Baby Grand

(We have absolutely no photographic evidence of any of the following)

With stats complete, we went in search of the first bar we had sampled on our original NYC visit, but without a clue as to its location we gave up and dipped into a tiny little establishment on LaFayette and Grand St. named Baby Grand! It was smaller than our hotel room (literally) and our presence alone forced a 'one in, one out' door policy.

Within minutes we were talking to the lovely bar maid, Adrienne. We enjoyed her pleasant demeanour and great conversation, and without the distractions of things like other customers or the space to move anywhere else in the bar, she soon found herself stuck talking to us!

She revealed her immensely diverse personality, with a passion for shoe and fashion design, which was firmly influenced by her other major interests of origami, mathematical patterns and psychology.

Before too long, the bar’s owner, Mike arrived. A huge Tottenham Hotspurs supporter and connoisseur of football in general, Mike had a wealth of intellectual pursuits himself. A qualified lawyer/ keen video gamer/ bar owner/ football player, Mike discussed the football scenes back home with Tom, before unleashing a host of theories on the evolutionary roots of competitive sports and the inherent beauty of efficient design. We were smitten with both of them.

With the bar to ourselves, Adrienne suggested we get some food in. We called up the local pizza place - the world renowned Lombardi's, and tucked into the finest pizza on earth with our new friends. We then whiled away the hours drinking Earl Grey and taking part in an impromptu origami workshop - not your average night out! We were shocked into the realisation that we were not in our own private bar when a couple of punters had the audacity to walk into the bar, but one was a professional UFC fighter so we didn't complain. With an early start ahead of us for our flight the following day we bid a reluctant farewell to Mike and Adrienne, armed with some custom made origami. Meeting these two fascinating characters in such a cool setting was the perfect last night to cap off an unforgettable 3 months.

This is not the end...we are writing this from Waterloo, back on UK soil, having endured a rigorous sleep deprived 28 hours. We will post up a final verse with a few poignant thoughts once we've had a few days to mull it all over. And sleep. But, this is the end of the American Verses...we hope you've enjoyed our self indulgent flights of fancy as much as we have!

Traverses – Fact!

We returned to NYC and checked in to the very first hotel we had ever visited in America: Sohotel. In keeping with our theme of symmetry, and still feeling warm inside from our Wayne visit we had booked the room the night before. Déjà vu washed over us again as we hit the reception desk and checked in. We dropped off our bags and began dissecting the stats we had collected from our trip. We aim to do this a greater service eventually with our film/book aspirations, but for now stat fans, here are some little facts drawn from our data:

Green Machine Facts:

147 Gallons (556 litres) consumed

3851 miles covered

26.19 MPG (7.1 MPL)

9.7 miles per USD average

Spot Facts:

479 Gallons (1811 litres) guzzled

7533 Miles traversed

17 MPG (4.5 MPL)

6.4 miles per USD average

British Airways Facts:

6918 Miles flown

6.3 miles per USD average

Total "Team Traverses" mileage: 36,604  { The Earth's equator 1.46 times }

Gas Expenses (US)

$1573 = 11384 miles

Equivalent trip in UK:

1573 USD = 4080 miles

Spot:

Price: $2357

Healthcare: $294

Sold: $300

Total Expense: $2351

Dietary Facts:

$242 spent on Breakfast

$1068 spent on Lunch

$4892 spent on "Dinner" (Alcohol)

30 of a possible 50 States Traversed

Total Spending: $22,765

Au Revoir, old friend

We’ll keep this blunt, mainly because it brings tears to our eyes just to think about it, but also because we’re writing this entry from a JFK airport bar, with mere hours before take-off and a strong conviction to have this blog finished before we hit home soil.

We shot out of NY and back to Dave’s Automotive dealership in NJ. He gave us some cash and we left Spot forever!

