Atlanta - not that peachy

As a son of Kansas, I have endured many a jibe about that cursed brat Dorothy and her little dog too.

Kansans will forever be linked in the public imagination with a medicated Judy Garland, her pigtails and a picnic basket in The Wizard of Oz. In the film, Kansas is presented as an unhappy, dusty place plagued by tornadoes. After years of repeats on television, this notion that Kansas is brown and boring has become entrenched in the world’s collective psyche.

It's a bit like thinking that Atlanta is still smouldering after being razed to the ground in Gone With the Wind. It turned out Atlanta was indeed suffering damage during our visit in March 2008 - from a twister, of all things!

The night before, while we were tucked up in an Interstate motel a few miles down the road, an F2 tornado tore right through Atlanta's downtown. Driving into the city the next afternoon we noticed several skyscrapers had windows blown out and entire streets were roped off. Yes, it had been the night the lights went out in Georgia.

Only in Atlanta would a tornado cause $100 million of civic improvements. I've rarely seen a city so devoid of character. It's a new city built entirely for driving on a vast scale (the average resident drives 35 miles a day, the longest distance of any American). Four million people live in largely segregated enclaves, linked only by a dense network of roads invariably with the word 'Peachtree' in their name.

Its best-known sites are the headquarters of Coca-Cola and CNN, which gives you an idea of the entrenched commercialism and blandness you can expect on a vist. Just today, The Independent remarked that one reason Chicago may have been unsuccessful in its 2016 Olympics bid is because of the 'catastrophic' choice of picking Atlanta as the 1996 host. In the centenary year of the modern Olympics, Atlanta hosted 'a garish commercial bazaar'.

Unsurprisingly we left Atlanta for the tail end of our Dixie roadtrip, giving it only one full day before flying back home. Luckily, we found a quirky hotel in a unique neighbourhood, The Highland Inn in 'the Poncey Highlands' (Ponce de Leon and Highland being the intersecting streets).

After staying in so many soulless motels near Interstate exits, it was quite a change to find this old stone building in a funky neighbourhood. For the first time in a long while we left the car behind in order walk to the shops and nightlife spots. Around us was a fun neighbourhood with a mix of independent shops, interesting eateries, great taverns and even an all night 1920s diner.

A word of warning: the hotel's own description as 'the only European-style boutique hotel in Atlanta' is off the mark. Boutique in Europe means opulent style and trendy design. The Highland is more like an old-fashioned European guesthouse: a bit tired, but in a wonderful location and terrific value.

After getting a coffee and browsing a huge used bookstore we headed back to the hotel as it began spitting rain. A police car drove past, its siren screeching. The rain started to come down in buckets and when I turned on the TV the local stations were abuzz with storm warnings.

The radar indicated rotation and baseball-sized hail inside the storm clouds. Outside the hotel the rain was coming down in sheets. The TV cameras showed a fierce black cloud scraping the ground, bearing on downtown again...and us. Now, one tornado is bad luck, but to have two in a row sounds like Kansas!

Right as we were ready to drag the mattress into the bathroom to make ourselves a bunker, the rain stopped as if a switch had been thrown. Was this the calm before the storm? No, because according to an eyewitness on the TV the cloud had lifted up and dissipated.

Anyone else hungry after all this drama? Literally next door to the hotel was a great restaurant, Cafe di Sol. The food was Mediterranean style - to start we shared hummus which came strips of toasted pita bread and a small salad of cold green beans, peeled cucumber and olives in a chili dressing. Next, Christian had crab cakes on linguine with green beans which he struggled to finish, while I had mushroom ravioli with grilled asparagus. This wasn't quite as filling as Christian's main, so I followed up with vanilla pannacotta topped with fruit. With another beer and some water it came to $70 including the tip. One of the best meals of the trip!

The other highlight of our visit was the High Museum of Art (named after the High family, who had nothing to do with drugs as far as I know). A huge complex with new extensions built by Renzo Piano, I'd to ask Mr Piano why he thought all-white buildings surrounded by white pavements would be a good idea in the American South. I felt snowblind by the time we walked in.

