Day 75 - Getting to Florida

I never expected the interstate to be noisier from inside a motel room than it was from my car parked right beside it at a Rest Area, but the place I stayed at pulled it off. Luckily, I'm not a light sleeper when I'm staying in an actual bed at this point, and I can accept that I got what I paid for, which was the cheapest place I could find on my way into Jackson.

It was hard for me to accept at the time, but I have to admit now that the closer I got to home the more anxious I got about being there. I was ready to see friends and family, sleep in a bed on a consistent basis, and not eat on such a tight budget. Adding on top of this I didn't expect Mississippi or Alabama to let me sleep in them for free and I was ready to make today a race, so I got up early to head for the capitol.

After unknowingly entering the capitol from the back (and not even apologizing for it), I made my way around the building to see it was pretty much just like the U.S. Capitol.

This is a statue to commemorate the Confederate women of Mississippi. The statue doesn't declare a specific group of women the memorial is for but seems to be for any who in some way supported the Confederate soldiers during the Civil War. Of particular importance seem to be the women who helped heal the wounded though. I find it ironic how the southeast is stereotypically perceived as so unequal (how much it is or isn't I won't get into), due largely to the events of the Civil War, yet, spoilers, this monument for the women of the Confederacy is Mississippi's nicest one.

Nearby the Confederate women's memorial are a couple of cannons. I'm surprised at how complex the mechanisms controlling the cannons seem to be.

Another bell *sigh*...

There's a memorial for Mississippi Medal of Honor recipients,...

...World 1, World 2, and Korean War veterans,...

...and one simply stating the United States Uniformed Services Oath of Office with a wicked cool looking flag wall nearby.

Leaving the capitol, I start to leave the city but remember at the last minute I've still got one more thing to see: the Jackson Volcano. I've always wanted to see a volcano and didn't expect to find one in Mississippi, but planning my trip proved me wrong. I figure it must be dormant or extinct for the capital to be built around it, but Google Imaging "Jackson Volcano" immediately shows a pretty intense shot of smoke billowing out of a mountain, so maybe I'll get lucky.

GPSing it, I drive to...some sort of tent shaped amphitheater, surrounded by a huge, empty, and completely flat mind you, parking lot. I get out of my car and look around. There aren't a lot of tall buildings in Jackson, but I can't see anything that looks remotely like a mountain from where I'm standing. I get back in my car and start Googling the Jackson Volcano some more, trying to figure out where it might be or what it looks like. And that's when I read on Wikipedia that the elevation of the Jackson Volcano is 2900 feet...below Jackson. The volcano is extinct and underneath the city. Specifically, it's right below the amphitheater my GPS brought me to. So without further ado, here is the Jackson Volcano:

Well, since it's underground, I guess it's really more about here-ish...

..., but either way, it's not much to look at, so I go ahead and leave the city, headed east for Alabama where I arrive in Birmingham...which I pretty much just drive right through. There are several cities on my trip that I've wanted to see just to see, and you find out none of them are particularly special when you're just there to look around for a bit. I had an ex co-worker (the New Yorker) who interviewed for a job in Birmingham and said it reminded him of Augusta but bigger, and I think that's a pretty fair description. So after my short pass through, I go south until I arrive in Montgomery, Alabama's capital.

Montgomery and Jackson are both very quiet capitals. I don't recall seeing any skyscrapers while passing through Jackson and very few in Montgomery. In fact, Montgomery almost reminds me of Aiken for some reason - not particularly exciting for someone just passing through. But the capitol's a pleasant place. A bit of a U.S. Capitol ripoff, but with a clock on top to make it unique, as well as having some unexpected memorials, such as the one for John Allen Wyeth, who founded the New York Polyclinic Medical School and Hospital or James Marion Sims, whose plaque labeled him as the "Father of Modern Gynecology".

JLKHASDGIWEQ! They're everywhere...

That star of flowers is a memorial for "The World War Heroes". Interestingly enough, the memorial was planted in 1921: World War 2 started in 1939. Most capitols have joint World War memorials, but this one did it without knowing another World War would happen. It's a little bit scary to consider the amount of wars this memorial stands for could continue to grow.

This is a bust of Joseph Lister Hill, a U.S. Congressman and Senator for Alabama. I'm not sure what he did that was important enough he got a bust made of him, but he was a democrat, so for him to be memorialized in Alabama it must've been something pretty important.

The Alabama Police Officers' Memorial.

This is the Flame of Freedom, a memorial for all Alabama War Veterans. It's been raining since I got here but the flame is still going. I wonder how it works at first and then smell propane, so I get the feeling it's basically a transmogrified grill, but it makes for a cool and unique memorial.

If I recall correctly, this is basically a monument to anyone from Alabama who served for the Confederacy during the Civil War. What I found most interesting about it was that one of the cornerstones had this imprinted on it:

For those who don't know what C.S.A. or who Jefferson Davis was, Jefferson Davis was the president of the Confederate States of America. Alabama has a memorial of him as well which I happened to take a picture of while he had a bird on his head:

This is where I felt Alabama's capitol was really unique: they've planted several trees that are somehow related to important historical events, like this pine that came from seeds that journeyed to the moon.

