The sleep spot was nearly perfect. And, I slept quite nicely. I did notice though, that the tent was definitely becoming visible in the morning light. I rose quickly and disassembled it.
It was only a ten foot walk to the roadside. When I'd almost gotten to Route 90, I saw a Starbucks over to the left and veered toward it. It was only 6:30 am. The place was open though. Knowing I would be having a long day, I wanted coffee. But lately I'd been having a kind of heart flutter after regular coffee, and often felt irritable and shaky. For the last couple days I was doing half-caf cups. But I had still felt too wired after them. Instead, on this morning, I ordered a traditional hot chocolate - which, by the way, is really good at Starbucks - and it did have a little bit of caffeine--enough for me to feel the difference without being overwhelmed.
I was able to work long enough to get the post for that day out. At 10:45 am I left and walked to the same McDonald's I'd used the afternoon before. I actually ended up at the same table, beneath the Donald Trump parade of CNN. If anyone does the most for that man, it is the media constantly talking about him. The worse things they say, the higher his polling numbers go. If he ever is elected president, we will largely have the mass media to thank for it.
I studied more about New Orleans. The more I saw, the more dreaded going. The bus ticket from Mobile was cheap, only $16.50. If it had been more, I might have canned this last city. But, I was committed now, and there is no refund on the internet price. I wanted to be able to say that I hit all the cities I'd planned to, even with choosing Alabama to get down to Louisiana, instead of going through Mississippi. Florida, however, was becoming a big pain in the ass. I was on the verge of canceling it all together.
At about noon I left for the Greyhound station, which was essentially just a block down and across the street. It wasn't a bad place. The workers were as polite as some of the better stations I've been to. And the security folks were not intrusive at all. I'd only walked through it and out the door when first arriving in Mobile.
I grabbed a table and got online, searching for motels that would be in the bum-range. I really like Motel 6, because their rooms are always spotless, and their prices are very competitive; being only slightly more than shitholes like that Family Inns of America place. In a last ditch effort to avoid buying a room, I scoured the landscape using Google Earth for sleeping spots. They simply weren't around. It is the first city that I've found that to be the case. Yes, there was a possible place across the Mississippi River, but there was only one bridge in that area and it had no sidewalk, which would have meant figuring out the bus system in addition to all the other things I had to think about.
A friend offered to pay for one night in a nice hotel. I accepted the funds, but rather intended to split them into two nights at the Motel 6 or equivalent. Unfortunately, the cheaper motels were in the northeast of the city, far from the Greyhound station. But, I resolved to walk the distance as long as I could figure out the city's unusual layout, with street names beginning and ending mid way up and down the routes.
The time came to board and I did, onto another over-booked bus. Greyhound really stuffs the people in. It is very uncomfortable in that situation and causes a lot of people to have to sit with strangers they aren't very sure about. The touchy feely people of the world might think this would be a great opportunity to "get to know your neighbor" as it were, but it really is just an awkward and shitty experience most of the time. This isn't because of the other passengers--who are nearly always ready to show their good side in such situations, but because of the small seats, lack of legroom ("more legroom" is what Greyhound touts--but it's a lie), and the fact that carryon bags sizes have a pretty loose definition.
The bus was filled with every single seat being taken. One woman got out of sharing her seat by sneaking a checkable suitcase on and claiming that there wasn't room next to her because of the case. I sat with a strange and silent guy, who kept reaching down into his backpack and taking some kind of little pill, then munching salt and vinegar chips that smelled worse than my socks--which is really saying something.
I couldn't work on the bus and the other much promoted Wi-Fi kept dropping the signal. So, rather than pull my hair out, I decided to dive into a pdf book I'd been meaning to read for a long time, called, The Brotherhood of the Screaming Abyss, by Dennis McKenna, about life with his older brother, Terence McKenna--my all time favorite speaker and philosopher; of the top three communicators and minds of the 20th Century. In fact, I get my slogan "Wear your soul on the outside" directly from him, as well as most of my social and cultural philosophy. Terence's "Time Wave Zero" theory (or "Novelty Theory" - a mathematical system for time, based on the I-Ching, King Wen sequence, and later tied to the Mayan calendrical cycle) was the primary impetus behind the 2012 mania. That it was not borne out as he imagined (Terence died in 2000), does not in the least dampen my respect for the man. Dennis is also a great speaker, writer, professor and scientist--being highly progressive in his own right.