At $18 a pop, the museum is expensive (practically all of Britain's museums are free) and as the admission granted us access to everything, so we saw everything. Thanks to its links with the Louvre, this included some of Empress Josephine's personal art collection plus some of the oldest pottery and tablets I have ever seen (we're talking Sumerian writing around 7000 years old). They also had a nice line going in Egyptian jewellery, Greek pots, Roman statues and ancient bronze figurines. A small but potent assortment.

The painting collection wasn't as impressive: a few Italian nativities (fat babies and serene Mother Marys), one English portrait by Lely and lots of French rubbish. The Renoirs were poor, the Monets only OK and the rest of their countrymen couldn't paint for toffees. There were hardly any German or Dutch paintings, aside from a low-rent Cranach, and we were disappointed there seemed to be no Spanish artists on view.

Moving on to the American art of the 1700s and 1800s, everything was either a dull potrait, a sentimental landscape or a sickly genre scene. Furniture of the period bulked out the galleries, trying to hide how few paintings they had.

I enjoyed the Art Deco design section with clocks, radios, chairs and even an clothes iron that gleamed with sophistication.

The 'outsider' folk art by contrast was colourful, eccentric, even a bit rude. Similar to what the big city art dealer was looking for in Junebug (great film).

Next, the contemporary crap. This amounted to huge rooms filled with wooden blocks and rubbish photos on a giant scale (apparently a snapshot of your child's bedroom becomes art when the print is 8-feet tall).

Far more interesting were the 'street' photos from the 1960s and 1970s - tattooed bikers, 'womens lib' equal rights marchers and carnival midway strippers. I was reminded of Weegee and his candid shots of sordid city life.

It seems a seedy note to end the holiday on, but it was time to fly back home. After all the miles we had put on the car, our abiding memories were of beautiful places, lovely towns, gorgeous beaches, historic landmarks and green scenery dappled in spring sunshine. And barbecue!

Stay tuned for some photos from our long layover in Philadelpia, though I may not have time before we jet off to Greece tomorrow!

Backwoods Alabama & Georgia

The first thing that struck me about the country roads of Alabama and Georgia is that there are very few straight lines or direct routes. It's not as though the terrain is difficult, so perhaps the highways are following old trading routes. Whatever the reason, it means a slower pace and a better chance to appreciate the countryside.

Pulling off Interstate 10 just after crossing the river delta, we headed north on one of these meandering country roads. Near the shores of the Alabama River we found the reconstruction of old Fort Mims, site of an infamous massacre.

With the US invaded by British troops during the War of 1812 and Native Americans being armed by the Spaniards based in Pensacola, settlers in what was then called the Mississippi Territory were nervous. A plantation owner named Samuel Mims built a stockade on his property here, the walls of which have been rebuilt to enclose the 1-acre site.

At least 550 white settlers, territorial army volunteers, slaves and friendly Native Americans (many of them mixed race) were camped here when 700 Red Stick Creeks attacked on 30 August 1813. Nearly everyone sheltering inside was slaughtered. The Americans responded ruthlessly and the ensuing Creek War saw most of the local tribes subjugated; within a generation they were deported to the Indian Territory of Oklahoma.

Leaving behind Fort Mims, we drove through tiny villages with names like Chrysler, Uriah and Mergargel before reaching the courthouse square of Monroeville. A prosperous town and the county seat, Monroeville was the childhood home of Truman Capote and Harper Lee. Monroeville is the 'Maycomb' of To Kill A Mockingbird and its courthouse served as the setting for Tom Robinson's trial.

The courthouse has a small museum for visitors, but it was closed for the day by the time we arrived. Apparently many of the houses where Harper Lee based the book are long gone and there didn't seem to be the opportunity to stroll the streets as Scout and Dill would have done.

Still, it's a beautiful small town and also has the distinction of being the birthplace of the Fruitcake Lady! The rest of the afternoon was spent wandering down more back roads, taking junctions almost at random, which took us through pine forests and past numerous shacks and countryside churches.

At last we pitched up at our motel for the night on Interstate 65 just south of the Alabama state capital, Montgomery, and made the mistake of attempting a night out there.

First, we had to endure several miles of horrific construction along the Interstate highway (narrow lanes, rough roads, thousands of traffic cones, etc). After pulling off into downtown Montgomery, we were aghast. The entire heart of the city was lifeless. Although the roads were ablaze with streetlamps, the tower blocks were dark and silent. The streets were empty of traffic and there wasn't a single eatery, tavern or even a convenience store. We drove blocks and blocks down what is probably a busy commuter route by day, but at night the streetlamps were wasting their electricity.