Or this elm tree who's grandparent George Washington took command under. Who even thought to keep up with a tree's genealogy?

Unfortunately, I know very little about tree species, so aside from not knowing if that last picture really was an elm, I couldn't even find the Laurel Oak that came from the battlefields of Virginia.

There's also a memorial of Albert Patterson. He was a politician attempting to end corruption in Phenix City but was assassinated 8 days after winning the election for Attorney General. In response, the Governor declared martial law and investigations of the town until the corruption was resolved.

Having seen all the memorials, I return to my car and head south for Florida. I've been driving for about 5 hours so far today, and I've got another 3 and a half to go: the life of a traveler is not always as carefree as it seems. It's wonderful and way better than work, but it's still a full time job.

The longer the day goes on, the more exhausted I become. Once I'm in Florida, it's well past dark and starts to rain fairly heavily so I have to slow down. I wanted to make it to Tallahassee tonight, but there's a Rest Area in Quincy which is close, so I stop there instead. Looking for food though, I realize the nearest Walmart is in the direction of Tallahassee, so I have to keep going anyway for the sake of my stomach. While driving there I think about skipping the town. It's another one of those big cities I really don't have anything to do in, so I could push really hard and try getting to Lake City tonight, but I decide against it. It's not until I'm at the Tallahassee Rest Area checking my map to plan for tomorrow I realize, "Holy crap, Tallahassee is the capital of Florida!" I'm very lucky I didn't skip through the town and have to backtrack at whatever point I would've realized my mistake. Clearly exhausted in the head, I go to to sleep; it wasn't a very exciting day, but I made it to Florida on what may have been my longest driving period yet.

Day 74 - Luzianna

No, this entry is in no way related to tea: that really is how a portion of the people in Louisiana pronounce their state name. I wake up early to make my way into Baton Rouge, the capital of Louisiana. It's extremely relaxed compared to most capitals I've been to. Not quite Cheyenne relaxed, but definitely near there. My best guess at why is because the state is so small and New Orleans is such a draw of the population, the rest of the state is pretty chill. Being near Easter probably helped as well.

Baton Rouge also has very few skyscrapers for a capital. I would guess this is related to how much hurricanes suck. Yet, surprisingly, the tallest building in the city is the capitol.

Of all the states to not rip off the U.S. Capitol, I wouldn't expect Louisiana to be one, as it seems like a very hurricane sturdy design. But instead, Louisiana said, "No, we will not give it to the bully known as 'Nature'," and made what I assume must look like a giant concrete hand giving the finger to the Gulf Coast from space. Well...good for them. This state continues to be unexpected in good ways.

Whoever does the gardening at the Louisiana State Capitol, good freaking job. I'd seen some well maintained capitol flora before (Utah and California particularly come to mind) but never with such a huge landscape and wide variety.

This is a statue of Huey Pierce Long, Jr., the 40th governor of Louisiana who, after being assassinated, was buried here in the capitol grounds.

I'm not sure at how many capitols I have or have not taken pictures of these Liberty Bell reproductions, but there's a whole lot of em. At first, I just thought it was boring, so I only took a picture of the first one. But seeing them at nearly every state capitol makes me feel like I'm uncovering a conspiracy. Doing some research, I find out the true story is they were made for every U.S. state and territory in 1950 as part of a U.S. Savings Bond drive. While Wikipedia currently claims there were 55 of the replicas made, the text on the plaque states there were 53.

Here's a bust of George Washington. Just, y'know, cuz.

The Mississippi River runs right beside the capitol. Cannons used to be mounted on this spot to shoot enemy ships during the Revolution.

I depart from Baton Rouge en route for New Orleans. I've got something scheduled around 2, but I should be able to see the downtown area a little and have a quick lunch first. Coming into the city, it's not hard to tell New Orleans is bigger than the capitol. There are more skyscrapers here (goes against my hurricane theory), and the city feels overall more spread out. I head for Bourbon Street which leads me into the famous part of New Orleans. I'm not sure if there's a name for this part of the town, but it's best known for being where women take their tops off and general debauchery occurs during Mardi Gras: a must visit for any American sight seer.

Even though the weather is dreary and it's not Mardi Gras, it's very hard to find parking in this place. Driving isn't the easiest either with the narrow one way streets, hard to spot stop signs (I definitely ran at least one), and pedestrians who in no way realize cars are capable of killing them. The area overall looks like Charleston but tighter and with less modernization. This image from my car camera gives a fairly reasonable idea of how the area felt:

And that's the only image you'll get, because after finding a parking spot, I decided to leave my camera in the car: in a place nationally known for its celebration of vices, I don't need to make myself a target for theft or harassment. FYI, my camera bag is a fanny pack that I wear across my back in an attempt to make it look cooler, but sometimes it slides down to my side and ends up looking like a purse: harassment-target.