Spot was the icon of our trip, his kind ways and positive demeanour got us through 7533 miles of faultless travel. He kept us warm in the coldest of nights, and dry in the wettest of... nights. He was home away from home. We shall miss you dearly old friend. x

No Sleep til Brooklyn

Happy that the trip's final hurdle was 90% straddled, we returned to New York with the destination of Brooklyn to stay with old designer friends of Mike from his Amsterdam days. The two had kindly offered to house us for a few days, mainly because they were such big fans of our blog (a lie: they haven’t read it, despite threats of violence from us)

Against our own best judgement and the advice of everyone we'd ever spoken to, we decided to get there the most efficient route possible: through Manhattan. A horribly stressful hour followed as we darted, honked and scraped our way through gridlocked traffic. After such intense concentration in the face of death around every corner, we were sweaty broken men when we finally arrived at our hosts' super modern Brooklyn flat. We were greeted with a dish of delicious pasta, home cooked by Stani! With news of Katie being away for the weekend we immediately donned our jackets and headed off into Brooklyn to get absolutely shitfaced!

With Stani being such a conscientious host, he made sure to use the opportunity to give us a thorough tour of the area's drinking establishments, not stopping until we were no longer able to stand. Good times.

The next day we nursed our hangovers and awaited the stabilising element of Katie’s return for a more mature night in chilling out and discussing design!

We would like to say thanks to Katie and Stani, via the blog! Maybe they’ll even read it at some stage and confirm that they have read it by leaving a comment!

Its the button below this sentence that says “comment” (!)

Press the button people!

Spotless

With New York now firmly in our sights, for the first time since we left the East coast we had the chance to revisit some of the people, places and sights we had left behind three months earlier. A new perspective altered by three months on the road would allow us to see these places in a fresh light and give a sense of symmetry to the end of the trip.

Our arrival in the New York vicinity also signalled the last week of the trip, and that meant facing up to a harsh reality: we would have to say good-bye to Spot. We'd been careful not to talk about the sale within ear-shot of our beloved AstroVan, but as the Big Apple's skyscrapers loomed into view on the horizon, Spot let out a telling anxious splutter...maybe he knew what was coming.

The plan (kept secret from Spot of course) was to find an out-of-town car dealer, sell Spot for a healthy sum and get a bus into New York, and lavishly spend our new riches in a final week blow out in New York. What could go wrong? In keeping with the idea of symmetry, we headed for a small town just outside NYC that held a real place in our hearts: Wayne.

We had first visited this glorified shopping mall as we prepared to pick up the 'Green Machine' for our first trans-continental traverse back in September. The Ramada hotel had provided a base of operations in Wayne for a couple of days spent exploring the mega-mall, cinema and the brilliantly tacky 'Cheeseburger in Paradise' restaurant that adjoined the hotel. We had spent a couple of unexpectedly brilliant nights in this beach-themed burger/cocktail bar, meeting a good deal of the friendly staff in the process.

As we rolled into the hotel's parking lot, we experienced a weird sense of deja-vu that would become familiar over the next week; entering the hotel lobby was like walking into a distant memory. We checked into our home away from home, and in a haze of nostalgia, headed into our beloved paradise of cheeseburgers. Unbeknownst to us, the original night that we'd spent propping up the bar had gone down in Cheeseburger history - not least due to Jeff and Dawn's biker marriage going on that night (their names are still on a sign outside the hotel!) The familiar face of Lexi the barmaid greeted us - instantly breaking into a disbelieving grin and exclamation of “you guys came back!”. A few brief traveller's tales followed, punctuated by cameos from other staff members who showed a charming interest in our adventure! We suspect from the interest in us that not much happens in Wayne!

With Spot's sale in mind, we took advantage of our last few hours of van ownership by bundling our pick of the bar's staff into the back, doing our best to hold back the tears as we took pictures of Spot’s last guests under our ownership. Feeling like road-tripping superstars, we called it a night, reflecting on an amazing reception in Wayne and contemplating the heartbreak of the next day.

We hit the road early, hoping to make a quick sale, aiming to be in a bar using Spot’s retirement funds to fuel a drinking session of mourning/ celebrating within hours. After a morning of fruitless and demoralizing searching, we put the Champagne on ice. The best result we had managed so far was Ronnie's Car and Truck sales - literally the dodgiest looking outfit we could find. We rolled up to Ronnie's shack which was surrounded by rusting cars, already picturing ourselves walking away clutching a satisfying wad of cash.

