Nick (who flew in to DC and will fly out of NYC) and I will be leaving DC on Friday night and hitting New York City at about 6:00am Saturday after a quick stay at a motel. Just one little problem...more like a fun new adventure (AD-VENTCHA for those who know me well). There is a new storm front in process that is slated to drop 12-15 inches on New Jersey and Eastern New York. So we'll be dodging flakes while you are all snug in your beds. Keep us both in your hearts and on Saturday we'll be eating some fine New York Pizza. All the hippie-references I have seen in here in DC made me think of this fun picture I took in Pensacola:
I was reading Don Miller's "A Million Miles in a Thousand Years", and he quoted Steve Pressfield who said that a writer must push through the resistance that he faces when trying to write. The bigger the resistance, the more important the story. Not to say that this blog post is world changing, but I really am not in the mood/state of mind to write. So here goes. More about Florida: I woke up at Flamingo Everglades at 7am and started south towards Key Largo the first of the hundreds of small dots that stretch 175 miles into the Atlantic and Gulf of Mexico. The drive was great and I was impressed with the sheer extent of all the causeways so much like a concrete belt keeping them from floating away. As soon as I hit Key West, I drove around getting feel for the place. When I hit the intersection of Elizabeth and Fleming, I saw and grabbed an open parking space in front of the public library. I walked without any direction, just people watching, until I wandered west to lands end and the entry of Fort Zachary Taylor Historic SP. I had no idea what the park was like, but lots of cars were going in, so I figured why not. So I paid $2.50 (as a pedestrian!) and walked the 1/3 of a mile to the park. This is what I found:
To get a map of where this is click HERE. I swam in the water that was 69 degrees. Apparently, that is cold for this area! The sun was out and it was 70 degrees (21C), so I guess my farewell to the sun in the Everglades was premature. I was right on the division between the Gulf's waters and the Atlantic. But at this beach I was technically in the Atlantic. This is my first time swimming in the Atlantic, I kinda guess that the rest of it isn't this warm. I spoke with Charlie from Ontario while riding the waves. He is one of the many snow birds who live the 6 winter months in Florida. He told me a little of the history of Key West. There was a mayor of the city named Charles "Sonny" McCoy who water skied all the way from Key West to Cuba on Sept. 10, 1978. He was a crazy man who was escorted into Havana Harbor by a pair of Soviet-made gun boats. That means he made 105 miles behind a speed boat. Today the town is the usual mix of tourist traps, bars, clubs, sand and mom-N'-pop restaurants. After enjoying 2.5 hours in the water and on the beach, I showered off, toweled down, and headed back to town. Once back into town, I saw this rare and sweet BMW X6 M: I walked to the southern end of Duval Street and recorded this:
The storm was building and you can see the waves are picking up. The only thing was, I didn't know there was going to be a storm, let alone a full blown mini-tropical storm. By this time, I was feeling hungry. Being so close to Cuba, I felt like I ought to try the local cuisine. As the first rain drops started to fall, I walked north on Duval until I saw a tiny sign pointing to El Meson de Pepe, a family owned restaurant that has been open for 20 years. I really enjoyed the feel of the place, and I asked to be seated near the open square in the back near the Mariachi band. Right after I ordered the heavy rain started and the band quit. The spray came in and hit me in the face as the wind roared and put out the candle on my table. People rushed in to seek shelter and a man at the adjacent table told me that the storm had been forecast for days, and the wind was supposed to gust to 80 miles per hour (129 kph)! This is what it was like:
I'm sitting half a mile pass an oil refinery on a two lane road frequented by hunters with shotguns and fishers with graphite rods. As the engine idles, powering this netbook, I look out at egrets, pelicans, and dozens of other unidentifiable birds. It's overcast and the trees sit out in the bayous looking like the masts of sunken galleons that have been locked in ice. I can smell my steak searing on the stove under cover of bacon, and "I think to myself what a wonderful world". Um actually...I just had that great song pop into my head. In truth, what I have been thinking about all day is a family's feeling of loss when they came back to see their house destroyed by the storm surge. The entrepreneur who put 30 years into his hardware store, building it piece by piece and defeating all opponents, only to have it scattered and laid waste by hundred-mile-an-hour winds. Even after 4 years the wounds in this community are blatantly evident. Whole neighborhood's with no one but rats for tenants. Wrecked shrimp boats dragged unceremoniously from highways and left to rot in the ditches. Behind each rotting house, car, business, and boat was a man's dream, a goal, possibly a life's pursuit. All gone, all "meaningless." This volunteer fire department still uses their old partially collapsed building. When I use the word "meaningless", I use it as Solomon used it. Meaningless is used over 30 times in his book Ecclesiastes and is selected to show how finite and how brief life, achievements, and