If you are interested in Terence, his impact on the 2012 phenomenon, and how even back in 1996 he was unsure if he was right, please take one and a half hours out of your busy schedule and listen to the following podcast at the Psychedelic Salon, hosted by Lorenzo Hagerty. Terence discusses the "Watkins Objection" (an objection to Novelty Theory by a brilliant and little known mathematician), and is asked many questions about it. In addition you will understand very well where I get most of my views of social theory, and thing-phobia from. I know most of you will not take the time to listen to this, but if you ever want to know some of the reason behind why I think what I do, you might want to bookmark it for your listening pleasure in the future. It is a fantastic talk; one of Terence's best. He is magnanimous, funny as hell, and beyond imaginative. You will be glad you listened...
I really got into Dennis's book and it certainly helped the over three hours of cramped quarters pass more quickly. Before I knew it, we were headed across Lake Ponchartrain...
It was right at sunset, and the sky was filled with an amazing spectrum of colors. Once over that very long bridge, the city of New Orleans came into view...
It took a long time with rush hour traffic along the many layered and distorted cloverleaf highway to get through the city. Once at the station, I couldn't believe that now I had to walk for hours through this crazy town to get to the Motel 6, I was already tired, fatigued, hungry, thirsty and my heel was hurting from the lack of cole left in my left shoe.
This pain had been worsening over the last week. But the choice was buy shoes and literally sleep on the STREETS of New Orleans or buy a room and walk there. Again, the metro bus would have been a good option, but I just didn't have the mental capacity to look up the system, make sure I had correct change, find the route, find the correct bus stop, etc. Sometimes people don't realize how complicated "simply taking the bus" can really be. Beside the pain in my heal (and soon, my hernia pain which would return), walking was preferable to bussing...
View north from the bus station.
Hotel with a giant clarinette painted down the outside of it, which I stupidly did not get a picture of.
By the time I was walking in earnest, I had a pretty good feel for the layout of the city, but street names kept eluding me, and I stopped no less than five times to check my many screenshots and change direction. New Orleans - from this street level trek was all that I'd imagined...and less. Also, my hernia pain really flared up. It was as if I was trying to digest glass.
The streets were dirty, filled with hookers and street people. But mixed in was some of the lovely architecture normally associated with the city. This was especially true along Claude, which I traveled for over an hour as it bent its way in an arc, following the Mississippi River to the canal that separates the downtown districts from the Lower Ninth Ward...
This would have been a great city to walk around and photograph.
But without a place to stay for the week? Impossible.
When I reached the canal, I was left with few options. I took out the compass, knowing for sure that the Motel 6 was due north and that if I could find a relatively straight road, I would run into the east-west streets that would hopefully be recognizable.
So I started up Poland Avenue, past a hundred tiny one story dwellings, some inhabited, some uninhabited, and some utterly destroyed by Hurricane Katrina. There were a few people on the streets; all black. I hadn't seen a white face since about halfway down Claude. But this didn't bother me.
Tricked out cars and SUV's with glowing rims and tinted windows drove past, sometimes slowing way down to check me out, and then pulling into dumpy little houses (thank god for car loans!). But I just kept walking. I debated taking off my bright blue button-down shirt. But canned the idea, because I surmised that I would be less likely to be suspected of ill intentions if I looked more like the stereotypical white guy. In this particular situation it was advantageous to look out of place. I'd noticed ever since Milwaukee, that black men wore very dark brown and black clothing practically all the time on the street--as did I, actually. But I still had the "respectable" shirt on. So, I really did stick out. But I walked confidently and as straight up as my fifty pound Saggy and aching hernia would allow.
I was really in some dark areas by the time I'd walked for about a half hour up Poland. There were often sidewalks (ZERO walk signs anyway in the city, including the well-developed downtown area), but every hundred feet, the overgrowth of plants had swamped them, and I'd have to cross the street. This criss-crossing became a bit of an art. I also crossed the street whenever I saw a group of guys hanging out. Nonchalantly, I would just mosey across as if I'd planned to visit a house on the other side--a ridiculous notion, if truly considered, but it worked.
I stumbled upon Galvez street, almost literally, as the grass gave way to rough rubble. And, since I recognized the name from the map, immediately took it, heading back west, hoping to come across Louisa, Franklin, or Almonaster; all of which would run directly into the highway (Interstate 10); though, each being further from my destination. However, any of their routes getting me to 10 would allow me to find the Motel 6, since it was right next to the Interstate.