We proudly flaunted our van’s most desirable features (wheels, engine, doors), we waited for Ronnie to demand the keys and shower us in cash. From the man's facial expression and ominous silence, he was either stunned by the sheer quality of our vehicle, or he was looking for a way to get rid of us. Unfortunately it turned out to be the latter. After some desperate negotiating, it became apparent that we couldn't even give Spot away for free. Ronnie was good enough however to give us the address of some other dealers in the area.

After we'd cruised past several shiny official looking garages, we found what we were looking for: a run-down cabin surrounded by clapped out motors. This looked like our kind of place. Unconvinced after so many disappointing experiences, we trudged towards the dilapidated office. Dave, (classic trustworthy name) the patron of 'Automotive Handlers Inc.' took a cursory glance of our fine machine and delivered his verdict:

"This ain't worth a lot, fellas. I'll give you 300." 

We launched into spontaneous high fives, followed by hysterical shrieking and finally sobbing uncontrollably while hugging Dave! Completely unfazed by the horrendous loss we were making, we snapped Dave's hand off. There was one remaining complication: we didn't actually have the ownership title papers for our vehicle. Dave seemed unconcerned, we made arrangements for the paperwork to be sent the breadth of the country on an overnight delivery with the plan to return once it had arrived and collect the cash. It was the ultimate result - we had a guaranteed buyer for the van, and had Spot for one last weekend! By this point however, Spot was no longer talking to us. We don’t blame him.

Fan Art

Inspired by our trip, Mr Henrik Bolle from Germany, Europe produced these fine artist impressions of the Traverses team. Note the inaccuracy of the Oscar image; we will clearly have more than 4 awards when we release our road trip film.

Delawhere?

In a brilliant and out-of-character feat of forward thinking, we decided to allow ourselves just over a week at the end of the trip to sell our vehicle on the outskirts of New York, hopefully giving us a final week in the Big Apple.This left us a couple of days to get to our van selling location, time that Tom had already earmarked for a visit to one of his graphic design idols (for a change). The internationally renowned font designers, 'House Industries' reside in the nationally ridiculed state of Delaware, located perfectly on our path between Washington and NYC. In previous email conversations, even the company's founding member, Rich, advised us that there are a lot of better areas to visit in the States...undeterred we punched in Yorklyn, DW into the sat-nav and headed out of Washington.

Just look at it!

Another underrated state

We steadily made our way north east, watching as the landscape and towns began to morph into sights we recognised from back home. Passing through the hardened city of Baltimore, we found ourselves flanked by rows of red brick terraced houses, it could have been Manchester! Even place names flashing by on road signs started to sound familiar: Glasgow, Chester, Camden, North Wales, Reading, Lancaster, York...you name it they've got it!

Our vague plan was to get ourselves within striking distance of Yorklyn, home of House, for a high noon meeting with Rich, but as we approached our destination in the dead of night we realised that these twisting country lanes would not yield a bountiful supply of hotels. Sensing Mike was getting nervous after a few too many consecutive sleeps in Spot, Tom tested the water with an high pitched, soulful rendition of his now customary 'Van Night' song. Mike rose to the bait, slammed Spot to a standstill and started maniacally trying to find a hotel by repeatedly punching the sat-nav. As the trip neared the end, emotional outbursts like this would become more and more frequent.

Having regained some sense of control, we methodically visited every hotel in the area, which were all mysteriously either closed or fully booked. With Mike now physically shaking at the prospect of climbing into his cheap nylon sleeping bag again, we headed towards our last chance saloon. First signs weren't good as we approached the Mindenhall - apart from looking a few leagues above our budget, all the lights were out. With a sinking feeling growing in Mike's (already temperamental) stomach, we tentatively entered the eerily dark lobby, looking for signs of life. A stressed out receptionist revealed there had been a power-cut and although they had rooms available, he could not check us in until power had been restored. He gave us the name of a bar down the road where we could get some food and suggested we return in an hour to see if the situation had changed.