pursuits really are. Perhaps "vapor" is a better term. The dude actually opens his book with: "Meaningless, meaningless all is meaningless." His publisher must have been an imbecile. You don't start like that! Who would want to read past that? Well...I guess I am rather undiscriminating. Anyway, he lived it up: master of wealth, master of sex, master of political power, master of a nation, and master of reputation. His freaking house was way bigger and more elaborate than the one they built to God. He had a posse and a harem. And then he has the gall to write this book at the end of his life and say, "Meaningless, meaningless, all is meaningless." (He does eventually close the book with an answer to life's meaninglessness, you can read it for yourself if you want.) I haven't lived very long; I haven't seen the deepest horrors of this world. Looking at the devastation here in the Ninth Ward and the Mississippi River delta, I think he's right. Life is a vapor, before I know it I'll be dead and all my achievements and pursuits (even my name and any memory that I even existed) will all be forgotten. So now that you are all sad and (now a quick quote from one of the funniest guys I have ever met) "have a bottle of Wild Turkey in one hand and a gun in the other, wondering if you should end it all right here", what do you do? Solomon answer: "nothing is better for you than to eat and drink and enjoy the good of your labor." So I come back to where I started. Steak! Wow I love steak. It's so tasty and good, the rare/medium rare tender goodness just calls out to me. I wish I weren't driving back to New Orleans after this otherwise, I would totally pop open a bottle of Washington state cabernet and enjoy a glass with my steak. Eat my friends, drink too, enjoy your life because you don't have long to live.
I really am enjoying this meal at Pere Antoine's, so I thought I'd continue to blog. However First I must discuss the great food I am enjoying: I ordered and am now enjoying the New Orleans Sampler: Seafood Jambalaya - rich and smoky with fantastic sausage and big shrimp Red Beans and Rice - a New Orleans classic with a surprisingly multifaceted flavor. Shrimp Creole - Sweet with a strong suggestion of lemon Gumbo fairly plain, so I added some Tabasco (having just been at the factory I felt obligated) Mango Margarita (Sauza Gold, Cruzan Mango, Grand Marnier, and sweet and Sour mix) - Grand Marnier's citrus comes through first, then there is a mid palate bite of tequila and finally a smooth finish of fruit (vaguely mango) Bread Pudding - Smells of wonderful cinnamon, the frosting is not frosting but rather a sweet cream sauce, the chunks of orange are excellent as are those of kiwi.
The meal was fairly priced and excellent with a pleasant yet empty ambiance. While I am savoring the last of my bread pudding, how about I tell you the story of Galveston?
In Galveston's Gray Thunder both of my sleeping bags, my pillow, and my boots were soaked. And my tent (containing all the aforementioned and a cylinder of propane and my cook stove) was overturned and 25 feet from where I left it. In frustration and (I'll admit it!) more than a little unrighteous anger, I disassembled everything and shoved it into garbage bags. Right now all is laying out to dry on a bench back at the campsite at Bayou Segnette State Park. After leaving Galveston, I drove north toward Nacogdoches TX where my awesome cousin Shelby attends Steve Austin University. But before I got there I ran into this along the freeway: My exact 1.1 second mental analysis was as follows "Knife shop...hmm, wait along the highway!? I'm in Texas...hmm. Dude I HAVE to stop and check this out." So I slowed dangerously from 67mph to 0 on the gravel shoulder of the highway. I will neither conform or deny the alleged purchase of anything in said establishment. Only if you really know me (and Lili knows what I would do in a Texas highway knife store) can you say if I bought anything (You already know I am "cheap"). So after that, I made it up to Nacogdoches and took Shelby out to some Chinese food. I ate their version of Singapore Fried Noodles, LAME. But the time was well spent with my cousin. Me, being an awkward conversationalist, tried not to be too weird, but only Shelby can speak to that. I hadn't seen her in over 10 years and we traded stories of high school experience and unusual friends. After biding her goodnight, I looked at the clock and saw it was only 6:40pm. I decided to push it a little and run for Louisiana. Kinda bad idea. I made the 300 miles in 7 hours (including the time I spent in a closed McDonalds parking lot stealing WiFi to find a place to stay for the night). As I drove East on I-10 I saw a blessed sign "Welcome Center Next right, 24 hour security provided". Wow, I was so excited. I slept in their parking lot. As an aside, sleep is important (in case you never guessed). I remember when I had a particularly terrible period of insomnia, 84 hours without sleep. And I drove 5 hours home on the tail-end of the sleep-cation. During the Joshua Tree and "Pass" in-car nights, I slept sitting up in the car seat. The result was periods of no more than 1 hour of sleep and a lot of "clock watching". That night I used every ounce of my B.S. and M.A. degrees and all the accumulated knowledge of my 23 years on Earth to notice: if I sleep sideways (across both front seats) in the car, I can actually be comfortable! It totally worked! Well I guess that wasn't an aside. More like a conclusion. Next time Avery Island.
