-fresh berries and authentic Vermont syrup for breakfast. Not to mention bacon for dipping. Today, our last day in the Green Mountain State, we went to the Caledonia County Fair. I had the worst corndog ever and lost a few bucks in bingo, but nevertheless had a good time. This fair weighs heavier in the redneck/country factor than the ghetto thug state fair I attended in Albuquerque when I was young, but the beer garden helped to make the experience a bit more entertaining.

We are driving to meet Mikey and Samantha in Syracuse, New York in the morning and I CAN”T WAIT TO GET MY LAKE ON WITH THE HOMIES!!!

Oh Sweet Caroline.

We left Fernandina Beach, Florida on Saturday morning knowing that we had just one week to trek up the entire east coast and see as much as we could along the way. With this in mind we haul ass the second we get in the car. Within several hours, we hop-skip through Georgia, dash through South Carolina, and land our feet in Asheville, North Carolina. Granted, the western edge of the state is a bit out of the way considering we are on somewhat of a time crunch, but this is a town that I have always wanted to visit and I’m glad we made the detour.



We approached the quaint mountain town through the foot hills of the Great Smoky Mountains, and we instantly understand why they were named such. A dense hazy fog rests in the valleys between distant peaks, and as the rain drizzled down on the landscape, the gray fog rose from the ground up into the sky like a gloomy, misty, smoke. I haven’t seen a vapor cloud like this since we left San Francisco, and as we ascend and the air grows cooler it reminds me of home. Asheville is one of the most progressively-hippy towns that we have visited on our trip thus far. Downtown is lined with locally owned restaurants, small dive bars with live bluegrass pouring out onto the street, art galleries, and street performers trying to earn a buck. We check out the scene for a bit, but then head to a neighboring town, Black Mountain, so we can get a cheep room for the night. I finally get some real Mexican food and life is good in the hood. In the morning we drive into town for breakfast and eat at the nationally recognized Tupelo Honey Café (I especially want to go because it reminds me of one of my favorite songs by Van Morrison). Dude, the food here is the best we have had in days. The Deep South was great for its messy ribs, greasy appetizers, and all around guilt inducing food, but this place is a little fresh organic heaven, and my body feels revived when I eat it. Not to mention, first stop on the trip so far that has Mate tea and Jarvis and I are in ecstasy for the sweet caffeine. After breakfast we get back in the car and head out on our mid-day scenic drive – The Blue Ridge Parkway.

The Parkway is known as “American’s favorite scenic drive” and being so, we thought it appropriate to make the detour and judge for ourselves. The entire drive is four hundred plus miles, and can take several hours to travel, so we opt to only cruise it for an hour our so. We enter the ridge just outside of Asheville and start our climb up the face of the green, tree covered mountainside. The road winds around the edge of the world and views of the smoky valleys expose themselves below. The climate grows increasing cooler and damper as we enter into the foggy clouds at the peak and then warmer and dryer as we descend into the basins. The drive truly is breathtaking, but I have a feeling that the experience would be much better suited in the fall when the trees are changing to reds and bright yellows. Nevertheless, I’m thankful to be here in the splendor of this state. Jarvis and I are surprised that some of the most attractive landscapes we have seen are North Carolina and Arkansas – who would have thought.

Bahama-rama.

We are sitting at Miami International Airport waiting for our delayed flight. When our plane finally pulls up, I nervously look at Jarvis who has also just spotted the small prop plane draw to a halt outside of the window. He has had a dislike for flying since I met him, and the small plane factor just induced a look of panic in his eyes. We walk out on the tarmac and up the fold out stairs onto the plane – surprisingly, the flight was probably the smoothest I had ever experienced, and the view of the crystal blue waters as we fly into the Caribbean is dazzling. Jarvis is thankful to be on land once again as we pull into the airport in Nassau. Immigration, customs, bags, and a bus ride later, we finally arrive on Paradise Island. We spent four nights at the Atlantis Beach Resort, and while the island is epically sweet, there is also a bit of sour that comes with it.