It was miles before we found somewhere open to eat, a placed literally called Country Bumpkin BBQ or something similar. We got a slightly funny look from the hostess, who perhaps wasn't used to people who could look down and see their own shoes. The meal was not something we'd want to repeat anytime soon. The sauces on offer were watery and tangy, the potatoes tasted like they came out of a tin and the pork was tough, like Class D circus meat.

The next morning we vowed to give Montgomery a wide berth and in circling the city passed through an interesting town called Wetumpka. Sitting in a scooped-out bowl on a hillside above the Coosa River, the town is inside an 80-milion-year-old meteor crater. It is so eroded though it would take a geologist to detect this, which didn't happen until 2002. All the same, it's a lovely town with a quirky street pattern and many old buildings, although little of it can be appreciated in the movie Big Fish which was filmed here.

By now it was raining, so no photos unfortunately of either Wetumpka or our next stop, Auburn. Famous for its university, we circled the campus a couple of times looking in vain for its art gallery. Unlike my alma mater, the University of Kansas, there was no sign of a visitors centre, gateway or campus map. After checking the address in the phone book, it turns out the university gallery was miles away on the main highway.

During our visit they had on display many sumptuous Audubon prints, books and original etched tin plates from his Birds of America, samples of Alabama pottery, a number of African masks and photos taken of iron grillwork in Mobile cemeteries.

The core of the collection is an assortment of American paintings sponsored by public tax dollars just after World War II. Nicknamed 'the cultural Marshall Plan' the State Department's idea was to champion contemporary American artists and for the collection to tour the world, promoting the country's cultural achievements.

But when certain politicians complained that some of the work was 'un-American' for being too abstract and that some of the artists were 'left-wing', the public outcry saw the art collection condemned and put up for sale. The arts faculty at Auburn University dug into their own pockets and bought three dozen of the canvasses for just over $1000. Today it must be worth millions, with Georgia O'Keefe being one of the most famous names. Unfortunately, the gallery does not seem to have the space or inclination to display the entire collection at once, but the museum was worth seeking out and admission was free.

Time now to cross over into Georgia. It was getting near the time to head back to Atlanta, but first we wanted to see Macon which is why we were going to stay the night in the middle, in a podunk town called Forsyth.

The sun was back out and it was a pleasant drive through more pine forests, past even more shacks...

...and churches...

...through county seats with their courthouses...

...and along more red dirt roads. Check in again soon for the cherry blossom capital of the world, some fried green tomatoes and the most boring big city in America (I know that doesn't sound too exciting, but I'm sure you're at least curious to know).

Mobile, Alabama

Older than New Orleans, the original capital of French Louisiana and the home of America's oldest Mardi Gras celebrations: Mobile has a long history, but unfortunately little of it is on show.

Not counting Atlanta, Mobile was the biggest city we'd seen on the trip so far and the skyline was an impressive sight when approaching along the Mobile Bay causeway. We arrived soon after sunset, because we'd made a quick detour to see this Greek Orthodox cathedral which is just off Interstate 10, near the town of Malbis.

Once in Mobile, it took an age to find the hotel and we were in no mood to explore, so we drove down the strip mall aways for some homemade Mexican food before turning in.

First stop the next morning was the visitors centre in downtown Mobile, which can be found inside a reconstruction of Fort Conde, first built by the French in 1724. It was the friendliest visitors centre of the trip and the staff went out of their way to load us down with maps, give us ideas and answer our questions.

The original fort is long gone and the current building is only a quarter of the size, dating from 1976. Here's a gaslamp at the fort with Mobile's Manhattan-style skyline in the background.

Out front of the visitors centre we caught the free shuttle bus into downtown. I don't know, maybe visitors to Mobile are especially lazy, but it was the shortest bus ride we'd ever been on. Two minutes later we reached the cathedral square and asked ourselves what was the point of the shuttle service?

The cathedral on the square is Roman Catholic and had some lovely feaures inside and out...

...including this lamp on the wall which caught my eye.

From here strolled into the business district, which felt like it was on the rebound, although still a bit quiet with several empty lots and closed shops.