Now numb to the bizarre series of events, we went to the bar. It turned out to be a quintessential English country pub, complete with real ales and paintings of fox hunts adorning the walls. We tucked into delicious home made soup (now a staple of the trip) and drained a few tankards of fine ale, all accompanied by some friendly characters at the bar. The night was capped off perfectly when we returned to the hotel to find a now significantly less stressed receptionist proudly standing next to a brilliantly lit christmas tree, ready to take our money in exchange for a couple of beds. He turned out to be a part time stand up comic, so after some strong banter, we checked into what ranks as one of the nicest hotels of the trip.

We awoke to another blustery winters morning, and after a custom made omelette and coffee, headed out to meet Rich at House. During the night, we had seemingly been tele-ported directly into the heart of the English countryside. As we swooped down tight country lanes, over rolling hills and between high banked Cornish hedges we really could have been back home. It was easily one of the most beautiful areas we'd encountered, and it had taken us over 10,000 miles to find it! 

We eventually located the House Industries studio: an anonymously placed house right in the middle of this natural beauty. Rich arrived as we did and we were soon well into the 30 second studio tour. The modest studio (a single room with a couple of desks) belied the prolific output and reputation House have outputted over the past decade. Rich enthusiastically showed us all their latest projects which littered the studio, then apologised profusely as he had to catch a business flight to the west coast, but ensured us that if we stuck around we'd be in for a treat. That treat came in the form of Angelo Cruz, a legendary hot-rod pin-striper (and dad of House's other founding mamber, Andy) who happened to be stopping by to apply some custom pin-striping to a secret project. Our timing couldn't have been better as Angelo treated us to a live show of some of the most accurate and disciplined painting we'll ever see.

Meanwhile, Mike got into some great discussions with Adam; Angelo's classically trained fine artist son. Adam was responsible for turning out some of House's most disciplined and well executed illustrations, and offered Mike a wealth of knowledge for future use.

Suitably blown away by the whole experience, we decided to leave the master to it, not before accepting signed artwork, tshirts and books from the unbelievably friendly House guys, and snapping a Cruz family portrait in front of Spot. We hit the road again in the vague direction of New York, enjoying the scenic countryside in perfect wintry sunshine. Just as we were discussing how we'd stumbled across some of the most genuinely warm people on the trip and how brilliantly the day had gone, a routine food stop was about to take it to the next level. We turned into a restaurant just off the highway!

The visually unremarkable diner, was run by George and Joe, an uncle/nephew team of Pennsylvania natives. Our story really caught their imagination and we were soon engaged in a lengthy and energetic chat, before they insisted that we ate and drank for free - slamming down an enormous stromboli (cheese steak filled Italian dough, ladled with tomato sauce) for us to share. They joined us to eat, bringing a laptop to look at our blog. We talked the dudes through our adventures on the west coast while they explained the rules of Cash Cab, a game show set in Manhattan.

We mentioned Will's board, which was collecting dust in Spot. Joe showed interest in the board, and on seeing it, his eyes lit up. Tom casually mentioned we were trying to get rid of it and before we knew it, we were out at the van handing over the board for cash! 

We bid a fond farewell to two of the most genuine and warm characters we'd met and continued North into the night.

George and Joe!

One Small Step for Man

The mission was complete. Spot proudly rumbled to a standstill and we simultaneously fell asleep, completely spent. The next day, suffering from cold turkey, neither of us could face the thought of a day without driving, so eased ourselves back into civilian life with a scenic cruise around Washington's famous monuments (note how we've adapted to American culture). We had hit the capital at the perfect time of year - tree lined boulevards burst with vivid red and yellow leaves, which were sent flying in the frequent brisk squalls. Feeling ready to leave the safety of the vehicle, we parked in an underground parking lot right in the centre of the city, and took our first tentative steps into the outside world.

It was a nightmare. With no heaters to protect us from the chilly Washington climate we were freezing. Some of the sidewalks were on a slight incline which put an unacceptable strain on our withered legs and we were out of breath in seconds. Our sat-nav didn't work at puny human speeds, and when we attempted to join the flow of traffic towards our destination, we were furiously beeped at and forced off the road. We were left wondering how people were supposed to survive outside of a car?! 