Sweet.
There are several swimming pools that maze around the property resort. They range in temperature, treatment, and atmosphere. I became a fan of the zero entry pools that gradually go from one inch to five plus feet – they remind me of walking into the ocean, plus they are treated with salt water. The fact that I like this pool may lend partially to the fact that it is the closest to the beach bar where Jarv and I liked to grab a happy hour beverage each afternoon. We both agree that the place to be is always the closest bar to the beach.
We spent hours floating around “The Current,” one of the more not-so-lazy lazy rivers on the property. There are wave machines, rapids and tube slides along the way that keep the ride wet and out of the ordinary. We buddy up on a two for one tube and hang out for the better part of the hot day. There are several different waterslides here, and even one that shoots you through a clear tube that is surrounded by swimming sharks…pretty flippin’ awesome.
On the property you will also find an underground aquarium called “The Dig” which gives you insane views of thousands of different tropical fish, marine snails, evil eels, sharks, and rays. This is one of my favorite attractions and I am awed by the beauty of the gracefully floating creatures.
The beaches here are also beautiful, and I have never seen such crystal blue colors. The water is warm and carries a slight sulfur aroma and soft white sands line the seashore. Downright magnificence. The Bahamas are truly a little slice of paradise and as we sit on our balcony and watch the sunset over the water, we toast our locally brewed Kaliks to how blessed we are to be here now in the company of one another.


Sour.
Yes, with almost every sweet, there comes a sour, and in this case it was the insane markup on items that we Americans take for granted on a daily basis. For example…a one liter bottle of water at the Atlantis costs nine dollars and seventy-five cents. A slice of cheese pizza runs you seven dollars (we actually got a “family size” twelve inch cheese pizza for dinner one night that cost thirty-five dollars). I laugh out loud when we go scope the menu at the Chop Stix, the one Asian restaurant on Paradise, and see that an order of Pad Thai is thirty-three frigin’ dollars. A case of Coors Light, at the duty free store mind you, runs fifty bucks….even a case of the local beer goes for near seventy dollars as they charge three dollars a beer. Crazy. Jarvis and I took a cab to town so we could grab a few things from the grocery and avoid paying for some of our meals. We stocked up on Cup of Noodle, PopTarts, Potato Chips and Lunchables. The cab to and from the store, probably a five mile roundtrip journey runs us thirty-eight bucks. I understand that we are on an island in the middle of the Caribbean and all, but I know the locals aren’t paying these prices so I’m a bit discouraged that we are being price gouged.
The second part of the sour comes with the majority of people that choose to vacation here. Jersey Shores called and said they want their cast back!


All in all, we had a charming time on the island. My tan is living proof. We flew back to Miami and we were both a bit delighted to be back in the country and back in our home – the car. Yesterday Jarvis drove us up the entire East Coast of Florida and we checked into a motel in Fernandina Beach just a little jaunt south of Georgia. We had dinner at the tiki bar on the beach and then got drunk with some locals at The Seabreeze Sports Bar Next Door. We are both comforted to be back in the company of some middle class, hard working, shit talking Americans.

Beaches. Babes. Beer.

When I was a kiddo my parents would bring me to Florida every year or so to visit family. My dad spent most of his childhood running a muck around St. Petersburg where the majority of my paternal family resides. One of my fondest childhood memories is of our family shindigs at my great grandmother’s house where we would make jokes, tell stories, swim, and of course stuff our faces with grams famous mulberry pie. We are defiantly a family of eaters, and it seems as though every memory I have is somehow centered around consuming copious amounts of groceries. That being said, it was only appropriate that Jarvis and I properly stuff our bellies upon our arrival in St. Pete. Hurricanes is a double stacked restaurant located right on Pass-a-Grill Beach. Their second story outside balcony is a prime destination for watching the sunset, or just getting a face full of salty sea breeze. We have both had a hankering for conch fritters since our last visit, now three years ago, so we inhale an order before we move onto grouper sandos and side orders of tomato seafood bisque. Yum city. A quick stroll on the beach, but entirely too fat, and hot, to really sink our toes in. Instead, back in the car for a quick jaunt across town to my aunt and uncles house so we can check into our suite for the week.

My family is full of pranksters and joke tellers, but my Aunt Liz and Uncle Joe’s family take the cake on pure entertainers. I received a voicemail to confirm our reservations at Chalet Triolo a couple of days prior, and when we check-in we find our room complete with pillow mints, miniature toiletries, and cold Coors Light in the fridge – They are determined to make our honeymoon stay worth while, and they have totally succeeded. I give these guys five glittery shooting stars, and I’m even considering setting up a Yelp so I can rave about the accommodations here. That night we get spoiled with homemade meatloaf and mashed potatoes. I drink a couple of Jeremiah Weed’s n’ lemonade and we play a round of dice as we sit around the table and talk story.