The wrought iron balconies gave it an Olde Worlde feel though and we tracked down a good independent bookshop...

...and had the best coffee of the trip at this cafe.

A short walk from here brought us to one of the several historic residential districts you can find in the city. All the wrought iron grills, shady verandahs and palm trees made it feel like a Caribbean port.
Though not as extensive as Savannah or as stunning as Charleston, we really warmed to the place.
And while the local convention and visitors bureau won't be buying any of these photos soon, you can tell the place is full of character with lots to catch the eye.

Anyone else hungry? Our last stop in town was an old diner on the outskirts of town called the Dew Drop Inn which came with lots of word-of-mouth recommendations. Christian complained his gumbo was too salty and I added corndogs to the list of the things that taste the same everywhere in the USA (along with sausage and pancakes). At least the onion rings were homemade and there wasn't a golden arch in sight.

Time to hit those country roads and explore the backwoods of Alabama and Georgia! Check back soon to visit the courthouse from To Kill a Mockingbird, the town built inside a meteor crater and a 'left-wing' art collection which caused a national scandal.

Backwoods Florida

Jumping ahead now, because I've already typed up northeast Florida. St Augustine was perfection, but the rest of the day didn't pan out as well. A recommended local restaurant (Salt Water Cowboys) wasn't open for lunch so we went to a Chilis instead. We've been many times and it's usually a treat but on this particular occasion the service was slow, we could hardly find the food for all the cheese melted on top of it and the sports broadcasts were too overbearing.

We were behind schedule leaving St Augustine so had no time for the Palatka Ravine. Then, we arrived at Paynes Prairie right as the trailhead car parks were being shut for the evening, which meant we could only see the basin from the roadside boardwalk. So no chance of spotting any buffalo, wild horses or sandhill cranes that make this one of Florida's richest wildlife preserves.

To make up time we hopped on Interstate 75 and made tracks for Lake City. As you may have gathered by now, a lot of our itinerary revolves around food and chosing Lake City for an overnight stay was no accident. The town is home to a Texas Roadhouse and despite the restaurant being a national chain, we made a point of tracking one down because of their Unique Selling Points we had heard so much about.

First off, there are buckets of peanuts at every table, with mounds of shells scattered on the floor. You instantly think - Wild West saloon. Kick back and take it easy, y'all. It took us a few minutes to break the habit of thousands of years of civilisation before letting a shell fall to the floor though.

Next, they don't do lunch because they spend all morning baking bread, marinating meat and sweeping up peanut shells.

Finally, it's all about having the meal the way you like it, with a staggering array of sides. I ordered sweet potato with my steak, expecting a small mound of mash, but ended up with a whole enormous baked sweet potato. With three choices of topping. They even do different whipped butters, including the cinnamon option which comes with hot rolls which was... novel.

They serve plenty of tasteless American lagers by the score, but the waiter was able to recommend a Blue Moon ale when we asked for something different.

I was disappointed though with my filet medallions. The meat was gristly and the mushroom sauce far too salty, so much so I couldn't finish it. Christian had yet another chicken meal, but said he enjoyed his chicken breast, mashed potato and mixed veg with a gravy. It was all fairly cheap, the atmosphere was fun, the staff were delightful and we would go again to try something different.

The next morning we had breakfast at Lake City's downtown old-fashioned drugstore diner complete with bar stools occupied by the local old folks downing bottomless cups of coffee. We had scrambled eggs, toast and pancakes that tasted suspiciously of Bisquick.

The next state park on the map was the Suwannee River, an iconic name of the American South if there ever was. Unfortunately there had been a recent flood which rendered most of the trails impassable, plus it was an overcast day so I wasn't able to take any interesting photos. We had a look at 'that Suwannee shore' and strained our ears for the sound of banjos before hitting the road again.

Luckily things went far more swimmingly at our next stop of the day, where we boarded a boat for a wildlife safari. Stay tuned for photos of yet more alligators, plus a family of manatees!

The Georgia coastline

Leaving Savannah at last, we headed south for Florida along the scenic route (US Highway 17). This took us through quiet countryside past a couple of historic churches, an exclusive island retreat and a backwoods barbecue shack.

Not far outside Savannah is the small town of Midway, home to a Congregational Church built in 1792. Two generals who led American troops during the Revolutionary War are buried in the nearby cemetery and although the church was shut it was a pleasant spot to stretch our legs.

