While its still novel:

Temperature: -5deg C (-12deg with wind) with 10-15cm snowfall today. Its been snowing since some time last night solidly through to about 1pm today, and its just started up again now.

View across the Ottawa river to Victoria Island.

Rideau Canal gets emptied out every year. When the surface freezes over they drive a truck onto the ice in order to sink the crust, and get the new layer to freeze, thus allowing them to open it up to ice skating further up. However I'm told that almost every year they don't quite get it right, and the truck will sink into the canal. Oh, yes I will be skating...

One day I'll learn to go out in the cold with several tissues. Can you see the fear in the eyes? Oh yes, its there...

Icicles. I like it.

My First Snow (video...)!!

There are few things that will have me literally leap out of bed at 6.30am. Occasionally the promise of a great Christmas, I leaped for Tiger Leaping Gorge, and have been known to rise with the birds for a sunrise or two. Flights may do it also. But this morning, it was the radio, announcing a 4cm snowfall just outside my bedroom window (well, OK, that bit wasn't on the radio) with the promise of another 2-4cm later in the day and 5-8cm most likely tomorrow. I do believe winter has hit Ottawa, people.

Its usually taken a bit to get me out of the apartment and into the cold air, but I wandered to the shops about 8.30am (well, I was up...) and giggled in between bouts of concentration as I shuffled along on the slushing ice, carefully maintaining my upright posture. (Mmmm, Slush Puppy.) It wasn't that bad - actually in the absence of wind, and me having finally realised that I can and will use thermals from now on, it was actually quite pleasant. The snow was still falling and it did dawn on me that an umbrella might have been a good idea, but hey.

Right, so I know that the video is not all that exciting - (although arguably slightly more interesting than Andy Warhol's 8hr 1964 epic Empire...) but its a tiny bit of a milestone for me, and it had to be straight up - first snowfall. OK, yes I have seen snow before, but one of the reasons for coming to Canada was to live in the snow, just to see what its like; how cold it is, how annoying it is, how beautiful it is, how fun it is!

Not sure how well you can see it, if at all, but the snow was still falling rather prettily. I only wish the car entering from the right had taken on a Simpsonesque quality of bouncing around uncontrollably between cars, having not yet put on snow tires...

When it gets a bit heavier (ooh, say after tomorrow's additional fall) I'll try to get something a little more picturesque.

Ottawa Update

Ottawa. Capital of Canada and so much cooler than Canberra - in both the literal and slang terms. I arrived to just one degree in the positive. Since then it's ranged from as low as -7deg first thing in the morning to as high as 12deg, yet still I struggle. The cold in itself is tolerable, its the wind that's the killer - dropping the temperature by about another 5deg, tearing through any single layer and numbing any skin that's not covered. The days are clear and sunny, but the lakes are already freezing around the edges, and the groundhogs have gone to ground for the winter. There have been a few snow flurries, but nothing heavy to stick around, but I know its coming!

Think I prefer the Black & White.

I like Ottawa - it is a big country town. It doesn't take long before you're out into the countryside. I have to admit, I've not braved the public transport yet, despite it being proclaimed the best around. In fact I've not braved much. I am slowly building up a relationship with the stray cats up on Parliament Hill. There's about seven of them, all cute 'n' stuff. And surprisingly they don't seem to bother the squirrels, which I can't quite work out.

Slightly bummed about working though - being a government town most of the work requires that you be bilingual, and have a security clearance, neither of which I have. Subsequently I have been fairly quiet. I keep reminding myself that patience is a virtue....

I know most of you have seen squirrels, but I still find them so entertaining. Its the way they move, just like they got into Seattle's entire supply of coffee. This little fella was pretty curious about my sausage roll, in fact there were about 20 or so who were - it was like when MJ and his date were being surrounded by the zombies in Thriller - they were all around, and closing in to seal our doom... So I thought I'd take advantage of his model-like pose. The squirrels here are bigger then the ones in Vancouver and London, and they're virtually black, but just as cute!

The last 2 weekends Coops and I have been over to Gatineau Park, in the Quebec, just the other side of the Ottawa River to wander around. There are barely any leaves left on the trees, they carpet the forest floors now, and make you want to run and leap in them. I was inspired when Coops spotted a notice that there had been a Cougar sighting in the Park in Spring - and I know there are deer in them thar hills, so I'm optimistic!

