We were in Memphis on Friday, home to Graceland and the Civil Rights Museum. It was Scott’s idea to tour the city and the museum. I had no idea that it was centered on the Lorraine Motel, the place where the Reverend Martin Luther King had his last day. I was looking forward to seeing the museum, but I must admit I was not overly excited.

I am so glad we did. I cannot put in to words the feelings that went through me as I walked through the museum. I was transported back to a time where, to say the least, we were not on our best behavior. There was so much hate and so many terrible things being done that it brought several rounds of tears to my eyes. It seems impossible to fathom that these things happened so recently and that our government really thought that these laws and rules were humane, logical and most importantly, Constitutional.

Whenever I think about courage from now on I will think of the people who stood up to a force that so badly wanted nothing more than to see them gone. When I think about determination, I will think of all the years it took Rev. Martin Luther King and his followers to fight for the things we take for granted today. And when I think of hope, it will be their fights, falls and fears that I remember. Most importantly, we all have to remember that the fight isn’t over.

Driving into TX we came across a native Texan symbol so cool looking that we had to stop and get a shot.

It was drive, drive, drive all the way to Austin where we stopped at a recommended hotel. It’s called the Austin Motel where they boast theme rooms varying from polka dots to Asian. We were sent to the room that I think might have been intended as a beach front room in the Caribbean. I also theorize that perhaps the room was left before its completion to finish the polka dot room. There was a sloppy safari-esque vibe in the form of throw pillows and bed spreads. It looked as if this was the last room to be done and they were over budget.

Tomorrow will be another day all about the driving. It’s been really cold, like literally freezing. I hate the cold. Why is it getting colder the farther south and west we go?

This morning we left our cozy room, thanked our hosts, poured the coffee to go and left for Texas. We decided to drive around and see some what was left of this part of New Orleans. The French Quarter had fortunately been spared. It would have been just terrible of that architectural landmark had been destroyed. Other areas were not so blessed. I, like everybody else, had seen pictures of what happened there during those days in August, but nothing could prepare me for what I was about to see.

For blocks and blocks all that was left were skeletons of houses. Entire neighborhoods were deserted; dead communities that may never recover. The people that remain live in FEMA issued trailers in their driveways. I was speechless and shocked. It looked like something out of Mad Max and it had been 18 months since the disaster. The damaged area stretched for miles and miles all the way into TX. I stood on the failed levees that were designed to protect the city. The distance between the levees and the huge network of people and neighborhoods was a short stroll across a street. Although it was outraging and depressing I am glad to have seen it first hand because is was a truly humbling experience and I am grateful for what I have. The house pictured here is spitting distance from the levees and it is clear how high the water reached.

We played tourists today around the French Quarter. Scott is a great guy for this. He loves to see things and doesn’t mind taking the reins and making everything happen. I swear he must have a GPS chip embedded in his wrist or something. Today was a home game for the New Orleans Saints and the Philly Eagles. All day we saw locals sporting Fleur De Lys decals on their faces and clothes sipping god-knows-what from outlandish oversized plastic cups. At about 4 it started to clear out and the swelling excitement subsided… for the time being.

We ate at a restaurant of Scott’s choice, K-Paul’s Louisiana Kitchen in the French Quarter. It was really good and very rich. I remembered the feeling of impending internal rupture from the night before and took it easy this time around. I had a prosciutto, basil and ricotta cheese stuffed pork chop with fondant potatoes and perfectly steamed veggies. Scott ordered a blackened fillet with the classic mash and vegetable sides done to perfection. To begin, fried rabbit tenderloin with honey mustard reminded me of a chicken tender I had while playing pool the week before. A Gigondas accompanied us through our edible journey through K-Paul’s Kitchen. Half way through we were visited by a 4 man band playing some authentic Creole tunes. Unfortunately, due to a lot of city living my first reaction was annoyance because I did not feel like being asked for money. The restaurant didn’t seem the type to allow that sort of intrusion, but you never know so I listened and tapped my foot quietly while they played.

At the end of the set they thanked us for dining there and explained that the chef put some of his profits back into the community by feeding the men and women who came here to help rebuild the city. That made a very big difference to me.

We took a stroll on Bourbon St after dinner when the last play in the game was made to put the Saints into a close but victorious win. The level of excitement surged like an inebriated buzz with “Who Dat” chanted over and over again. It is some local expression relating to some football thing. I saw some guy earlier that day wearing a shirt with that saying and just thought he was illiterate. I had no idea it was a cultural thing.

I must say that New Orleans is quite the city. The energy is unlike anything I have felt before; I am reminded of Key West with a European flair. The locals are brave, strong folks that have managed to pull through and remain strong in the wake of our nation’s worst natural disaster.

This is one of the great food cities in the U.S. We ate at NOLA. It is owned by the eclectic Emeril, and it shows. The kitchen is open and the decor is very bright and showy with a definite presence, one much like you see on his show.

We started with a Duck Confit pizza and the Gumbo of the day, chicken and Andoulie sausage. Main courses were Shrimp and Grits, cheddar cheese grits with cremini mushrooms, bacon and grilled shrimp dressed with an ancho sauce. We also shared a hickory smoked half duck with haricot verts and cornbread pudding. They had a St. Joseph by Guigal on the list and being that St. Jo is my favorite region in the Rhone Valley we had ourselves a winner. I was a little concerned though because I was stuffed yet still had about a glass of wine left. The bartender kindly reminded me that I was not in Kansas anymore as she took the Riedel glass and poured the contents into a plastic cup. Oh… My… God…

I must say that it was really nice to be able to purchase a beer at one bar and when we decided that it was time for relocation we just left; no need to worry about finishing your beer because you take it with you! We strolled around Bourbon street and watched the drunks in high heels and polo shirts stumble around a street littered with glowing beer mugs and strands of metallic beads. At about 3am it was time to call it quits and return to our camp to rest up for a day of sober, sunlit exploration.