Let's go Mavs!

...let's go Mavs!

And so goes the slightly drudgingly, obligatory chanting that accompanies the Dallas Mavericks basketball team as they take to the court.

Thanks to my brother, we got tickets to Dallas Mavs vs LA Lakers. My brother went through a basketball phase in his youth so he had a good knowledge of the game, and a historic allegiance to the Lakers, although we changed sides as it seemed rude not to support the home team. Yet the fans were mixed in their seating arrangements. No worries about rival fans causing a ruckus here. I'd be interested to know if it's the same in other sports.

It seems only fitting during my time in the USA that I would participate in the great sport of spectating. Yes Americans love sports, but I would dare say they love spectating even more. The whole experience of a national league sporting event is geared around entertainment. It's almost as if the actual sport isn't enough.

The crowd isn't paying enough attention to the humungous video screen? Hurry, pan the camera onto people until they make the silliest face they can.
Someone hasn't got a beverage in their hand? Quick, send a stop-me-and-buy-one man down their row!
A punter is drifting off during the time-out? Pick them out for a giant game of Simon Says pronto!

And to be fair, I'm glad I had this extra entertainment. Not being the biggest basketball fan, it's fair to say I struggled to follow all the rules. Yes, I whooped when a ball was basketed (correct yes?!) and threw my arms up in disgust when a boisterous young player got a bit physical in the defence, but my highlights were definitely the bits between the sport.

Situated just behind us were the Dallas drummers. A group of incredibly talented drummers twirling sticks and keeping the crowd pumped up to the max. For further enjoyment I'm sure my dad would agree the cheerleaders gave us lots to cheer about in their slick, crowd-pleasing routines.

But in a stab at equality Dallas Mavs also have a set of male cheerleaders. Named the Dallas ManiACCs (corporate name, obviously), this group of loud, brash, larger than life tough guys knocking out super-charged, tongue-in-cheek dance routine after routine made my evening. They are dedicated, push themselves to entertain and at one point dance-battled against the real cheerleaders who were left looking ridiculous in their sizeable wake. I have new sporting heroes.

I may have been slightly more enthusiastic than normal, whooping at the end of the game, but that was probably because I was still riding the sugar high of my first toxic-coloured slurpee. But I was somewhat dismayed that the rest of the crowd started leaving before the final whistle, and even the players trudged off after the show, sorry, match, without even a wave to the few supportive fans left.

To be honest, I have absolutely no recollection of who won, let alone the score. But I guess the game's not really the point of this performance is it?

Elvis was in the building

The King of Rock n Roll.
Elvis Aaron Presley.
It is practically impossible, not to mention downright rude, to visit Memphis, Tennessee without stopping by the old homestead of the great man himself. This is Graceland people, and it is another world.
To be fair, the whole city is geared around its most famous resident. I found the pool I would like for my future home in a local motel.

Driving up to the gates of the Graceland mansion, you feel a sense of expectation. You are treading the same ground as, arguably, the most famous musician on the planet. I couldn't wait to get inside, and it wasn't just because it was hammering down with freezing rain.

It's worth mentioning that although Graceland is labelled as a mansion, up close it's nowhere near as big as you are led to believe. But that only adds to the charm. It's easy to picture the place as a family home. Every room is set out lovingly and with purpose, despite the excess of everything. The pictures around show that the whole family loved this home.

And it's so fantastic to see the old photos of Elvis through the years. We see so many pictures of him in pop culture that it's easy to forget him as a real person. On a personal note, I really enjoyed seeing the younger photos and film of him displayed. What a beautiful star. Thank you Graceland.

Guided around the public areas by audio headphones, we saw so many iconic items and rooms. There was the jungle room, a room with so much decoration it made my mum's house look bare. There was dark, wood panelling and green shag pile carpet acting as a backdrop to the many ornaments. Tribal looking furniture, wooden ashtrays, animal prints and even a stone-effect waterfall at one end all combined to show the very essence of 70s decadence. I felt very at home there as it echoed back to my grandparents' home.