Walking in Memphis

Memphis was my dark horse. As Nashville is to country, I was apprehensive of the saturation of Elvis to Memphis. But like Nashville, I would soon find that Memphis was so much more than Elvis, and you almost had to search out Presley-mania, amongst all the rhythm and history at the Home of Blues.

We arrived mid afternoon to find that the hotel did not have our reservation and subsequent payment, but luckily they had a room anyway. We just needed to prove that we had paid....TBC. We dumped our luggage and headed in to town; Beale Street, more specifically. At this point, I have to say that I will challenge anyone who labels the likes of Beale Street, Broadway in Nashville, or Bourbon Street In New Orleans serving only as the obligatory tourist strips of respective iconic places. Yes, I know they are riddled with souvenir shops, and obviously the tourists keep the bars well and truly alive, but you can't say that they aren't still pumping out the good stuff. The music is the same as if you were out on the banks of the bayou in a lean-to that's quiverin' with the beats of the modern day cotton fields. And even though I do usually like to avoid the tourist traps, I just didn't see the need to do so here, you still get what you came for - this is where it all kicked off, and I wanted to feel it. And that's all I have to say about that.

Beale Street is only about 200m long, its blocked off to traffic, and rocks around the clock. Every pub/bar/restaurant you walk past is a neon assault on your eyes, but candy to your ears. I had no idea that Memphis was The Birthplace of Blues (only challenged by Chicago's claim - puh), and was ridiculously pleased that I had stumbled across this revelation in person, and very shortly after quite annoyed that Elvis had managed to overshadow this fact with his little jingles. We found a bar with the following motto for some grub and local cleansing ale:

It wasn't a late night, we had a huge day planned, although we didn't realise that plan entailed an hour long search for our grits. Memphis does the Blues well, breakfast is another story. It might just be that it was Halloween morning, but it took some time to locate an establishment serving breakfast, and our search ended back on Beale. By this stage we were OK with, and even kinda used to grits. Basically its like a cornmeal porridge. Best served with butter and sugar - but not for your recovering triple by-pass patients.

Fed and watered we headed straight down Union to Sun Studios. Originally Memphis Recording Service, Sam Phillips started this studio to service the amazingly talented Blues singers and musicians emerging from all over the Delta. He'd record birthdays, weddings, anything on his portable one track to get the funds together to find the acts really worth recording. There's a whole mess of names that were emerging from Memphis Recording Service before Elvis even thought about lying his pants off to set foot inside the studio.

Memphis Recording Services, better known as SUN Studios. You can still lay down a track or two for $35, or for the meagre sum of $85 per hour record your whole damned album.

The tour was pretty cool. Our host gave a unabashed plug for his own album recorded right there at Sun, but also gave us an informative tour of the studio and the music that poured from its walls. Oh, Elvis's aforementioned lie? He got past the Secretary to record his break though hit That's Alright Mama by saying it was for his Ma's birthday. This was in June 1954, but him Ma's birthday was in April. It was also not the first time he'd been in Sun Studios - the year before he'd been in to record, but Phillips saw nothing new or worthwhile in the recording. It was also interesting to hear the Sun Studio official line for selling Elvis' contract for the seemingly stupid amount of $35k, but that amount enabled Sun Studios to go on to record a handful of other artists who would also become ridiculously famous. See below:

Not the mic that Elvis used, but a genuine piece from Sam Phillips collection that could have housed the spittle of some other up and coming star, maybe Junior Parker, B.B. King, or the Howlin' Wolf.

Just kidding - at the end of the tour we got to play around in the studio, it was pretty darn cool. It was nice wondering which of the stuff was original and which were new additions for the working studio.

Following that we were waiting outside for the Shuttle bus when I Saw the ghost of Elvis, On Union Avenue, Followed him up to the gates of Graceland, Then I watched him walk right through, (thanks Mr Marc Cohn)so I got a ticket and wandered around after him. Man, whoever is getting the money for Graceland is doing exceptionally well. I mean, after the immaculate upkeep of the house and grounds, and the ample staff salaries, the audio equipment every guest wears for their own private tour, and the running costs for the vans that drive you from the ticket office across Elvis Presley Boulevard and us the driveway to the front doors of Graceland, man they must be making um, a little bit.