Further down the road was another roadside church, far more modest but just as attractive in the raking late afternoon light. I can't recall the name of the nearest town, but it was somewhere further down the coast, near Darien.

Once past Brunswick we made a quick detour to see Jekyll Island, a remote retreat that charges a $3 toll for access. In 1887 the entire island was bought for the exclusive use of America's wealthiest aristocrats where the likes of the Pulitzers, Macys, Vanderbilts and Rockefellers would spend their winters.

Their palatial 'cottages' in the designated historic district can be toured by horse-drawn carriage.

At this time of day though we only had time to enjoy the sunset.

Did someone say it was time to eat?? Luckily we were only a few miles from a barbecue shack, the famous GA Pig. The luxuries of Jekyll Island felt a million miles away as soon as we entered the dark woods and followed Highway 17 inland. A couple miles after passing a hitchhiking banjo player (kidding), a fiddling pig beckoned us into a muddy car lot.

What was this, the wood shed for the Bates Motel? Stepping up to the shack, we half-expected someone in a pigskin mask to rip the door open and come after us with a chainsaw. Maybe the hand-scrawled sign NO Camera's Inside meant there'd be no evidence of our disappearance?

Inside were a few wobbly tables lined with wooden benches. No chainsaws, but there was only one other diner at this time of night. He said he was on his way to see his father in Florida on a 20-hour drive from the Great Lakes. He'd been driving back and forth for 10 years and always stopped at the GA Pig for what he said was the best food the entire way.

We had to agree once our open pork sandwiches came out on toasted buns with baked beans, coleslaw and potato salad. I could enthuse about the subtleties of the smoked meat and the zest of the spices, but food this simple and delicious can't be put in words. Just make sure you pull off at the Highway 17 eastbound exit the next time you're driving down Interstate 95.

A couple of happy piggies!

The next stage of our trip was through northeast Florida and I wrote entries for Fernandina Beach and St Augustine awhile back. If you've not already read about our helicopter ride, the alligators, a plantation, the white sandy beaches, plus a terrific brewpub that we found in one of America's oldest towns, then click here.

Then join me back here for a trip through the Florida boonies to see the Suwannee River, some swamps and a family of manatees!

Midnight in the Garden... Savannah 3

Approaching Savannah from the north, it is necessary to cross the broad Savannah River and that means tackling this huge bridge...

...which felt like driving up a mountainside, it was that steep. It wasn't long before we were on Georgia soil, pulling off the main road and negotiating the tree-lined squares.

The squares means there are few direct routes through the historic core of the city, which keeps the traffic slow and the streets quiet. If you're interested, Forrest Gump told his life story while sat on a bench in Chippewa Square. But we were more interested in finding some places to eat and drink!

First stop was almost next door to our B&B, at the Crystal Beer Parlor. We perched at the bar for a couple pints of ice cold ale made by an Atlanta outfit called Sweetwater. It was a quiet night so the barman played chess at one end of the bar. Blues music was playing on the speakers and the lines had interesting old B&W photos of the city to admire. If we had eaten by then, we could have stayed all night! It sounds like the place has closed recently, but if you're in town have a look to see if new owners have snapped it up because the place has quite a history to it.

On to the Six Pence, a 'British pub' with royal memorabilia, Toby jugs, Welsh flags and all the other tat you never see in a real English pub. The place featured in the film Something to Talk About. Their 'British beer' amounted to Guinness (which is Irish), Old Speckled Hen (you wouldn't believe the number of chickens killed to make it) and something billed on the menu as 'New Castle' Brown Ale (it's Newcastle, folks). Instead of having a taste of home, we had a Sam Adams and some disgusting, flavourless muck called Killians Irish Red. Eavesdropping the other tourists was great fun though, like a chap who'd been to China and announced: 'Those Communists get things done.'

Finally on to the Moon River brewpub in Savnnah's lively riverfront district. Downtown was busy and the Moon River was packed to the rafters, but we were taken to a table immediately (most people were bellied up to the bar). We had the quarter-pint sampler tray of all six of their ales, wheat beer and cider. The food was simple but delicious (barbecue pork, chicken sandwich with Swiss chese, frie/chips and fresh onion rings). Throw in some live music and it was a grand night out.