The senses were also overloaded by the pool room. A room where they must have had a job lot of fabric to get rid of. The gaudy, super-patterned fabric was folded like a fan to cover the walls and ceiling. Heaven only knows how it was ever cleaned.

My favourite room by far was the TV room. A yellow, black and white 60s theme decor gave Elvis the perfect setting to watch any of the several televisions on the wall or play any record he wanted from the beautiful collection of classic records on the jukebox. The mirrored ceiling reflected the colourful plastic festooning the room, huge sofa and adjoining bar area.

Kitsch cool at its finest.

Blame it on the love of Rock n Roll...

So, Nashville, Tennessee. A place pretty much synonymous with Country music. I soon discovered you can't go anywhere without being reminded of the fact. Not that I minded in the slightest. And it's not just country music. This is music city. The whole city hums with a love for music and the promise  of a performance in every doorway.

Walking downtown, you are surrounded by a mix of vinyl stores, instrument shops, music memorabilia emporiums, shrine-like museums, dive bars and high end musical eateries. We visited a selection of these, one of my favourites being The Johnny Cash Museum. Being immersed in his music, history and film was a real treat. I could've spent all day there listening to rare, old recordings from a whole range of eras of The Man in Black.
What a star, and who knew he was once in Columbo?

The musical pilgrimage then moved on to The House of Blues for dinner. Dad was in his element as we soaked up the live blues music as he ate meatloaf and mash. We stayed much longer than the main courses, marvelling at the skill and showmanship of the band on stage. The cocktails kept coming and the night got later.

Moving on, we crammed into a nearby bar to watch a random band made up of a plethora of instruments. As a rule, any ensemble with a giant double bass is ok in my book.

The next morning we headed off to join a musical trolley tour of the city. Before even setting foot on the trolley, we were treated to a star performance by a true southern entertainer. A tuxedoed, older gentleman styled as a 20s jazz singer was serenading passers by with old tunes. As Southampton faithful we were delighted to hear a new rendition of 'Oh when the Saints'. A little taste of home on the sidewalks of Nashville.

Guided by a cowboy hat wearing true entertainer of a raconteur (who also plays country music on the side in the evenings; who doesn't in Nashville?), we took in the key sights of the city including the dizzy heights of Taylor Swift's penthouse apartment block.

Nashville is a fantastic city with much more to explore than we had a chance to. But as they say, the show must go on.
And so we piled in the car to start the road part of the road trip. Singing along to our old friend Mr Cash we headed West.

Ishams vs Polar Vortex

What do they say about the best laid plans?

I had experienced the North American winter as I made my way across Canada and into the North Eastern US states throughout November. I stuck out the bone-achingly cold of the brutal Edmonton snowstorm that had blown in to meet my arrival. I layered up to the hilt as I braved the Brooklyn Bridge against a cutting ice wind. 

By the time I started to head to what I saw as the Southern (i.e. less chance of being up to your eyeballs in snow) states, I thought the harshest onslaught of winter weather was behind me. 

Oh what a naive Brit I was. 

The airport in Atlanta, Georgia now holds my personal record for time spent waiting for my connection. My evening flight continued to be inched backwards. No snow in Atlanta, but the crew who were due to join us on the flight were delayed from Chicago. Every half an hour the revised flight time would come and go and still I was sat in the airport watching March of the Penguins on the lounge screens. Lucky penguins, at least they had forward momentum.

Worry had also set in that I had no way to contact the rest of the travelling Isham contingent. My dad and brother were en route to meet me at our Nashville rendezvous. With no working mobile, no wifi and having given my carrier pigeon the day off I was left to fend for myself in the wilderness of pay phones.

I'm not sure if it's every pay phone, but those in Atlanta Hartsfield-Jackson Airport are trickier than an Enigma machine to utilise. Especially when you don't know the number of the hotel, the area code of Nashville and have no change.