New Orleans has been great, so great that I "lost" a whole day. It's not as bad as it sounds. I just was totally convinced that Sunday was Saturday...either that or last night I slept for 29 hours instead of 5. Anyways, I'm sitting in the Pere Antoine Restaurant enjoying some fine creole food and a fine Mango Margarita (I'll discuss that in detail later). Sunday is relatively calm in the French Quarter (except for the rabid Saints fanatics) fewer people in the streets and the beads are thrown with less regularity. Now that all my clothes and almost all my shoes are dry, I've been thinking about Galveston TX.
I arrived at Galveston Island State Park early in the day (having only driven from nearby San Antonio). The park was dead; there were only 6 RVs in 65 sites (of course there were no tents). All the facilities had been upgraded recently causing me to suspect a rebuild after Hurricane Ike. My campsite was about 3 feet above the Ocean making the whole park subject to the storm surge which accompanies a hurricane. Man this margarita is good... Oh yeah Galveston! No not yet... My absolute favorite beverage is Grand Marnier Cognac, which as it so happens is in my Margarita. It snaps as soon as you imbibe it. When you swirl it in your mouth you then are overwhelmed by the citrus essence and the smoothness of the alcohol. After you swallow GM, you are left with a neat finish with no harsh aftertaste, just the rolling ease of gentile l'orange. Hmm...Thanks Dave. Seriously you Da man. I had GM for the first time in Dave's kitchen back in Michigan as he offered several options to educate my palate. Ever since, GM has been my drink of choice. Okay, Okay back to Galveston: I setup the tent and went into town as the rain started. I obliviously drove out to the peninsula, then through town, and out to the sea wall. Meanwhile, the storm began in earnest. I updated the blog, returned emails, and called someone all while my poor second tent languished under the assault of a thunderstorm. While this unobserved carnage occurred, I watched the surfers battle the waves, right next to the brake-water. This reminded me of an old Emo Phillips joke about surfers crashing against rocks. You'd think, "if I was a cool surfer dude, why wouldn't I surf on a sandy beach" (only 1 mile away)? But I am a chess player, not a surfer dude.
Remember I'm standing out on a break-water and the surfers are about 20 feet away from the jagged granite boulders! I am standing at the end of this while taking the video above: The next day I drove around Galveston again munching on a Whataburger, but this time with an eye for history and storm damage. It's amazing how much you miss when you don't take your time. The city was hit with Ike's hundred mile-an-hour winds leaving millions of dollars in damage. State-wide the storm did over $12 billion in havoc and the insurance companies cried (according to the radio news stations). I enjoyed the Victorian house, however my favorite architectural style is Art Deco. Just so you know when I get to New York City my fascination with the beauty of buildings will likely overshadow all. Another odd observation: The storm destroyed the breakwaters in Galveston, so While I was there they were building new ones using huge pink granite boulders. The quality of the granite was excellent (counter-top grade), yet they were tossing it into the Gulf of Mexico... Next time I move onto Louisiana.
Story? What is my story? I am looking for answer to that question. I know I fit into the Lord's plan but how?
I am like that Childe Roland of old wandering to the end of his road, to that dark tower, expecting to see Him in that glorious city.