After walking about 30 feet from my car, I remember the parking spot was metered. Returning to put money in, I pass a larger-than-I meter maid whom I'd already passed after leaving my car initially and who was now headed towards my car: bitch was gonna let me leave without paying and not say anything so she could write a ticket. Luckily, I was more physically fit than her, so I made it back in time to pay.

Headed again to Bourbon Street, I try finding a restaurant where I can eat Bourbon Street chicken. It's been one of my dreams for a while to eat Bourbon Street chicken on Bourbon Street. Looking at the immediate restaurants around me, none seem to be advertising the style of food I'm looking for. I even GPS "Bourbon Street Chicken" and fail to find anything. I look for so long I get worried I may run out of time to eat, so I finally just pick a generic themed restaurant, figuring they must have a version. I get a water at the bar before the bartender tells me I need to go upstairs for food. Going up and being seated, the waitress immediately ask,

"Do you know what you'd like?"
"No, I'll need a minute." You just handed me the menu.
"Okay, I'll be back."

Opening the menu, I look...and I look, and I look, and I look...this place doesn't have Bourbon Street chicken. How is it so hard to find Bourbon Street chicken on Bourbon Street, or do all these restaurants just serve generic chicken flavored chicken and think that counts as Bourbon Street chicken because of where they're located, because that is not the same thing and they should know it!

So instead, I start looking for something Cajun. As time goes on, the waitress doesn't return. She doesn't even walk nearby me. After 12 minutes or so of waiting, I know there's no way I'll be able to get food, eat it, and make it on time, so I get up to leave, and that's when she comes back.

"Have you decided?"
"Actually, I just remembered I have something scheduled in 40 minutes, so I'm gonna have to go, I'm sorry."
"Ooo, that's okay. Be sure to come back later to see us!"
Spoiler: I didn't.

I return to my car and drive south, to Jean Lafitte Airboat Tours. I've always been curious about what it's like to ride in an airboat ever since I saw the movie The Waterboy. Unfortunately, during none of the tour did we ever ramp onto land, though I was genuinely expecting it to happen several times: I'm still not sure if it's something you can really do or not. After picking up my ticket, I drive to what looks like a house, built in front of the swamp Jean Lafitte Tours owns. There's a terrarium of baby alligators and frogs in front of the building for people to see. They're caught in the swamp to display here and switched out with new ones after a certain amount of time.

Behind the building is the dock where the airboats are. After waiting a little while, an employee announces my name along with a couple others. Our airboat ready, we meet our captain. I forget what his name was, but I remember the strong sense of irony I felt when he began to talk and reminded me immediately of an ex-coworker I had who was from New York. I thought it was funny because the coworker was a very proud New Yorker, and here was a man with a nearly indistinguishable accent who grew up in the swamps of Louisiana.

Joining me on the tour are an old man and his daughter. The Captain gives each of us a set of earmuffs: the airboat is loud. For anyone who doesn't know, an airboat uses a giant fan rather than an underwater motor to move itself: an underwater engine would easily get stopped up by the marshy vegetation. The airboat is a lot noisier because of it though. The vehicle felt a lot smoother than a normal boat. Rather than having the front lift up into the air because of force coming from below, the whole craft stays level because the force is pushing from directly behind.

After traveling through the bayou a little, the Captain spots an alligator sitting on a bank of the marsh. He pulls in slowly and shuts the engine off as the alligator continues to stay still. And then, the Captain walks to the front of the boat, gets low enough to grab some grass so we don't drift away...and starts splashing water at the gator's face. "Oh my God, this man's about to die," I think, waiting for the alligator to spring forward, grab his hand, and pull him under, followed by me trying to figure out how to operate an airboat since the only person who knew how is dead, and I'm not getting out to swim. (I took my GoPro instead of my regular camera for the airboat ride.)

But the gator remains surprisingly still. The Captain says he's seen this one out here before, so I figure it's probably used to/tired of the attention. This being our first stop, it's also the first time we've had a chance to talk to our Captain. This isn't something I particularly feel the need to do since I try not to talk if I've got nothing to talk about, but the old man is sure to take advantage. His daughter sits quietly while he begins asking some questions, which quickly rolls into him telling some stories about himself. You know, old people stuff. When the Captain responds in the affirmative as to whether or not he fishes these waters, the old man let's him know he used to fish the Mississippi River as well, but up in Minnesota or something, wherever he was from. His stories were pretty entertaining, but that's mostly for the fact they were stereotypical old man stories about things that weren't particularly astounding, similar to how I ramble in my blog sometimes.

While backing away from the big gator, the Captain notices an adolescent, just a few feet long, coming towards the boat. In response, the Captain reaches nearby and pulls out a bag of marshmallows. "Gators love marshmallows," he says, "We call em swamp crack." And though I wouldn't have guessed it, it was absolutely true: after throwing some out to the first adolescent, which quickly gobbled them up, another one started coming to us from the bank. The Captain said the reason gators love marshmallows is because they can only see in black and white, so the marshmallow is very bright to them and catches their attention. "And I guess they got a little bit of a sweet tooth, too."