We spend the “work week” poking around town, shopping, beaching, visiting family (i.e. eating and drinking more) and all around relaxing. We had pool parties, dinner dates, lunch outings and some of the best family visits I can remember. I had the opportunity to catch up with cousins, meet new babies, and even make amazing new friends. Yesterday our gracious hosts took us for a day trip on the boat to Fort Desoto Park – an area in the Gulf made up of five interconnected islands. We anchored the boat just off shore and hung out in the mellow breaking waves drinking beer and rubbing our phalanges through the cleansing layers of salt and sand. Crabs nibbled our toes as we nibbled on chip stuffed sandwiches. As we cruised the intercostal back to the slip, a dolphin followed closely behind in the wake – occasionally it jumped the surf and shared its beauty in the shimmering sunlight. A perfect day with perfect people.

Today Jarvis and I made our way from the Bay to Miami. On the way down we stopped at Rick Treworgy’s Muscle Car City Museum in Punta Gorda….SICK CITY! Those who know me and the man know that we have a true appreciation for balls out, bad ass, old skool, muscle-mobiles, and this place was chalked full of beautiful beasts – Novas, Chevelles, Malibus, El Caminos, Cameros, Impalas, etc. etc. etc. Jarvis counted forty-nine different models of Corvettes alone. Defiantly qualifies as a hidden American Sweet and all car connoisseurs must visit this place at least once during their lifetime.

OUR PLANE FROM MIAMI TO THE BAHAMAS LEAVES IN THE MORNING…. Hold onto your britches boys and girls, the hunt for America’s Sweet and Sour is about to go international and I can’t wait to reach the resort and get my mermaid on. Sweet, sweet Paradise Island, here we come.

Welcome to the Sunshine State

We left New Orleans about a week ago and headed our way to the Sunshine State. Within a few hours we passed through legs of Louisiana, Mississippi and Alabama. Jarvis and I have been taking a picture of each “state” sign as we pass the boundary from one into another, and we laugh hysterically as we note a man taking a piss under the “Welcome to Alabama” sign. Perfect. We exit off the interstate and make our way down through an all American town called Niceville. The blue waters of the Florida Gulf reveal themselves, and as the sweet salty breeze kissed my face, I am eternally thankful to be back on the coast.


We make our way to Panama City Beach, Florida – aka The Emerald Coast. The turquoise-aqua colored water and beautiful white beaches call my name and I can’t wait to sink my toes into both. We stayed in PCB for two nights with some family friends who took it upon themselves to spoil us rotten. We arrive at their house to ice cold beers, golf cart tours of the neighborhood beaches, battered and fried shrimp bites the size of little baby arms (not that I would eat a baby), and this cheesy seafood spread/dip that I haven’t been able to get out of my mind since we left. I honestly desire it daily and have been on the hunt for more at every store since we left. D&K take us for dinner the second night at a place right on the beach called Schooners. I have a jumbo strawberry daiquiri, which I have been yearning for since Vegas, and we share these sautéed, melt in your mouth, crab claw bites that Jarvis and I can’t quit talking about. We could eat like five pounds of those bad boys on a daily basis. Delicious city. Our hosts might not realize what they got themselves into – I heart Panama City Beach, and we will enthusiastically be making a revisit in the future.

Back in the car Wednesday morning, and after a few errands, back on the road. Next stop is Gainesville, Florida to party down with my uncle for his twenty-fifth birthday. For those who are unfamiliar, Gainesville is a big ass college town and home to the Florida Gators. We visit the college campus, and strangely it causes me to miss school; but, then I remember the stresses that surrounded that period of my life and I shake the thought like a bad habit. Back to reality. We visit The Swamp, and I get itchy inside for football Sundays back home with the boys. The place is amazing, and Jarvis was stoked to visit the stadium. That night we tied one on at the bars in Midtown. We both felt a bit old as we made our way through college kids that barely look old enough to floss fake IDs. I can’t remember the last time that I attended a “ladies night” and got to knock back free well drinks. Maybe never. We have a blast shooting some billiards, and celebrate the birthday in face-smashing obliteration. The next day is dominated by a hangover, but it feels good to be lazy and watch funny movies. Besides, the heat outside will intensify any mild headache to a gut wrenching migraine, and I’m perfectly cool with soaking up the cold air conditioning inside. I made grandma’s secret recipe meatballs for dinner and proceed to pass the fuck out for a good ten hours.

