Brian: “I don’t know if you have any plans this Friday Miriam, but I’m going out with about 50 Fire fighters for a few drinks and you’re more than welcome to come along if you want”.
It will be tough, but I’ll try to free up some time.
Cate (Queen of the Fiddle) and I are going to New Orleans tomorrow for six days! Bourbon, beignets and birthdays all around! So far our plans consists of: New Orleans Saints and Kansas City Chiefs pre-season game on Friday, a visit to a plantation, a swamp boat ride and alligator farm, celebration extraordinaire of our birthdays, and I have tentatively suggested a ‘Vampire Tour’… Fantabulous!
Kara and I threw ourselves in the car just in time for the peak-traffic! We just couldn’t help it: the prospect of sand between our sweaty office toes was all the motivation we needed to venture out on the roads at 6 pm. In the end it wasn’t bad at all and we had a very enjoyable ride. Kara is above all a very relaxed driver and holiday-goer. We babbled, ate snacks and enjoyed the view of rivers and corn fields as we drove through Maryland.
Crossing the very long and beautiful bridge somewhere outside of some place.
We were making such good time that we decided to stop for some dinner and found a real, good-old fashioned American barbecue joint complete with a fume-puffing bull. Surrounded by corn fields, and trucks large enough to ship Mammoths in, the diner and a small gas station provides pork of various shapes and sizes to the, no doubt, insatiable local population.
He huffed, and he puffed and he blew smoke from his little nose. The bull is on top of a massive pit grill, not sure they actually use it for anything else then smoke signals.
Posing like pros in front of the bull. A kind man driving an enormous truck stopped and asked if we needed help as we were quite unsuccessfully trying to take selfies with the bull..
Queen of the Road, Kara, enjoying a well-deserved break in the late evening sun-light with the bull posing suggestively in the background.
You have been warned.
Kara is not only a cool, calm and collected driver, she’s also a true connoisseur of everything regarding food and drink and has an excellent food blog. Feeling like I was in the right hands, I let her be in charge of the food-ordering: Two types of South Carolina-pork in a sandwich together with some sweet potato fries. Sounds delicious eh? It wasn’t. In fact I will go as far as saying that it was absolutely horrendous. But there, we tried it.
Note the cinnamon and sugar on the fries. My tastebuds have never been so confused.
We arrived safely to the beach community and got lost immediately amongst the enormous factory outlets, beach hotels and motels (with witty names such as ‘Sea Esta’), and restaurants. Luckily, Cassidy, Kara’s College room mate and the main reason for our visit, managed to guide us right and made sure that we had drinks in our hands within half an hour of us walking into the house. Cassidy is an actor and shares the lovely apartment with her two colleagues for the summer as they are all part of the same stage production. It was a lovely evening and after a glass of Pimm’s and a few outrageous comments later, I was as happy as a pig in shit.
It was nice to escape the baby-frenzy.
The day after we headed to the beach and it was so lovely! Chatting, swimming and tanning was just what I needed. There are a few things in this world that are better than taking a cool swim (it was a bit chilly), lie in the sun and let it warm you up whilst listening to music.
I don’t know why, but Americans seems to be slightly obsessed with personalised license plates and I have started to take pictures of the ones I found to be really stupid (they are all stupid, however some more than others) such as ‘SO VERRY’, ‘RRROAR’ and this beauty, parked next to our car at the beach:
A bit of holiday-reading. As I mentioned in one of my earlier posts I’m exploring some of USA’s literary classics and I have just finished The Great Gatsby. Very good! Now I can go and ogle at Leonardo DiCaprio with a clean conscience.
Being on a beach-holiday-weekend naturally entails an exploration of the nightlife. We were living.. actually I’m not really sure where we were living, the road just seemed to go on and be lined with hotels, motels and bars, all of them blending in to one and another. The beach we went to was in Lewen, a small beach town some 10-15 min drive away from us and it claims to be ‘The First Town in the First State’. Delaware is ‘The First State’. I’m not exactly sure what this means, but I know that there was a large Swedish community living here at one point and there are many Nilssons and Ericssons around, but also quite a few dutch sounding names. Anyways, I think we went out in Rehoboth and it was fun. I got introduced to the ‘Devil Slushie’, which is a sweet-icy thing with a lot of alcohol in it.
Shot girls convinced us to try their jell-o shots. They needn’t try very hard.
Cassidy, Kara and Brock- ready for the night with our sweet slushies and big smiles. The night carried on in a merry fashion until the dreaded phrase of: ‘Let’s do tequila shots’ was uttered. Ah Tequila. So little time, so many mistakes. I think we were all pushed over the edge at this point. The rest of the night is more or less of a dancing blurr. One thing that sobered me up instantaneously though was when one of the bar tenders thought it was ok to slip an ice cube and touch one of our party-members cleavage. I think not! A chat with the manager and a firm email (written at 4 am) later, the bartender got disciplined and lost shifts. One big step for us, one small step for womankind. Everyone should be allowed to go out and have a nice time without having some stranger leaning over and touching them inappropriately. The man actually had the nerve to come up and say that SHE was flirting with HIM and therefore it was ok. I don’t fucking think so. Oh well. He lost his shifts and we carried on into the night.
The little beach community is not equipped for the sudden outpour of summer guests when the bars close at 1 am and only have ONE taxi company to cater for everyone. The wait was 1 hour. So we did the only reasonable thing to do: we went to the beach. There was a half moon reflecting in the crashing waves and me and Brock ran to the water to dip our feet and splash around like children. Suddenly there was a cop. Apparently there is a beach curfew between 1 am and 5.30 am and no we had not seen the sign. Luckily he was as sweetheart and upon hearing my accent, softened up a bit and gave us some time to gather ourselves and our things. Eventually we found a taxi and made it home: sandy, wet and a little bit confused (again, I blame the tequila). Most of Sunday was spent recovering, eating weird things, going to the beach only for a thunderstorm to start and then go home and do the only sensible thing: take a nap. It was Sunday after all.