For his next trick, the Captain puts his hand in the water with a marshmallow to get one of the adolescents to swim up to the boat. He then throws the marshmallow down and waits for the gator to start eating, and then he puts his hand under the gator's head and lifts it up out of the water.

I'm quickly starting to realize people from Louisiana give less craps about anything in the world than anybody else ever did, and I mean that in the best way possible. I'm sure our Captain isn't the first one to splash water at a gator or put his hand underneath one while it eats. These people couldn't give two shits about the ways those actions could possibly go wrong, and that to me is awesome. My theory was assured even further later in the trip when the Captain started telling us about some of his old fishing habits from when he was younger. These habits ranged from the very tame, such as using a shotgun to shoot the fish, to the not as tame, such as using an electrified pole to zap all the fish within a 10 foot radius.

After passing what was essentially a tug boat gas station boat...

...we reach an area with some small birds the old man several times mentions, "look like chickens." The Captain mentions to us here how, due to the logging of trees growing in the swamps, every year, more and more of the marsh is washed away. "Yea, I'm really into conservation now, ever since I had my kid. I wanna make sure all this stuff is still around for him when he grows up."

This is also where, due to some conversation with the old man, the Captain ask, "You ever heard of a coon-ass?"

"I'm suddenly very uncomfortable," I think. "Coon" has a certain negative connotation in South Carolina that I'm not a proponent of.

"No," the old man says.
"Really, you ain't ever heard of a coon-ass?"
"Nope, what is it?"
"You've heard of a redneck right?"
"Yeah."
"Well a coon-ass is a redneck in a swamp."

I breath a sigh of relief: that was pretty funny. The Captain tells us everybody on one side of the Mississippi is a coon-ass, and everybody on the other side is a redneck, though I don't remember which side was which.

We start riding to our next spot, at which point I see the old man turn his head to look at the surroundings for a second...and then he doesn't turn it back. He's just staring, blankly, out into the swamp with a smile of childlike wonder on his face. And this is when I begin to think, "Oh my God, this man is dead...his poor heart just couldn't handle the excitement of an airboat ride anymore and it gave out on him." Luckily though, while waiting anxiously for his daughter to realize what had happened (I wasn't gonna tell her), he ended up moving again.

At our next stop, the Captain surprises us by bringing out a 2 foot gator he'd somehow been hiding on the boat. It's one of the baby's that had been captured for display, and now it was time to return him to the swamp, but before doing so, we all get a chance to hold him (his mouth was bound shut). He felt like a leathery bag of dense sand.

Some of you may remember the time I was looking for a snake someone would let bite me so I could then fill the wound with ink to have a tattoo, because I come up with good ideas. I never found a snake though, so I shortly consider asking the Captain if I can have this gator bite me instead. But then I remember I don't have ink or disinfectant, so rather than a cool tattoo, I'd just be giving myself an infection.

We finally start to head back to the dock. On the way, the Captain points out a small sunken fishing boat. "That showed up last week. Somebody just abandoned it there and burned it down. Not sure why, but they made sure to do a good job of it." Because Louisiana, that's why.

The airboat trip was definitely one of the most entertaining things I'd done in a while. I'd recommend it to anybody looking for the full Louisiana experience.

Leaving the swamp, I head back into the city. Even in the metropolitan area of New Orleans, driving isn't particularly carefree, which is why when I got stuck behind a delivery truck on a road whose other lane was under construction, I had to force my reversal through a very active intersection in order to go anywhere. Thank you to the people who were willing to not kill me.

Not being on a schedule now, I park at a parking garage several blocks from Bourbon Street. The first place I head to isn't on Bourbon Street though: I'm going to Cafe Du Monde, where my friend John has suggested I try the beignets. I've never had a beignet before, and I'm not really sure what it is, but Cafe Du Monde is VERY crowded, and beignets are clearly their most popular item. After waiting in line a while, I order 1 bag of beignets. What I'm given is 3 pieces of deep fried dough drenched in more powdered sugar than any human could ever need. The beignets are made fresh, so I needed to let them cool a little, but once I finally got a taste, 3rd degree burns be damned, I had to eat more. It's hard to describe how delicious they are. But luckily/surprisingly, Cafe Du Monde sells their beignet mix online, so anyone wanting a taste doesn't have to go to New Orleans.

Having had dessert, I'm ready to eat dinner, so I head back towards Bourbon Street. On the way, I pass an outdoor jazz band, consisting of several trumpets, trombones, a cowbell, and a sousaphone. At first, they sounded like complete crap. They weren't in tune together. They didn't hit notes together. But then I readjusted my ear, remembering this is jazz and not classical concert, and it became very entertaining. Hearing jazz in New Orleans was on my list of things to do, so I'm lucky to have run into them.