Friday we arrive in Spring Hill, Florida to visit my Dad’s sister and her super awesomely cute family. We drive to the coast and I’m surprised in the differences between this coastline, and the typical Florida seashore that I have been exposed to my entire life. Grasses grow thick and tall, and brackish marshes link flowing canals to mucky swamps. Jarvis is on a quest to see a Gator, but to no avail. We eat dinner at this dive of a place right on the marsh, and the food is scrumptious. I have a great time with the kids and laugh my ass off at the way my lil’ cousin inhales fried calamari. It feels outstanding to be in the presence of family once more.


We go down to the pier for the sunset. Boats come in and out of the channel and enormous matinees cuddle puddle beneath the dock. There is a dolphin peaking up through the ebbing tide in the distance. The oranges melt into pinks as purples and blues descend into the sea for a sweet dreamy slumber. The twilight is perfect. We will be spending the next two weeks frolicking around beaches, and I’ve got to say – It genuinely feels like summer here.

New Oooooh Leeeeeens

We just spent three nights down by the Bayou in the wonderfully characteristic French Quarter of New Oooooh Leeeeeens. This is one sticky city that knows how to party, and if the heat don’t kill you, the drinking might. I always thought that San Francisco was a party metropolis, with its day drinking in Dolores Park and its all night dance parties, but New Orleans defiantly takes the cake. The bars never close, the drinks run large and in charge, and you can get a to-go cup for your beverage at any pub. Drunken frat boys stubble into the hotel lobby at seven in the morning shouting obscenities, and as vacationers from around the world come to life they look drained, hung over and hot as hell. I saw a college boy passed out on a park bench with a bottle of whisky in his hand, his head buried into his knees, and a box on the ground beneath him to catch his vomit. Good times. Winning the prize for biggest party ever also comes with its downsides – the streets reek like piss, booze, and rotting fruit (from all the lime wedges dropped from drinks) …but this is actually one reason that I feel at home here, it reminds me more of San Francisco than any place we have visited thus far. Actually, many other facets of this city remind me of home as well.

The architecture is absolutely stunning, and I love the old sensation of the city. Aged brick, rusted fire escapes, iron enclosed verandas, and cracked and crippled streets and alleys give the place a deep-rooted vibe that is quite irresistible. Much like back home, neighborhoods are stacked with houses, one on top of the other, leaving limited space for yards, walkways and parking. If anybody thought parking in San Francisco was a bitch, come to the French Quarters – it’s like North Beach times ten. The reality is, spending time here really causes me to miss the shit out of San Francisco.

So we got to town on Friday afternoon, and after the six hour drive from Memphis we were both ready for a cocktail. I made a sweet tea vodka and lemonade (my new favorite) and Jarvis cracked a Coors Light from the cooler. Its drop dead hot outside so we head to the pool for a chill out before our night on the town. Funny story – we actually meet a guy from Oakland and a very nice couple from Palo Alto within our first ten minutes of being in the wetlands, and it’s actually very refreshing to talk to some people from home. We have a few by the pool and then I go to the room to primp up for our evening.

We have to check out Bourbon Street, since it’s a notable destination in the French Quarters, but we are there for no more than twenty minutes when we decide that bar lined Disneyland for alcoholics isn’t our cup of tea. The street is packed with tourists from around the world drinking three foot tall daiquiris, chain smoking, booty bumping, and meandering the streets dodging mysterious stench puddles. Jarvis and I want a dive bar with some local music, so we go on a mission to find what we really came to this city to see. We end up on Frenchman Street which serves up a healthy dose of local artists, young street performers, cheep(er) eats, and dive bars full of all night dancing and cold PBRs. Now we’re in business. We see a guy perform who plays the shit out of some slide guitar, and his raspy deep voice reminds me a bit of a drunken Jim Morrison. The music here is off the chain – hits your soul hard, deep pounding rhythms, harmonica blues.

The rest of the weekend basically consists of this = drinking, music, sightseeing, and pool time. Yesterday we had some crab stuffed catfish with a Cajun stuffed potato and remoulade dipping sauce that was to die for. I officially love hush puppies. I’m in my happy place here in New Orleans, and I could actually see spending time here. Jarvis and I discuss the possibility of moving down to Louisiana for a period of time, but as Journey comes on the juke box I’m reminded that deep in my heart I truly can’t wait to get home to “My City by The Bay”. So, until next time New Orleans XoXo.