Yosemite National Park

The four hour drive from San Francisco to get to the park was well worth the visit. It's just an incredibly beautiful and breathtaking part of the world. The vegetation and rock formations are of the grandest scale and the huge granite cliffs rise epically before you. It makes a visitor feel very small and insignificant.

Wandering through the park conjured up thoughts of Yogi Bear and Milo and Otis. It's just what you'd imagine typical North American scenery to be like.

It's fortunate for us that it was designated an area of national significance in the late 1800s, because tourism was just taking off in the area and rampant construction was threatening to spoil the wilderness. It was a landmark decision, because at that time, the idea of preserving land purely because of its natural and picturesque qualities was unheard of.

In parts, it would seem as though a giant has just smashed his fist into the side of the cliff face and sent boulders as large as houses tumbling down the mountain. To imagine the geological force behind the formation of the Yosemite Valley is incredible.

I bet you didn't know Nashville is home to the only complete and full-scale replica of the Parthenon in the world !!

That's right. I couldn't believe it when someone told me. It was built for the Tennessee Centenial Exhibition in 1897 and is now an art museum.

It's impressive from the outside, but more so inside. As you enter, there's a full-scale, gold-plated replica of Athena looming before awe-struck visitors. It's massive and shimmering, transporting you immediately to serious, stately cities of Europe and certainly seems a world apart from the banjo-pluckin', fried chicken-munchin', Whiskey-swillin' culture of Tennessee...

I think Nashville is pretty proud to have one-upped the Greeks by actually building a complete Parthenon, and not left it as a few crumbling pillars on a hill. The way they talk about it, you'd think Aristotle was a cotton-picker.

music and frostbite in the Nash'

The temperatures in Nashville have been freezing, and as I'm sitting here in the airport, it's looking like snow outside. Fortunately on the day I arrived, a man on the street lent me his winter coat ... he asked if he could borrow $12, and I gave him the money. In the end, he never came back for his jacket, and that $12 disappeared into the Nashville ether. Needless to say, I think I got the better deal because I would have froze without that jacket.

And on the second day as I was sitting eating my lunch in the park, a local charity worker offered me a hamburger thinking I was a homeless person. No idea about that one ??


THE STATION INN : The music city has the best nightlife. I found this tiny, dingy out-of-the-way venue where Bluegrass was born. If it means anything to you, I saw performances on the same stage where Bill Monroe, Ralph Stanley, Don Reno and others all played. It was wonderfully exhilirating ... I could hardly believe the history of the place !

RYMAN AUDITORIUM : Me being a tourist on the Ryman Auditorium Stage (original home of the Grand Ole Opry, and where I saw the live radio show on Saturday night) ... It's where Johnny Cash, Hank Williams, Patsy Cline, Elvis, Mae West, Katherine Hepburn etc all appeared. It's a very old building which has recently been restored.

Elvis' vehicle of choice at the Country Music Museum.

Visions of Louisiana

The Big Easy : where jazz was born

The mighty Mississippi, complete with paddle steamer.

the aftermath 2 years on

In some parts of the city, especially the poorer, low-socio economic districts, the effects of the hurricane can still be seen. The clean up process is ongoing, but with the local population not expected to regain its pre-Katrina numbers for another 70 years, it seems people just aren't around to reinvest in the area.

Only the wealthier areas can afford to repair the houses, and almost every second home is for sale. For a city of the size and renound vibrance, it's eerily noticable how quiet the streets are. Hardly any traffic or pets or many people.

Homeless people are a very visible part of the community, and have congregated in make-shift quarters beneath the highways and delapidated, abandoned buildings.

These spray paint marks were written on all houses indicate what agency went into the house, how many bodies and animals were found, the date they entered the house, and level of toxicity.

I haven't ventured too far out of the city, and being alone, everyone recommends - even the locals - not to wander in the ghetto areas. But what's startling is that the horrific damage to the physical and social infrstructure is so evident even in the CBD, even now, two years on.

Worse conditions are in the outer suburbs, but unfortunately I don't think I'll make it there. Crime is at an all time high in New Orleans, and the city has the highest homicide rate per capita in the USA.

the 9 hour 'Houston to New Orleans' leg

It's a dark, lengthy journey from Houston to New Orleans. Along the way are rest stops at lonely bus depots lit by the neon of a fast-food outlet.

Some time during the journey I became aware of the factions forming among the travellers.

Up the front near the driver sat the man from Honduras who bought a Snickers bar at every pit stop and vigorously ate it as soon as the bus pulled out of the station. He and his friend spoke animatedly in Spanish, arms and chocolate bar wrappers flying.