Deciding not to stop at the restaurant from earlier, I find a place with better ratings that seems to specialize in cajun cooking on Bourbon Street...that also doesn't serve Bourbon Street Chicken. So instead I get some sort of Creole trio thing, with crawfish ettouffee, red beans and rice, and gumbo. It's fair. I definitely would plan my eating establishments before hand if I ever visited again though.

Heading back to my car, a nice young man working outside the strip club lets me know, "It's titty time for you, sir!" I get the feeling Bourbon Street may count as the red light district around here.

Leaving the downtown region, I realize it's still fairly early, and I've done everything I wanna do in Louisiana: it's been a pretty great state and I suggest everybody go at least once in their lifetime. So I decide to head north into Mississippi. I'd planned on staying at a Rest Area in Wesson, but when I get there, there's a security guard and signs saying, "No overnight parking." Rest Areas that don't let you rest: I just don't get it. And unfortunately, the next Rest Area on this interstate is in West, Mississippi, about an hour past Jackson, which is my next destination. Knowing I'll have to get a hotel for the night, I just drive until Jackson and get one there. But I know already, this isn't going to work for me: if Mississippi won't allow overnight sleeping at Rest Areas, Alabama probably won't either, and I don't wanna pay for another hotel tomorrow. That means I've gotta get all the way to Florida in one day.

Days 72 and 73 - The Rest of Texas

Oil. I need to change my oil. I was already over the limit by a couple hundred miles when I got to Fort Stockton last night so I started looking for somewhere to go on my phone and couldn't find a single, reliable oil change place tangent the 300 miles of interstate to get from Fort Stockton to San Antonio. There are places to stop, but the reviews I read easily put them in the "sketchy and possibly chainsaw laden" category rather than reliable. It seems the majority of mechanics in the boondocks of Texas want to rip you off the best they can since you don't have a lot of choice. So I decide to wait until I get to San Antonio, hoping the whole time my car won't explode. Let it be known, not only can my beautiful Mastadon handle off roading and 17,000 mile road trips, she can also go 500+ miles over the suggested oil change limit without a problem. I'd heard most modern cars, combined with modern oils, could do such a thing but never had a reason to risk the engine damage until now. When I finally do reach a place worth changing my sweet, sweet baby's oil, it's Tom's Quick Lube, where they claim to be able to do it in 10 minutes. Aside from a nice waiting area and a staff member that was honest enough to tell me I didn't need my rear tires changed yet, they really did get it done in 10 minutes. If Tom's can do it in 10 minutes, what's every other oil change service in America's problem? If you're in San Antonio and need an oil change, I endorse Tom's Quick Lube.

Anyway, today I'm going to The Alamo. I didn't know a whole lot about it before arriving, but was pretty sure it's got something to do with America, freedom, and Mexico. Interesting side note: anybody else ever thought of Mexico's flag as a symbol of their three major dipping sauces? It's red, white, and green, like salsa, sour cream, and guacamole. I always wanted to see a dip tray designed like the Mexican flag for that purpose. I figure you could put chips where the eagle is at. I know that's quite a non-sequitur, but the Alamo wasn't that exciting to me, and how many places will I ever be able to publicly declare that idea in my lifetime? This one: this is the only place.

Being a monument of sorts, I expected it to be easy to find, but when my GPS tells me I'm there, I'm surrounded by a bunch of paid parking areas and a wall. I figure I've gotta be close though, so I go into what I think is Alamo parking where ask the attendant...

"Is this parking for the Alamo?"
"You can park here for the Alamo: 10$."
"Stupid question," I think to myself.
"Where's it at?"
"Right over there."

The attendant points behind my car somewhere. I can't tell exactly where, but at least I have a general direction now, so I pay to park and start walking. Unfortunately, it's still somewhat difficult to find if you don't know what you're looking for because, like other major landmarks, every business around it has the landmark name within their own business name in big letters, with the rest of their name in smaller letters surrounding it. Of particular interest is "Alamo Parking", which is right across from where I parked and only cost 5$...

Walking along the wall I saw, which stretches down the entire block, I see a bus near the end and people coming out of a gate. I go through the gate, leading me behind the wall, and realize, oh, this is it: I'm in the Alamo. Okay, uuuh, I didn't pay. Did I just sneak in or what?

I look at a nearby map and see I'm actually at the exit, but at least I know the wall should lead to the entrance, so I exit via the gate and continue down until I find the entrance and what amounts to a small park with a stone roadway in front of it where 100-200 people are hanging out and taking pictures. In the middle of the park is a statue that looks like a giant leg called Alamo Cenotaph, dedicated to those that fought for Texas at the Battle of the Alamo.

This is part of the wall which is surrounding the entire block the Alamo is on...

...and the Alamo itself.

While there's a 7$ audio tour you can take, getting into the Alamo is absolutely free otherwise, though donations are acceptable. This building, which I think most people visualize when they think of the Alamo, is called The Shrine. Inside, I expected to learn about the history of the battle, but the items in the Shrine are actually more personal, tending to relate instead to the men that actually fought there. There are letters written by them, spurs off their shoes, and various other items. The place is packed with people, most of whom are moving at a slower pace than I prefer. There are no pictures allowed inside the Shrine, so I make it through fairly quickly by going around the slower tourists. Once outside, there are several other buildings you can go to, many of which were built after the battle. In fact, the Shrine itself isn't 100% original: inside was a display remarking on how if you looked at the edges near the ceiling, you could see where the roof had to be rebuilt.

