Sweet Home Alabama

Four. One more than three. Two less than six. That is now the number of free beers we have been able to.....scam is the wrong word, so I’ll go with “procure”....from the unwitting American public. Chaz in Philly had purchased our first freebie, and the unknown Kingpin of Nashville accounted for our second. The third and fourth came one after the other from Don. But I am already getting ahead of myself.

We had left the baking heat of Nashville, early in the morning after checking out of the Knights Inn (who I would definitely recommend if you are in Nashville and on a budget), and taking the short route to Birmingham, Alabama, via a taxi. We certainly didn’t need another Greyhound journey covered in sweaty rags, and that would have definitely been the case had we attempted to hike it there with our bags on our backs. As it turns out, the Nashville Greyhound terminal was crammed with people, already queuing up at the gates for the busses waiting outside. This wouldn’t have been too much of a problem if the buses had actually taken any people away within the first hour and if the flipping AC had been turned on! So there we stood, in our sweaty rags, waiting hopefully for a double seat on a coach from Gate B – “B for Birmingham” as the lady behind the desk had advised us, after adding her to our growing list of people who have been enthralled by our English accents. And then something usual happened. Whilst talking away between us we heard the all-too-frequently-asked-question, “Wheyur y’all frum?” come from behind us. The voice belonged to a small, rotund chap holding a HAM radio in one hand, and what turned out to be a carrier bag full of bite-sized burgers in the other. We were happy to talk to him whilst patiently waiting in line, and he was happy to converse back, asking questions and filling in some our our gaps in American culture, history and procedures.

Although he will be named Radio Mike in the Travellers Top Trumps, we should call him Fakey Lying McNo-truth. For as we learned later on in our stay in Birmingham; A) All planes entering the US do NOT have to go via New York, B) You CAN purchase alcohol in Alabama on a Sunday, and C) White Castle do NOT do the best food in Tennessee. As soon as we got settled on the bus I grabbed the netbook from my bag and left him chatting away to James, despite his insistence that he must listen to Freebird when he leaves every US city, but I just think he was trying to get some peace and quiet from the looney in the seat in front.

Our bus was due in to Birmingham at 15:50, however, it was late leaving Nashville (which we are getting used to) so we were running late for our arrival in the home of the Civil Rights movement in the 60’s. This wouldn’t have been too much of a bad thing, but we had someone meeting us in the terminal at 15:50, and we had no way of contacting him to tell him that we would be late, and Greyhound sure as heck wouldn’t be advising people of the delay! Our only hope was that Don would be happy to wait around until our bus rolled up. Thankfully, he was still there when we arrived 45 minutes later than planned and greeted us with smile and a handshake, before leading us to his car.

We had been looking for a place to stay in Birmingham as it would break up the long journey from Nashville to New Orleans, but we had not really had any luck with the hotels or hostels in the local area. So we happened across Don, who had been recommended to us through Giselle, our Tasmanian Discovery Pass Buddy who we met on our way to Washington DC. He had hosted a number of people in the past and had great references so we had sent a few emails to him and he had agreed to let us stay with him overnight, and show us a l’il bit of Birmingham. The process is called Couchsurfing and has thousands of people throughout the world hosting people in their houses and then surfing with others around the globe. A certain amount of trust is required, but I liken it to buying something from ebay...you don’t buy something from someone with no feedback. And this would inevitably help us with our budgeting system and hopefully free up some money so that we could eat and drink a little finer than we had been doing – see section in Nashville blog on Cup Noodles and Colt 45.

Due to the late arrival into Birmingham we hurried to the Civil Rights Museum to try and get in before they closed (5pm on a Sunday) as it was free to enter on a Sunday. We got there at quarter to 5 and they had already started to close up, but after we pleaded with the receptionist and guy-with-walkie-talkie that we had come all the way from England, they let us in on the basis that, “you guys have got 15 minutes to get in and get out!” in the nicest possible way. My knowledge was slightly lacking on the whole situation, but James and Don were happily chatting away about it whist I was looking at the pictures and listening in. There were some pretty shocking images in there, the difference between the black and white classrooms and sinks for example, and the ghostly image of the Ku Klux Klan outfit in a glass case. Our quick tour came to an end with seconds to spare, and we took a stroll around the small park outside, near to the church that was bombed in the uprisings. Then we headed back to Don’s place in his Toyota Prius, only a short drive from the Greyhound terminal. It was a lovely little place, tucked away in a leafy apartment complex, and looked like a great place for us to call base whilst staying in Alabama. Our dinner was another delicious pulled pork sandwich with various sides and extra hot sauce dip, just my style! I even had a little chuckle at the No Farting sign. A couple more Yuenglings (as mentioned at the start of this entry) back at Don’s and we were heading off to his local bar – one that seemed to divide opinion for some reason, but so long as there would be the Happy Hour Don had told us there would be, I knew both me and James would not have a problem. Sure enough, the Happy Hour lasted long into the night and we happily guzzled down our Yuenglings whilst Don supped away on his Rum and Sprite (I think) until we decided it was time to head back for some shut-eye. As James was the lankiest we decided that he should take the futon bed in the spare room and I would take to the couch in the living room. To reduce the overall noise in the front room we switched off the AC and opened a window. Once we had all retired to our own rooms I realised that having a window open may not be the best idea. You see, out in the greenery surrounding Don’s place and the outskirts of Birmingham there are these beetles. They are called cicaedia beetles or something like that. We had previously marvelled at the shrill cricket-like noise they give off in the evenings, but now it was time for some sleep it seemed like they had cranked up the volume to 11. I eventually drifted off to sleep, only to be woken by the biggest thunderclap you have ever heard. The thunder continued throughout the night, but the pitter-patter of the well-overdue rain was enjoyable enough to drift back into a sound sleep.

We woke, we showered, we headed out for breakfast. A tasty bacon, egg and cheese biscuit (American’s call breakfast muffins “biscuits” for some reason) plus a bowl of grits (semolina-like grain with butter and maybe pepper, but never sugar as that’s a Northern thing, although James did put some on at one point without knowing the rules) and a coffee later we were ready for our day around Birmingham. But before we left the Waffle House, we regaled our waitress (Vee) about Harry Ramsden’s fish ‘n’ chip restaurants as she had seen them feature on Undercover Boss. And then I tried to settle our bill with the waitress (name unknown) that just couldn’t understand me. After telling her we were from England she was stupefied and was amazed that we had come all the way from England and eat at their little diner in the middle of Birmingham.

Don and James having a wander

Our little tour of Birmingham took in the Vulcan statue that looks out across Birmingham, Don’s Theatre where he works 3 days a week, the local bank (for me to change my travellers cheques), the Wal Mart on the outskirts of town, the JC Penny’s where Don used to work, the man-made park by the railway lines where there are apparently loud bull frogs (but we couldn’t hear any as there was an outdoor dance class going on that was pumping out loud dance/R ‘n’ B tunes, so no wonder they weren’t out!) and Sloss Furnace (a now-disused furnace that has now been turned into a small museum). A quick bite to eat “Southern style” at Sweet Tea’s whereby you grab a tray and pick food from the hot-plates in a cafeteria-style way of dining, was our last place to visit before heading back to Don’s to collect our things and get back to the good ol’ Greyhound terminal. Don had been the perfect host and even kindly offered to drop us off back where we came from so we could get our coach down to New Orleans. We said our goodbyes and both James and I settled in for another long wait in another dreary bus station...

What a digger!