But, being the resourceful, semi-genius that I am (I will be ever grateful to a kind gentleman who changed my dollars to quarters when the chicken kiosk refused), I eventually made connection with our hotel. Expecting to be put through to an Isham, I soon gleaned from the reception staff that they had transport trouble also. The hotel passed on a message to me that they were making an unexpected layover in Washington DC. The snow there was such that they wouldn't be moving out until at least the following day. Suddenly my three hour delay didn't seem so bad.

I eventually passed through the doors of my hotel in Nashville at around half one in the morning. The super soft, giant bed certainly helped soothe my travelling weariness, especially after a stretch in hostel bunks.

Waking up the next morning, I half expected to find the Ishams had arrived, but the Polar Vortex still had them in its grip for now. I passed the morning ensuring my nose didn't succumb to frostbite as I walked downtown. Finding a beautiful chocolate shop, I stocked up on goodies to treat the travellers with when they arrived. Then I headed back to the hotel to play the waiting game.

This big reunion wasn't all it'd cracked up to be. Scenarios ran through my head that I would be left to explore Nashville on my own.

Fortunately there was finally a knock on the hotel room door. I flung the door open and there followed the big, delayed Isham group hug.

We could now get this road trip on the road. It was just a shame that after hours of waiting and me having no will power, there were only limited treats from the chocolate shop to share. Not to worry, there would be many more sweet treats where we were going. USA, here we go! 

Austin, TX

And so is the nature of the journey, that you have to move on.

As I prepared to leave Guatemala, I felt a great sadness as that particular part of my journey was coming to an end. It was harder as I was leaving the comfort of being part of a wonderfully diverse, kind and funny group of fellow travellers.

Perhaps symbolically, my left flip flop snapped on my final walk back to the hotel along the cobbled Antigua streets. I knew then that it was time to return to colder climes, reuniting with my trusty boots.

The pain of leaving my love affair with Latin America was somewhat eased by the anticipation of a love I'd dreamed about from afar for as long as I've known what inextricably enriches our lives.

Music.

Some of you may be aware of Austin's notoriety in the realms of music, film and general weirdness. Every year I watch with eagerness the goings on at SXSW music festival. I've dreamed about going many a time, but schedules as they are, I had to make do with a visit at non-festival time. (Fellow members of Cider In The Park I still hold out a flicker of hope that one day we'll be discovered on Sixth St).

Austin is not called the live music capital of the world for nothing.

Music pours from the doorways as you stroll along. My musical experience in Austin took this journey...
1) Lunch in a diner accompanied by a medley of Arctic Monkeys. A random taste of home.
2) A Russian drum / dance group performing at Austin's family New Year event.
3) A funky rock/blues group of brothers getting the crowd dancing in a field on a freezing New Year's Eve.
4) Watching a talented entrepreneur make cigar case guitars then showcase the different sounds they make.
5) Relived my 'yoof' by dancing like a maniac in a dark, crowded Drum n Bass club.
6) Rounded New Year's Eve off taking in the sounds of Prince in a Speakeasy establishment.
7) Eased in 2014 watching a busker in the SoCo district pouring emotion into a song about lost love leaving on a train.
8) Was entertained by a plethora of guitar and box players at a local open mic night.
9) Passed the time waiting for my flight listening to a country singer in the airport bar.

It may not have been quite the hectic experience of the festival life, but it will tide me over until my return one day.

And it's not just the music that will ensure my return. I had no idea how pretty the city is. A walk along the miles of riverside gave wonderful views of the city and the surrounding touches of nature. And the dogs! Man alive, I've never seen so many dog walkers and/or joggers in one place. Serious dog walking envy there.

It was a real treat to be in Austin. To experience a tiny fraction of the live music, to people and dog watch on a crisp, sunny winter's day and to browse the vintage shops that overlook the downtown area (bought a delight of a vintage dress that shall henceforth be known as 'my Austin dress').