So I continue my tour by going into the Long Barracks Museum. There's a video room at the head of the museum where you can watch a 15-20 minute video the History Channel made about the battle and what happened to the building afterward and then the actual museum with items from the era and more facts. And this is where things start to get a little flaky in my mind. I could never fully understand all the factions that lead up to the battle of the Alamo. I couldn't help but feel like it was made intentionally confusing so people would focus mainly on the heroism of men giving their lives for something rather than the politics of what was going on, but it could just be the fact that I suck at history. But this is how I'm pretty sure the history of the Alamo goes...

The Alamo started out as a Spanish mission for converting Native Americans to Christianity. It was abandoned after the secularization of the area, and due to the Mexican Revolution, would become home to several different military groups, including Spanish, rebel, and Mexican. After Mexico won its independence, it invited colonists from America to try out Texas, which it currently owned, with the promise of door prizes, like land and stuff, if they chose to live there. And then Texans, which at the time were called Texians, were like, "We want our independence, too, even though we just joined a country that just got its independence." And the Mexican government said no, so President/General Santa Anna went to the Alamo to fight Jim Bowie and David Crockett and a bunch of other Texians. While the Texians requested backup from surrounding forces, pretty much nobody came, so they all ended up dying. Every-single-one. Even the ones who surrendered were executed. Deciding this was a good time to finish off the Texian rebels, Santa Anna continued forward. The rebels, however, were pissed about having their comrades they didn't help murdered, so after splitting his forces up into thirds, Santa Anna and his third were taken by surprise, as Wikipedia puts it, "during their afternoon 'siesta'". Yes, Santa Anna quite literally was caught sleeping on the job by General Sam Houston, whom Houston, Texas is named after, at the Battle of San Jacito, which is where the battle cry, "Remember the Alamo," became famous. The battle lasted only 18 minutes and ended with Santa Anna telling his troops to leave Texas forever. His execution, unfortunately, did not follow, as he continued to be a dick for the rest of his life until dying of natural causes at the ripe old age of 82: life isn't fair.

Santa Anna defeated, Texas soon after became its own republic, which soon after decided to join the United States, where it soon after decided to leave, then soon after rejoined, where it continues to want to leave to this day, probably just so it can rejoin Mexico later. Texas is your friend that gets angry and leaves every time you see each other but calls you up next weekend to go drinking again.

Surprisingly, after the war, nobody particularly cared about the Alamo for its historical purposes. At one point, it was used as a grocery store. Finally, it was sold to The Daughters of the Republic of Texas, a society formed to preserve the memory of Texas as a Republic. It's from their ownership it became what it is today.

And while my version of the story may have been compelling to some of you, history isn't my primo subject, and I was very confused about how exactly the whole thing went down still (I've done some research since then), so I didn't see anything in the museum I felt the need to photograph, so here's a shot of the whole thing:

And here's a rock that was outside:

Again, not a huge history buff, but it is what it is. It's hard to complain about free anything, and I'd definitely suggest the Alamo to anyone with interests in history or Texas.

I've gotten very lucky for tonight: my friend Kim has a friend in San Antonio who says I can stay with her for the night. I've already been told explicitly she's an introvert though, so it may be a little awkward at first, not only due to her introversion, but mine as well. Her name is Xinnan, pronounced She-nin if I recall correctly, and she tells me that tonight she's going to church and invites me along. I'm not personally much of a church-goer, but I figure if Xinnan is nice enough to invite me and it might be awkward already, I should probably be nice enough to accept. So after grabbing some dinner, I head to church and enter the sanctuary where Xinnan said she'd meet me. At the entrance are 5 or 6 people whom I don't know, don't live near, and will probably never see again, but being church tradition, they all want to talk to me simply to be welcoming and friendly. While this may sound pleasant to some people, my aforementioned introversion oftentimes dissuades me from wanting to participate in such things as "pleasantries". But I put on my game face and socialize while avoiding all the words and phrases a sailor might be tempted to use.

"Hi."
"Hi, and you are?"
As if it's any of your business, I'm, "Kobie. I'm a friend of Xinnan's."
"Oh, is she in one of the classes?"
"Yeah, I think so."
"Okay, they're upstairs right now, but they'll be down any second."

Even though Xinnan and I really don't know each other, I figured it's easier to call her a friend than explain the friend of a friend scenario. The topic quickly rolls into my being a traveler and me answering some questions for them, as well as asking them what the best place for BBQ might be in Texas, specifying that I'll be in Austin tomorrow. I leave out stories about going to a brothel and being bathed by a man. They really do seem like a group of friendly people rather than fake friendly as sometimes is displayed during such formalities. All except one. There's one girl who keeps giving me the stink eye. As I've just entered San Antonio for the first time in my life today, I find it nearly impossible that I've done something to her in the past, and I haven't said anything rude thus far in the conversation. My only logical explanations are that she's a prude who doesn't think a guy should stay over at a girls place or she's currently suffering from a severe case of constipation.