And best of all we were able to walk home without tackling any sky-high bridges. Take the tip and go to Moon River for a sip!

Charleston: The Holy City?

Founded by cronies of Charles II over 400 years ago, 'Charles Town' became the largest colonial city south of Philadelphia. Once a rich port where cotton, rice and a third of America's slaves passed through, Charleston retains a pre-Civil War atmosphere with porticoed homes lining cobbled streets that look out towards Fort Sumter guarding the harbour entrance.

The tidbits you can glean from Wikipedia! It never occurred to me that one of Charleston's nicknames is 'the Holy City' thanks to its abundance of churches and its historic religious tolerance which extended to the French Huguenots and the Jews.

Steeples are still the first things you see punctuating the skyline when approaching the city.

This was all a bit difficult to appreciate on our first afternoon in the city, when the skies were leaden grey and a chill wind blew over the choppy water. We had a brief walk around the historic core of the city. Eventually the rain drove us into a Tex-Mex placed called Moes where we warmed up with fajitas, hot salsa, guacamole and rice & beans. Cheap and filling, if not that fresh or tasty.

Time to find our accommodation for the evening, the 'Not So' Hostel. If you are young or young at heart, then this place is funky and cool. If you've never stayed at a hostel before or didn't enjoy your college days in the dorms, then you're in a for an eye-opener!


Initially we were alarmed at the state of the streets nearby, which verged on being a shanty town on the fringe of the city, but the neighbourhood improved immensely once we found the place. Still, we did not want to venture out after dark and it was too far to walk into the city centre.

The hostel sprawls across three traditional buildings that date from the 1840s which feature open verandahs, complete with rocking chairs. Each of the two floors had its own kitchen and bathroom. Our room was tiny and aside from a closet, leather bench and lamp table had no furniture or storage. The beds were single mattresses, lovely and firm. Free continental breakfast was on offer but didn't start till 9, which was far too late for us early risers.

We were up and out the door before 7 under a cloudless sky, the air filled with the sound of birds greeting the early morning sunshine. After parking at the visitors centre, we followed King Street, which reminded me of my university days in downtown Lawrence, Kansas with its similar mix of eateries, boutiques, bars, galleries and bookstores.

King Street has an eclectic range of building styles, from Georgian to High Victorian...

...and Art Deco.

Occasionally an ivy-covered alley beckoned us to glimpse into gardens filled with azaleas or a cemetery where tombstones were draped by tree boughs laden down by Spanish moss.

Crossing Broad Street, we entered the residential district which proved even more gorgeous.

We happened upon Rainbow Row, America's oldest Georgian terraces, each uniquely painted and adorned with ornate lamps.

We reached the Battery, the sea wall that protects the largest houses, many with multi-tiered colonnades of south-facing porches to best catch the breeze.

Turning down streets at random, we found perfect Georgian streetscapes with wooden shutters, flickering gas lamps and cobbled lanes where we half-expected horsedrawn carts to come trotting.

Instead we spotted window cleaners, deliverymen, dog walkers and a mobile pet grooming van catering to the whims of the city's elite.

One thing this city lacks is friendliness, with only one passerby nodding at us and asking 'how ya'll durrin?'. After awhile the non-stop beauty of the place turned into pompous grandiosity and the exclusivity became almost repulsive. It's a town where you can spend $80 on a T-shirt, but can't walk around the corner for a pint of milk.

One antidote to the snobbish atmosphere is the city market, which boasts local beers, hot sauces, photographs as well as woven sweetgrass baskets - which fetch astronomical prices. Time to make tracks: it was becoming clear we'd never be able to fully appreciate Charleston as our budget couldn't take the strain!

Back in the car, our last stop on the way out of Charleston was at a bland strip mall which happens to boast one of the South's finest barbecue joints, the Hickory Hawg. The surroundings weren't particularly inspiring but the food was incredible with huge platters of smoked chicken, hush puppies, coleslaw, baked beans and our first encounter with those famous collard greens (a leaf like kale cooked with ham hocks). All for a bargain £5 a plate!

Take the tip and make time for the 'Hawg' on your trip!

Next stop...down the back roads past a mysterious abandoned church, through beautiful Beaufort and out to the stunning sea islands.