Oh, and how could I almost forget. My eyes were treated to two cowboys on horses making their way through the downtown area. Only here. Keep Austin weird!

What a city. Austin, you can count on me seeing you again! Until then...

Messing around by the lake

From an active volcano, to a brood of dormant ones (is that the correct collective noun for volcanoes?).

Our journey took us West, via a network of various, colourful (in all senses of the word) chicken buses, to the incredibly beautiful Lake Atitlan.

As we navigated the winding road down towards the lake, we were offered an insight into the treasure awaiting us, through snatched glimpses behind trees or fences. Then we made it to our destination of a shaky old jetty on the shore of the lake at Panajachel just in time for sunset. We sat, drank, ate, mused and just watched as the sun and the clouds painted the most incredible, fiery shapes on this wonderful volcanic canvas.

The views I thought could get no better took a different perspective the following morning. Riding a wave jumping water taxi, we rounded a cove to a precariously positioned hotel staggered on the cliff face. There I ate the most delicious breakfast burrito the size of my head (I scoffed at the offer of ordering a half portion; all or nothing!). After a period of digestion and soaking up the sun, we dove into the 'refreshing' waters of Lake Atitlan.

A venture into the nearby village on the promise of local delicacy, frozen chocolate bananas almost proved fruitless (excuse the pun), but we paid a local gent to source them out for us. Wandering up and down dusty backstreets, I started to lose hope. Then we found the most humble looking shop that provided us with the most delicious treat. A simple half of banana, frozen and drizzled in chocolate. All for half a quetzal (4p!). So all the local kids who had followed us shared in the treat time. Wall's should investigate the gap in the UK market.

Back on the boat, we skimmed like a stone across the increasing waves to the village of Santiago. There we went searching for Maximon. He is the local deity. Slightly different to other Gods I have encountered; he is a petite, multi tie-wearing, heavy drinking, chain smoking effigy surrounded by taxidermy and shamans. Maybe it was all the incense, but I definitely came out from my visit to him a little light-headed. And it was certainly not a religious experience I'll forget in a while.

I only hoped he'd grant us safe passage as we headed back onto the choppy waters of the lake once again.

Pacaya picnic

What did you do last Christmas Day?

Make awkward small talk with the relatives you only see once a year? Feign interest in the newest method used to roast the potatoes? Fall asleep in front of the endless Christmas specials on the  telly?

I took a break from this usual ritual to spend my Christmas Day doing something I'm not likely to ever do again.

Pacaya is an active volcano close to Antigua, Guatemala. Geared up in walking boots and Santa hats we set about scaling the ash covered beast.

At our start point we were bombarded by small children introducing themselves, and offering to rent us large staffs to use to help us with the climb. Most of our group took the independent route. But I'm not too proud; I'll take all the help I can get. So I spent the best 5 quetzals of my trip. I tested out two staffs and plumped for the one being sold by a polite young man.

And boy was I glad of that stick. Not just for the fact that I could pretend to be Gandalf on the mountain (don't worry I got my money's worth out of that photo opportunity). But within one minute of starting our journey the path turned practically vertical. I loved that staff as I made my way up the slope closely followed by the emergency cowboy and horse (in case anyone needed a helping hoof!).

Unaided, we all made it to the highest point we could reach. The planned toasting of marshmallows had to be shelved as the volcano was particularly active in our planned route. Instead we had to make do with a blustery picnic on the volcanic slopes.

It was possibly the best picnic of my life. Hunkering down by a ridge grabbing a slice of bread, slopping on refried beans, avocado, cheese and salsa, and then wedging it together with another slice. Maybe the exertion had given me a healthy appetite, but it was perfection. Eating that whilst listening to the rumbling eruptions was a Christmas lunch I'm not likely to forget in a hurry.

We soon worked off our lunch by running/ sliding down the loose ash covered side towards home. Much easier going down than up. And much more fun. Just don't ask about all the ash I kept finding as I emptied my boots, and even for days after!