 |
| BUSY MEMPHIS TERMINAL |
 |
| THAT'LL BE 8,300 LITRES OF DIESEL PLEASE |
I visited the National World War II Museum, just down the street from Union Passenger Terminal, whilst waiting for my 1.45pm departure. Each day there are only two Amtrak arrivals and two departures from the Terminal, which doesn't seem much considering the size of the building.
So what did I think of New Orleans?
Well, although my initial impressions were poor, they did improve as I explored other parts of the city. In general, however, I did not find the locals to be as warm or friendly as I have in the other places in the USA. I got the impression that, except in tourist areas, visitors and locals largely ignore each other.
Sadly, I saw my first incidence of rudeness near Jackson Square. A stocky man, probably in his 40's, was bellowing at any pedestrians who got in his way as he cycled along the pedestrianised promenade. As soon he opened his mouth to say "...get out my way, pal" I knew he was a Brit. I felt ashamed. We really need ambassadors like him!
In summary, New Orleans has a lot of history and a lot of culture. It is also a great place to party. For me, however, it did not seem to radiate much warmth. What brief friendships I made were all in the hostel. Although black people are in the majority it is evident that most of the wealth and power is in the hands of the white population. I was approached several times by people asking me for money and not one of them was white. I have now got into the habit of keeping a pocketful of dollar bills handy. Coming to New Orleans has been very educational for me, and I am glad that it is recovering from the Katrina disaster, but I have no desire to return.
During most of my train journey I was able to watch America pass by from the observation car on the upper level of the double-decker carriage. I noted that outside of the big urban areas, few houses had fences between them. I suppose that everyone has so much space that border disputes are infrequent. I also noted that the train's hooter sounded frequently and discovered that this was a legal requirement at every crossing, of which there were many. Note that few crossings have gates.
With me in the observation car was a group of raucous men and women enjoying a game of cards. They were wearing tee-shirts with 'Drifting On A Memory' written on the back. The fronts said 'Carver High School, Class of 1968, 45th Class Reunion'. They were all black. I imagine that schools were segregated then.
When I reached Memphis it was dark and I had to walk roughly a mile to the Hotel. As I passed by the famous Beale Street, the night's merriments were in full swing. I received yet another request for money from a black gentleman. He was friendly enough, so I made him work for his cash by escorting me to the hotel door. Once I had checked in I was too tired to walk back to Beale Street - that can wait until tomorrow.
