Camp America... Washington DC to Memphis

Having spent the night in a less insect-filled tent, we were off to our next destination - namely Shenandoah National Park, VA, via Arlington Cemetery. For your convenience, here is a link to both:

http://www.arlingtoncemetery.mil/
http://www.nps.gov/shen/index.htm

Arlington was, unsurprisingly, a pretty serious place. Amongst other noteworthy Americans, President Kennedy is buried there, and Arlington salutes his memory with the Eternal Flame. At the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier, we got to see the changing of the guard. It was 9.30am, and the sweat was pouring off my face and down my back, and I was stood still. I have no idea how the guards felt, in their full on military regalia and doing their regimented marching cycles up and down. If I were wearing a hat, I would have taken it off to them.

Henceforth, we spent most of the day driving, and soon enough we were 3000 feet above sea level, taking pictures of stunning Virginia scenery as Daddy B swerved randomly into 'photo spots', gave us our allotted 5 seconds of frenzied Japanese tourist style picture taking time, and then swerved back out again, ensuring he didn't send any unsuspecting cyclists flying into a crevasse. We saw a large forest fire on our way back down, a video I believe you can see me presenting (rather badly) on Facebook.

After the relative luxury of our Washington DC super-campsite, Wytheville KOA (Kampgrounds of America, which is spelled with a 'K' rather than with a 'C', unfathomably) was... well... basic to say the least. We were in Hicksville, and it was raining heavily. The site looked like something out of the set of Deliverance and I could almost hear the banjos twanging as the manager 'Bob' drove down in a yellow KOA employee's polo shirt and matching golf buggy to announce that the kampsite was dry and we had to pour our hard earned beers away.

Being a gullible twit, I believed him and was almost about to neck the newly opened bottle when Bob broke out in peals of hysterical laughter and told us that of course he was kidding. However, his mirth soon turned into a genuinely grave expression; 'Seriously though, don't mess up our karoke platform'. Of course, the raised area that we had quite reasonably believed was fair game for barbecuing on was exactly where we were cooking an incredibly messy and hands on meal of Swedish meatballs, noodles and cream sauce. My sole responsibility during the prep of this meal lay with the cooking of the noodles, and lo and behold I managed to screw it up royally. God only knows what possessed me to put them into cold water and then let said water boil as they sat there becoming more gelatinous by the second. Anyway, this poor error of judgement turned out to cause much merriment and laughter at my expense, so was a positive experience for all (ahem).

The toilets at the campground played spectacularly creepy music all night, and a woman who had been attending some pre-4th July fireworks commented on my poncho: 'Now, that is a smart idea', a comment I savour to this day.

Anyhoo, wet night spent in a tent, moving on...

We were then on our way to Nashville, TN, and the depressing side of America was revealed in the form of an obese woman carrying a gallon of milk. She had an excess cliff-overhang of gut and a catheter trailing down her leg, ending in a piss bag that was happily bumping against her ankle every time she took a step. It was at this point I thought we may have reached rock bottom. (That probably sounds awful - yes - but it really looked as if she was vaguely compus mentus and could have tucked the offending bag somewhere a little more discreet).

Most of the others then went river rafting, but as I am on a budget that only covers food, accommodation and the odd stainless steel engraved Hooters pen, I decided to give it a miss as it's likely I'll be able to do it in NZ. Brie decided she couldn't be arsed with it either so we were driven down to a bit of the river where we could sit or frolic in the water and hope we didn't get giardiasis. I got fully stuck in and plunged my head underwater, then came up for air and let all the coldness evaporate off in a satisfying manner. I also got to test out the shockproof properties of my 'Tough' camera, and I'm pleased to report it survived me smashing it into a rock as I clumsily scrambled ashore.

- Some more driving... potential napping -

Nashville, Tennessee!

What can I say? The place is mad. Dinner being the first order of business, we headed to a place on Daddy's recommendation - Jack's BBQ.

http://jacksbarbque.com/

Those of you who know Bodeans (and if not, you bloody well ought to) will need to make a pilgrimage there. It's definitely on a par. You queue up with a zillion other people, get to a counter, make a very quick decision about what to eat and order with confidence, as if you go there all the time. I have found this is the way to get fast food successfully in America.

We had pork shoulder, three difference sauces (one labelled 'XXX' which wasn't even as hot as Nandos mild sauce), coleslaw and beans from what I can see on this pic. Needless to say, it was magical.

To round off our 4th July excitement, we got dressed up in a church car park in U.S flags and fresh (ish) outfits, and after being told to move on by the parking attendant, hit the town to check out the fireworks and general goings on.

We sang and danced to a duo called the O'Donnells at a bar, drank beer and joined the crowds at what must have been the most OTT fireworks experience of my life. Over 30 minutes of snap, crackle and pop that I have to say wazzed all over the Milliennium fireworks in London, and indeed pretty much any other display, apart from the one in Tania's garden a couple of years ago, which was awesome in the literal sense.

A jolly good time was had by all. The only downside came when we had to put up our tents in the dark, which were soaking wet from the night before. Ours had a particularly lovely specimen of stick-legged spider crawling amongst the swamp that was meant to be a groundsheet.

I love the South - everything is so laid back, soporific, slow. Ironically, we were moving quicker than a tarantula with a red hot poker up its jacksie due to the vast distances we had to cover, so let's move on.
And then we were off to Memphis. Oh lawd!

The main attraction of Memphis is, apparently, Graceland, so that's where most people went. I can't be arsed with Elvis personally (sorry Sunita, I thought of you killing me the whole time), so I saved the $32 entrance fee and went for a swim in the campsite pool with Ellie and Daddy B (though strictly he was known as Brandon at this point). We passed a rather lovely afternoon throwing an American football about, chatting about our plans / lives / what the hell we were going to do to be useful and productive members of society etc., and got very wrinkly indeed.

That night we went out for Holly's birthday in central Memphis, but not before we had visited the place where Martin Luther King Jr. was shot, which is now the site of the National Civil Rights Museum. Ex-resident of the Lorraine Motel (outside which King Jr. was shot) Jacqueline Smith has stood vigil outside the museum protesting the upgrade of the area (the area used to be poor and predominantly black, but since then housing has been renovated and replaced with unaffordable condominiums and apartments and is out of the reach of most people's budgets. Smith says she thinks Martin Luther King Jr. would never have wanted this for the area) every day for over 20 years and counting. She wasn't there at the time, but we were assured she would be back the very next morning. Her persistence and dedication is nothing short of a marvel.

Anyway in the spirit of mentioning a birthday let's continue with a brief overview of the celebrations...

We ate incredible catfish, fried dill pickle and cajun chicken wings, and I had me a cup o' gumbo at BB King's (yep, that BB King) Bar & Grill. Mmm-mm! Had a bit of a boogie to a live Blues band and to top it all off, got a commemorative glass, which may or may not survive the journey home. Kristen's friend Jesse and his girlfriend Taylor then took a few of us for a bucket o'booze which we classily purchased at a window and drank on the street.

Back at the campsite, hilarity reigned as we passed a TrekAmerica (another tour group company) van.

Me: (reading the message written on the van) "Honk if you're horny!"
Ellie: "We can't honk... it's after 11pm and we're on a campsite." - the most remarkably British phrase I have ever heard anyone utter, ever.

Incidentally we didn't honk; either we weren't horny or we were abiding by campsite rules, I can't be sure.