Spread relaxedly through the back rows were those from Louisiana. All African-American and very happy to be heading home, they chatted away, bursting every now and then into a rant about discomfort or baggage issues.

It became apparent that I fit into neither group. I sat wedged somewhere in the middle, unable to manage more than a superficial conversation in Spanish, and not black or well-versed enough in southern street speak to slip unnoticed into the cool back-row social circle. Ipods come in handy during moments such as these.

Missing Mexico

Do I miss the country, I wonder, for its culture? personability... police corruption perhaps? Maybe it's the delightful unreliability and impreciseness of just about everything, or the chance to say "Hasta la vista!" without sounding trite?

¿or possibly the upside down question marks?

Or is it merely what the country represents to me - freedom, selfish student indulgences, spanish immersion, temporary suspension of adulthood and responsibilty - that I will miss.

I suppose it's a combination of it all. It was a country I chose to visit on little more than a whim, about which I had only the haziest of knowledge (mostly garnered inaccurately from movies, fatalistic opinion and media stereotypes). Hokey as it sounds, ignorance breeds prejudice and I feel pretty satisfied having done my bit to bridge the divide and all that. Muy bien.

... notes from a bus station

I'm sitting waiting in the Houston, TX Greyhound bus station. It's noisy and grey, busy with apathetic emloyees and a sea of travellers laden with lethargy. Hispanic and african-american men comprise the majority of the travellers, and I'm hearing phrases like "dem bags", "wot you doin' dog?" "Lordy, I is tired, girl!" and other such stereotypical soundbites. (I'll demonstrate when I get home.)

I've never seen so many big people. Obese, some, but a lot are just really tall. Maybe I've been living like an amazonian in short-statured Mexico for too long, but you know the saying, everything's bigger in Texas. (I just saw an amiable african-american man wander past in a Malcolm X t-shirt.)

No one is taking much notice of me.

Don't they realise it's my first time in Texas? Acting out the ultimate scenario of American folklore? Waiting among strangers all pooling tense anticipation, the kind borne from the promise of lengthy hours ulfolding across an unforgiving landscape, all collectively suspended from work, duty, family, life.

We each travel alone, evaluating our journey alone, reaching the destination together but alone, linked momentarily in a Greyhound Bus. Emblazened on its side an unignorable advertisement for the hopes and dreams of a transient generation.

"Go West, young man!" is the cry of the roaming vagabonds that breathe life into bus stations such as these ...

I get wistful in a room with only a laptop and a wireless internet connection to entertain me.

The Great Border Crossing

I've really developed a liking for bus travel lately. Inter-city buses in Mexico are so excellent and comfortable, I'd liken it to flying business class. The only gripe is the irritatingly regular drug raids along the highway where stern looking guards leer at the passengers looking for signs of pupil dilation.

I boarded a bus in Monterrey (MEXICO) headed for Houston (TEXAS) in the crisp morning of Tuesday. It was uneventful enough until we stopped rather abrupty roadside and an announcement was made over the speaker system. (I didn't understand it much ... think Queensland Rail announcements, but in Spanish).

A guy had a video camera and proceeded to walk up the aisle poking the lens between every seat. Initially, I thought he was just a really eager, particularily thorough tourist. As he got nearer however, I realised he was documenting the passengers and items on the bus to ensure there were no drugs.

It's strange, this whole border-crossing notion. Having experienced a little of both Mexico and the US, it's clear that these vast tracts of land where the two countries meet is pretty much the same either side. The bleeding of cultures, cuisine, industry and people occurs in both directions. And one is struck with the thought of why exactly the separation exists, because it seems the only distinction is on paper. At least the only distinction that matters.


I can't help but feel a little angry and sorry for Mexico.

Having for many years practiced a pretty transparent policy of expansionism and divine sanction, acting as self-appointed regional sheriff - especially in the affairs of Latin America - the USA wants to build a concrete wall to stop illegal immigrants. It's unfair to use Mexico as a political playground, keeping the country in a needy, dependant, puppy-like state where when the US says jump, Mexico says how high. (For instance, ex-President Vincente Fox and parliment had agreed to legalise drugs in small quantities, but a phone call from Prez Bush resulted in immediate veto. Do some googling if you interested, in the US-led interventions in Latin America over the past 100 years ...)

So while the US wants to wield so much power in the region, and have a hand in the affairs of every other country, it feels the need to physically isolate itself.

What sort of sad, depressing world are we living in when a 10m high concrete barrier is segmenting and tainting some of the most beautiful landscape in the world to keep out a few desperados ... desperados it helped create thanks to the exploitation of Mexico's natural resources only to sell it back @ 500% markup.