We somehow survived the 1.5 mile walk to our destination: The Smithsonian National Air and Space Museum. Stepping into the huge lobby with legendary space craft and fighter jets hanging above us, we felt in our element. Mike embarked on a mission to gather thousands of reference images to help with his mechanical designs, while Tom attempted to contribute by commenting on the shade of blue the Russians had painted their spacecraft. This met with an unimpressed look. Tom left him to it. 

We spent literally all day exploring the museum's unreasonably large collection of air and spacecraft, culminating in a brilliant 3D iMAX film...all about planes and that. We left the cinema, Mike cleaned himself up, and inspired by legends of epic space travel, we set about preparing for the final stages of our journey.

Traverses: now in 3D!

Eastbound And Down

With two hours of driving under our belts and safely out of the city, we stopped to give Spot a well earned drink. Embarking on that first stretch without the proper tools for the job (hat) had been reckless and we arrived at the gas station tense, but relieved to have made it in one piece. This was our last hope to obtain our coveted headwear. Fate stepped in again where we needed it most - there it was! On the shelf before us, as if sent by the trucking gods: the perfect truckers hat, 'Freightliner' emblazoned reassuringly across the front. We breathed a massive sigh of relief - we were going to be OK. 

Some put their faith in hats...

With the hat firmly wedged on Mike's head, all fears dissipated. Relieved, Tom crawled into the back to get some sleep before his early morning driving shift. Sleep was restless, was it the uneven southern roads or was Spot's engine not as smooth as usual? Trusting the power of the hat, Tom rolled over and attempted to sleep.

At around 4 am however, Tom woke up to neon lights piercing the cosy confines of the back of the van. The van was motionless. Where were we? Clambering into the vacant front section to peer into the outside world, the evidence started to piece itself together. Mike was emerging from a gas station, flanked by an grease-stained mechanic wielding two cans of oil. Spot had been parched of lubricant and delightfully lapped up both helpings of luxury oil. We eyed the cap suspiciously.

An Oily Night, Spot says 'Aaaah', and Mike's fuel of choice

We hit the road again, with Spot restored to his former self. After a couple of hours sitting in the co-pilot's seat, watching Mike struggle to the end of his shift, eye-lids practically welded shut, Tom took over. Lit by the eerie half light of the newly rising sun, Tom peeled the unconscious deadweight of a completely spent Mike off the drivers seat, rolled him into the back and took over the controls. 

In a 5 hour stint, through multiple time zones, we smashed through Louisiana, Mississippi, Alabama, Georgia, Tennessee, and finally came to rest in a gas station somewhere in Virginia. Spot rolled to a halt just as Tom's face made contact with the steering wheel, unleashing a shrill horn blast which snapped Mike out of his slumber. He quickly wrestled Tom off the wheel, removed the trucker's cap from his sweaty brow and threw his limp body into the back.

A succession of energy bars had kept us going through the night, but the miles were catching up with us - we were going to need some proper food. Our first interaction with humans for about 800 miles came as a shock. We felt like aliens walking into the nearby Subway; a raucous local family were communicating in some twangy foreign dialect, incorporating a mixture of snorts and coughs. As we approached the front of the line (queue) we were dreading opening our mouths to speak, convinced the locals wouldn't understand us. Tom went for it - ordering our subs in loud, slow phonetics. The old lady behind the counter stared blankly with a faint smile growing on her face. Tom had stopped speaking but she was still staring, showing no signs of taking in the order. 

"I shir can fix y'all oup, bu' furrrst til me wir in the wrrld y'alls are furm"

This time it was our turn to stare blankly. 

"England?" we guessed...

Suddenly she burst into a huge smile and seemingly satisfied with our response, went about preparing our sandwiches. The pattern continued and we'd soon spoken to everyone in the store, staff and customers included.

Bellies full, Mike took the final 6 hour shift, taking us right into the centre of Washington, DC. 

We had made it.