I just went on and on using the same techniques to walk on the sidewalks, avoid the dudes hanging out, keeping a relatively brisk pace of just under three miles per hour. I was dumbfounded by the number of small churches. I remember passing the "Revelation Church" and seeing the older ladies inside, listening intensely to their preacher, nodding and praising Jesus after each sentence. I was also quite impressed with the fact that, though the area was as poverty-ridden and run down as any of the worst places I've been to, there was virtually no trash. The South, like the West, was a far cleaner place than the North, and especially eastern New England.
Finally, with my glasses partially fogged over and feeling like a combination of being punched in the stomach and having a hedgehog trying to pass through my naval, I tipped my head up at an intersection and saw the sign for Louisa! This was a GOOD thing.
Louisa, though longer than any of the other roads, was the most direct route to the motel. I simply turned right and kept walking. Still, hundreds of houses, in tightly spaced neighborhoods gridlocked ever direction in which I gazed. Louisa was long, at about two miles. At one point, I saw a tiny little black cat, still a kitten, run out halfway into the street, then stop, unsure if it was ready to make the commitment of fully crossing. It saw me, and hustled back to the safety of the abandoned car under which it - and I noticed a tabby striped sibling - seemed to be living. Normally, I would stop and visit a bit with cats, since they are so very rare to see on the street. I hadn't seen a cat at all since leaving Allyson's house way back in Minnesota. But, I was just too tired, to the point of being delusionally so, that I simply said hello, and kept trekking.
When I came around a slight bend, a glorious sight awaited me: it was Interstate 10! Over a half mile away, it seemed closer to me than my own shirt. When I walked under the highway, a guy about my age asked if I had twenty cents. This is the con now with begging, ask for a really small amount, that isn't equal to even-silver change. The unsuspecting victim (I'm being dramatic, nobody is a"victim") reaches into his pocket and pulls out a quarter instead, or several, and since he can't make change to give the lesser amount, he gives the greater amount. I would have happily given this man a quarter, but I had been traveling without cash (using my card for nearly everything) and only had nickel and a penny. The guy was happy just to get something, and went along his way.
At the edge of the street just under the highway, I saw that blue Motel 6 sign and smiled. Now came the hardest part of all, convincing the front desk (in this case a bulletproof window with a clogged up talking screen for "Night Registration") to accept my expired Maine license.
He was East Indian, short and unsmiling, with a thick accent made all the more difficult to understand by speaking through a half inch of glass. When he saw me approach outside, he darted around the corner. I thought he was hiding, but he was actually just stuffing some rice and beans into his mouth, which he came back around the corner chewing. He stood five feet from the glass and said, "Yes?"
I told him I wanted to buy a room (duh!) and wondered how much it would be. He walked right up to the glass now, and just looked at me. "Sixy eight, no sixy seven dollar for a single." I told him that was fine and slipped my PayPal debit card and license through the slot under the glass. He looked intently at them, scrutinizing everything. I knew I was probably fucked. He asked, "Who is Alexander?" "Vie does your license say, 'A. Charles?'" I told him my full name. He squinted at me with a paranoid suspicious look. "Uuummm... o...kay..."
Then he went to the computer and began entering my info. This is when I knew I would have to start the explaining. He threw his hands up, and strutted back over. "Do you know dat dis license is expire, by two year?" I told him I was in fact aware of that, but I was a journalist and had been traveling around the country mostly walking for over a year, and hadn't been able to renew it. I also clarified, that it was only one and a half years expired. I said I had plenty of money and was thinking about buying two nights.
He half growled, "Beeble come here with four or five years expired and want a room. I'm sick of it!" I repeated that mine was only a year and a half, and gave him my business card. I sounded very calm and self-assured, but I didn't feel that way.
He paced, and talked to himself, went back and forth from me to the computer, then finally drew up close to the glass again. "Vun night! Dat's it!" I told him that was okay, but it was too bad I'd have to go down to the Super 8 the next night, when really liked Motel 6. "Do you vont up or down stair?" I told him down would be great, and that I'd still be interested in a second night. He sighed and agreed, "But dat's it!"
I knew at that point I was in like Flynn, and even getting a third night would be easy--he wouldn't be working during the day, except for the fact that now I was almost out of money.
I got my key card and went to Room 116. It was nice, very clean, new fake wood floor, king sized bed, nice bathroom, fridge and microwave, thirteen channels of shit on the TV to choose from... After this day and night, it was heaven.
I worked and talked to people online, until I just couldn't sit up any more, then went to bed.
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