The classes finally come down and I meet Xinnan for the first time. We give brief introductions before going into the sanctuary where she says,

"Sooo, I'm gonna go sit with my friends. Were you wanting to sit back here or come up there with me? I don't want it to be awkward."
"Do you think it would be awkward?"
"Yeah, it probably would be."
"Okay, I'll sit back here."

So, for the next 45 minutes, there's a fair amount of standing up and sitting down, as per the requirements of Jesus I assume, as I've yet to go to a church that didn't demand you get your cardio in for the day. I suppose it's fitting I went to church during this week: the lesson is about Easter, which is coming up this Sunday. If I hadn't gone to church, I probably wouldn't have known. Afterwards, Xinnan tells me, "There's another part to the service where they re-meet, but I figure you're tired, so we'll go now."

She gives me her address and we meet at her place. There's still a stale awkwardness in the air that always occurs between two people who don't quite know what to say each other, which I'm particularly used to getting from the female of our species but not when I'll be staying at their place for the night. So when Xinnan is nice enough to offer me the shower first, I go in with a mission:

"Okay, you look like a hobo," I think to myself. "That's clearly not going to make her feel safer about having you sleeping on her couch." So I shave, clip my nails, apply deodorant generously, and come back out not looking like a serial killer. I don't know if that's what did it, it just took her getting home and relaxing, or it was something else all together, but we finally start making easy conversation. We learn a little more about each other, and she even mentions wanting to visit some of the places I've been to, so I show her some pictures and make some suggestions. By the end of the night, I think we were both pretty sure the other wasn't going to kill us, though I think I heard her lock the door anyway, but who can blame a girl for that?

In the morning, Xinnan offers me an orange: I don't remember the last time I've had fresh fruit, so I gladly accept. Even though she clearly didn't trust me, Xinnan was still kind enough to host me, so I'm very thankful to her for that. As she goes to work though, it's time for me to head to Austin, the capitol of Texas.

It is really is true what they say: they do things bigger in Texas. While it's still a U.S. Capitol ripoff, it's definitely a larger U.S. Capitol ripoff. Of even more impressive stature is the police officers' memorial which has a wall the size of a 10+ story building erected behind it.

This memorial, which looks more like a scene out of a play than a dedication (see: Texas does stuff big), has 5 boards of information explaining the development of Texas, much of which was stuff I learned from the Alamo.

The Texas capitol has a memorial for volunteer firemen, the Terry Rangers (a group of volunteers who fought for the Confederacy during the Civil War), a piece of art representing the cowboy spirit of Texas, Spanish war veterans,...

...as well as the 36th infantry division, World War II, Pearl Harbor (unique, and unexpected in Texas), a Statue of Liberty the Boy Scouts donated I believe, World War I veterans, and disabled veterans.

My guess is that this memorial is for the Vietnam War, but it could've been the Korean as well: I don't remember. Which is unfortunate since it's the most badass memorial Texas has.

There are also several monuments which I can't take pictures of from the front, so here are some monuments of butts dedicated to I have no idea what:

Surprisingly, I know someone in Austin, so after seeing all the memorials I contact my friend Mat whom I went to Neumont with. He's been working here, so we meet at a barbecue joint for lunch. We catch up, discuss jobs and technologies, and swap some business ideas, including a fairly uncouth one of my own. And for anybody keeping up with my food review of Texas, the barbecue was charred, so I submit my final claim that is the official cooking style of the state.

Heading to our cars, Mat offers me a spare bedroom for the night, but it's still early, so I thank him and decide to keep moving. After he leaves, I start GPSing my next location, Houston. I start my car, pull up to a red light, and see something unexpected drive across the road: it's the Google Street View car. For those unaware, for Google to give you the "Street View" of a location, they have to actually send a car to that location with a pole on the roof of it which holds cameras facing in every direction. It's also a goal of every nerd in the world to be on Street View. So the first thought that goes through my mind is, "GOOGLE, I HATE YOU SO MUCH FOR NOT HAVING A VISITORS CENTER BUT PLEASE SHOW ME ON STREET VIEW, I LOVE YOUUUU!!" And just like that, I sold my soul to be on Street View. While anxiously waiting for the light to change, I consider texting Mat to ask if he saw it, but I realize he went in a different direction. He was also going back to work and left too long ago to come back for it, so it's just me and you Street View. The light turns green, and I catch up to them on the next street. There's another car between me and them, but I follow them onto the interstate where there's heavy traffic and fight my way until I catch up. I stay at the rear left corner of the car, not wanting to look too anxious to the driver: I already know how judgmental some of the Google employees can be. But now that I've caught up to it, I'm not sure what to do. I have to do SOMETHING. I'm really gonna look like an idiot if I don't commit a foolish act to get attention now. I'd really like to write, "Google, you need a Visitors Center" on a sign and put it against the window: that'd teach em. But I quickly realize I lack the sign, marker, and skills to put such a thing together while driving. So having no idea what to do and my moonroof being open, I go with gut instinct and throw my hand out the roof to display what is most formally known as the sign of the horns, also known as Hook 'em Horns to the University of Texas located in Austin, Texas. I was unknowingly showing celebration to the local university in an attempt to get attention on Google Street View: you're welcome Longhorn fans.