Into the Hornet's Nest

With our time in the States running out, the next day we solidified our plan: Go to that evening's basketball game then immediately hit the road to drive all the way to Washington - an ambitious journey of over 1000 miles. Our final day in New Orleans consisted of another blog marathon, salads and soup.

With a journey of epic proportions coming up, we knew that a non-stop drive of such distance would not be physically possible without a genuine trucker's cap.

No hard feelings then!

Hardcore Pawn

Interior and exterior of the Superdome - stunning

After an exhaustive, but ultimately failed search of New Orleans for a cap, we were left in a state of desperation. At one point we crossed a tramp donning potentially the hat of our dreams, and considered trading it for some of our tinned food, but the thought of wearing it continuously for 18 hours was not pleasant. We would have to set off without the correct equipment for the job: the success of the mission was hanging in the balance.

Trying to put aside our apprehension ahead of such a feat of human travel, we entered the 'Hornet's Nest' and nervously watched the spectacle of the New Orleans Hornets destroying the Trailblazers. It was another glitzy American sporting occasion, punctuated by (interior!) fireworks, music and a generous helping of cheerleaders. The final hooter sounded (a horn, not cheerleader) and we filed out of the stadium.

Now it was time to get our game faces on. We approached Spot, who was poised in the fluorescent lights of the parking lot, ready for his biggest test yet. Mike fired up the engine as Tom punched in the co-ordinates. Distance to destination: 1128 miles. Estimated journey time: 18 hrs. And we didn't even have a truckers hat. This was going to be tough.

Poetry in Motion

With the excitement of Nascar over, and a high pitched residual ringing now a constant companion to everything we did, we set about planning the next few days. We had one more stop-off before we left Dallas - Mike had hooked up another meeting with one of his concept design contacts, leaving Tom once again wondering whether he was just a passenger on an elaborate networking trip!

 Jeremy works for the industry-leading game production studio ' iD ', and had mentored Mike via email for many years as he learnt his craft. We rolled up to Jeremy's impressive out-of-town office and after signing Non-Disclosure Acts, we were led into the secretive inner sanctum of the studio. We (well,Tom was trying his best to keep up) spent hours talking normal map applications and art style choices, while playing their new top secret 'in-production' game: ***************. We continued on a full tour of the studio where we saw *************** being developed for ***************. The designs for the *************** looked stunning, especially the *************** and ***************. 

Having been blown away by seeing some amazing stuff at iD, Jeremy treated us to a fine meal at Cheesecake Factory (despite the name, this is a really plush restaurant) where we talked about his history at the best studios in the industry such as ILM and Blur. 


We were indulged with a fine range of stories from his time at George Lucas’s ranch working on the Star Wars prequels and his ILM time modelling Transformers for Michael Bay – it was inspiring stuff! We ended the evening with a slice of the infamous Original Factory Cheesecake, bid our farewells and returned to our Hotel! 

After Dallas the trip was unplanned (as always) so we needed to work out where to go, and tellingly at this part of the trip, where we still had time to go. A swift glance at the map left us with only one real option: New Orleans. We'd heard as much good about the city as bad, with Tom's enthusiasm for a bustling hub for soulful artists and jazz musicians cancelled out by Mike's abject fear of being raped by hillbillies in the deep South. On hearing about the thriving strip club scene in the city however, Mike cast aside his doubts and jumped on board. Our destination was set.

Wild Bill, wild style

Two days after meeting CG maestro Jeremy, we awoke in a truckers stop in Louisiana, having embarked on a mammoth all night drive to escape Texas and make some headway into Louisiana. The climate was changing rapidly as we headed south, and as the cooking heat of the day began to kick in, we pulled ourselves out of our sleeping bags emerging into the world along with a host of bleary eyed truckers.

Having abused the nearby McDonald's toilet facilities, naturally we could only think of one thing to do: blow Southerners' minds with our freestyle football skills! Our mid-carpark tricks session attracted the attention of 'Wild Bill' - an old lone traveler and hostel owner from Leadville, who from our skills could tell we weren’t from around these parts! He told us about life in Leadville, which is the highest town in the USA (at over 10,000 ft) and home of the Leadville 100 mile ultra marathon. He gave us a thorough breakdown of all the local attractions, sights and history – the man was a human sponge, absorbing knowledge from his vast experience travelling all over the world, and his enthusiastic advice was a welcome change of pace from non-stop driving.

We hit the road again, driving in shifts until our arrival in New Orleans, along the way soaking up Southern hospitality on our frequent fuel breaks. A sleeping Mike unfortunately missed out on the dramatic entrance to the city as we approached on a raised highway, skimming across the surface of the huge Lake Pontatrain. We headed immediately for the old French Quarter, New Orleans' beautiful historical district, which was dripping with atmosphere and soul. This was unlike anything we'd seen in the States, and we were spellbound by the classical Spanish architecture as we wandered the oil lantern-lit streets. 

We managed to stumble across an incredible hotel deep within the quarter, complete with wrought-iron gallery. As always with life on the road though, we didn't have long to stop and enjoy our new balcony's views - we had run out of clothes to wear, so hit the laundry. What was already shaping up to be the finest laundry we'd experienced (and we've seen a lot) turned out to be a registered landmark of New Orleans history: an old R&B recording studio and 'the home' of Rock N Roll music! 

Exhausted by two days of non-stop traveling (and some intense laundry), we headed through the quarter's bustling streets in search of a quiet spot to grab some food. As if by fate, the best Spaghetti Bolognese of all time presented itself to us in our hour of need. After demolishing what was our first really nourishing meal for days, and sampling a few bottles of the local Louisianna-brewed Abita beer, we headed back to the hotel. In a part-comatose state of contentment we took a seat on our balcony and drank in the moody dusty street scene below, before sloping off to bed, pondering how many days we could afford to stay in this amazing city.

Socks, Suds and Rock n Roll

The answer turned out to be three. With no rooms available in the building, we would have to move in down the road at their sister building 'Creole House'. As we left what had been our best hotel of the trip, we shared a coffee with the receptionist who told us all about her experiences when the infamous Hurricane Katrina caused havoc in the city. It was a fascinating and moving insight to hear about the hurricane's devastating effects on families from someone who had gone through it. 

Once installed in our quirky new attic room, we set out in the blistering heat in search of a bar from which to update the blog. Our quest led us to 'Turtle Bay' a typically buzzing bar which happened to be right opposite our new favourite spagetti-providing cafe. We had a lot to catch up on and fuelled as usual by a constant torrent of local beers we launched into a flurry of writing activity. As always, the adventure found us somehow - Tom overheard a shady looking character at the bar talking about cheap basketball tickets. A swift google revealed there was a game the following night and before Mike could intervene Tom had leapfrogged the table, $40 flapping in the air. We suddenly had tickets to New Orleans Hornets vs Portland Trailblazers.

It was getting late and the streets were starting to fill up with eager revelers. After a quick hop across the road for a bowl of spaghetti, we finished off the blogging for the day and shifted our focus to hitting the New Orleans night life. The night was a blur of hipster bars and street performing hip-hop brass bands. The bohemian tone was complimented by a row of poets hunched over typewriters on the sidewalk. Sensing fellow word-smiths, (but doubting they could achieve the kind of literary highs you've been treated to courtesy of us) we cornered one of the poets, threw some key words about the trip at him, and disappeared into a bar while he worked his magic. A couple of beers and another brass band later, we returned, collected our poem and vowed not to open it up until the right moment. What ever that meant. We had obviously been infiltrated by the pretentious nature of the area!

The final verse of our Poet's masterpiece

Stranger does uncanny Mike impersonation

On our short stagger back to the hotel, we stumbled into the entrance of a late-night sandwich place 'Quarter Master'. Unbelievably, the friendly broad (we're also being influenced by American language at this point) from the rock n roll laundry was behind the counter! With her recommendation, we sampled another southern delicacy: The po-boy - the pinnacle of human advancement in drunken food technology.

Drunk, full of greasy junk and feeling a tad tired, we returned to our semi gothic hotel room and slumbered.