Though I've yet to see the image on Street View (I'll be sure to let you all know if/when that happens), I did start my GoPro to corroborate my story:

Having experienced my fill of entertainment from the scenario, I turn around, as I'm driving on the wrong interstate, and head for Houston, Texas. I arrive at the heart of the city before pulling over to find a Starbucks. Houston's a little bit scary. There's definitely some sketchy characters around, and that's coming from a guy living in his car. But nothing goes wrong, and I get to write a little as well as planning the next couple days. I'm not sure if I want to stay in or out of Louisiana. I've got the time to drive into the state, but all the I-10 Rest Areas in Louisiana are labeled as, "Welcome Centers", and the last time I went to a Welcome Center was in California where the bathrooms were closed after hours and it was just an excuse for you to drive through a shopping outlet, so I'm a little worried. But I try it none-the-less, figuring I can head westward to Texas again if the Welcome Center isn't welcoming, but to my pleasant surprise it is! So I choose instead to keep going to the next one. I listened to some country music while in Texas because I felt it fitting even if I don't care for the genre, so I listened to some Cajun/Creole (terms I'll be using interchangeably since I'm ignorant of the difference) music during my drive through Louisiana. And now for a note on Cajun music: it's horrible. I thought it would be sort've trendy, or at the very least jazz like. Instead, it seemed like the Louisiana version of beach music: something for old people to listen to so they feel young again.

I travel until I get to Breaux Bridge, at which point it's time for dinner. I've always wanted to eat Creole in New Orleans, but I realize, why wait until then? I'm still in Louisiana. So I stop at a place called The Boudin Shop & Country Store. It's a little shack of a place built right beside a gas station where the first thing to welcome me is cats: lots and lots of cats. At least 6 of them, very possibly 12 if my memory isn't exaggerating, waiting outside the front doors, hoping someone will throw them some seafood I guess? While the overall image is disturbing, I go inside, knowing this is exactly the type of place I'll either get glorious food or die of dysentery.

For some reason I felt like Louisiana was going to be a somewhat intimidating state. I think it's because of how the news reports the crime that's committed after hurricane season in New Orleans. So when the first thing I see inside the restaurant is a 6'6", 225+ pound man in raggedy clothes, bouncing side to side on his feet to the Creole music that's playing like some sort of Cajun Saint Nick, I'm a bit astounded. I ask another couple if they've ordered and they nicely tell me they have. Approaching the cashier, he ask what I'd like in a thick Louisiana accent that takes me off guard and I tell him a gator po-boy.

"You wonna drink wi dat?"
"Uh, just a water."
"You won dat in teh boddle, ri?"
"Uuuh..." I really don't want it in the bottle so I want to ask him, "Do you have it in the fountain?" but I forget the word "fountain" and know "tap" isn't the one I'm looking for. Without this knowledge, I have no choice but to assume the water only comes in a bottle, in which case it cost money, in which case I might as well get soda. As I over-complicate the choice of what beverage to consume, I also feel pressure from the cashier who seems to very much be a business man who likes to keep things moving, and here I am delaying his business, so I finally say,
"Nah, I'll just get a soda."
"It's yo choice," he says in a way as to let me know, I'm definitely over-thinking this procedure.
"No, I'll just get a soda."

I sit down and wait, watching the large man bounce and have small talk with the couple. The large man has a thick accent as well. This is the first time I've ever thought to myself, "We're not in Kansas anymore." I got in my car, everybody was speaking English, I get out of my car, everybody is speaking Louisiana: it's kind've otherworldly.

I worry they might've given my order away for a while, but a man finally comes with my po-boy. For those who have never had gator, my previous experiences would describe it as a cross of chicken and fish, which sounds horrific, but it's pretty good. This po-boy is different though. This po-boy isn't good at all: it's amazing. It completely skips "good" on its way to getting there. My closest memory to such a food experience would be the french fry burrito in Arkansas, but I've been eating fairly well lately since I know my trip will be ending soon, so it's not a contrast to crappy food: this is just plain amazing. Even the tomatoes are good, and I hate tomatoes, which makes me wonder if magic is somehow involved. If you ever find yourself near Breaux Bridge, Louisiana, do yourself the favor of stopping by The Boudin Shop & Country Store.

It's been an efficient day if anything, getting all the way from San Antonio to Breaux Bridge with stops in between. And having such a nice Welcome Center to sleep at after such a great meal, I've got high hopes on how the rest of my trip through Louisiana will be.