The upstairs of Graceland is off limits. Now I don't know whether this is because Elvis had always kept this area private to all guests, or whether its cause the plebs who only get the 'Platinum' ticket and not the 'Entourage VIP' ticket for more than double the price. Its interesting to see the things people with money will buy. I mean does celebrity revoke taste? And the music room below was by no means the 'best' of it. My personal favourite would have to be the famed Jungle room, complete with green shag pile carpet on the floor, walls and ceiling????

All in all, the tour was really good - actually much better than I expected, but I'm still not a fan of the music. The hype is amazing, but I can't help wondering when its all going to fade out. I mean there are still 1st generation hard core Elvis fans alive to maintain this musical pilgrimage, but then what? Will it just be the curious? Those in town with an afternoon to spare? How long can Elvis' pelvis endure?

By the time we got back into town, it was getting kind of late. The Gibson factory was closing up, as was the soul museum, but we noticed a great deal of activity at the stadium next door. Turns out it was the 1st game of the season for the Memphis Grizzlies NBA team, playing off against last years World Champions (which we questioned A LOT, as the Americans are the only ones playing...), the San Antonio Spurs. Our Spur of the moment decision was to get tickets and go support some local talent. I don't know whether it was just cause it was the 1st game of the season that had everyone fired up or what, but despite the stadium only being half full, the atmosphere was crazy. Team flags were being handed out at the gates as soon as you walked in, and being Halloween, there were kids dressed up in all sorts of costumes. It was really cool. The game was a great match - tight the entire time, until the Spurs edged ahead in the last few minutes, eventually winning by 3 points. Obviously we were devastated...

Wednesday night, shmensday night, everyone was out after the game. There was even a troupe of bikers that had ridden in just for the hell of it to party it up on the Beale. It was our last night of Road trip, and the last night I would see these guys for who knows how long. We were in the mood to party, just like everyone else. The good vibe continued when we got back to the hotel to find that the reservation had finally been sorted out!

Look, it wasn't the most informative of trips, I certainly didn't go out of my way to learn about stuff like I might in other places, but I was cruisin' with my posse for the first time in 6 months. We didn't get as deep as I might have liked through the South, but what we did we did well. Its a part of the states that most don't get to - well, I mean its usually further down the list than LA, or New York etc. But I'm really pleased we did what we did. Even though many people offered to take our photos for us, I think there's something in the group self portrait. Maybe not much, but we like them.

Boots N More

By the time we got to Nashville, we realised that our route had been too direct. We did not plan well enough ahead to make it to Dollywood in Pigeon Forge, Tennessee. But then I guess, we'd had a great time with Mickey and all his pals, we didn't need the country version.

Traffic was slow coming into town - we later learned that the football was on, and luckily we didn't try to make it all the way from Savannah the night before, as we would have found ourselves sleeping in the car. It was a big game between the local team and someone else and everything was booked out. As it happened we got into the Best Western in the heart of Downtown Nashville for a song (oh, anyone travelling in the States, I recommend stopping at every Welcome Centre just over the State borders for excellent state maps and most importantly, coupon books for awesome deals on accommodation throughout that state).

So with the best part of the day still ahead of us, we wandered out in search of the country music scene that would have us line dancing in our seats, but the only thing that was dancing in the streets was the proverbial tumbleweed. Downtown Nashville was completely dead. We headed to a pub in hope of finding chicken fried chicken and some atmosphere in which to immerse ourselves while the footballing opportunity was there. Unfortunately the pub was as quiet as the streets, so we had to interpret the game for ourselves, and alas, there was no chicken fried chicken on the menu either.

Our waiter informed us that things would pick up after the game, whether 'we' won or not, and gave us the low down on the bars to hit when they did. After a quick return to the hotel to get into our boot scooting attire, we were back out and ready to go. First stop was BB King's House of Blues, which I'd been hankering to get to since New Orleans. We were all in for a treat that night, the band was actually from New Orleans and were playing pretty sweet, and we finally got out chicken fried chicken on a bed of mac and cheese. While the music was groovin', most of the crowd were just sitting back and bathing in it, but we were ready for something else, so we headed out to see what else Nashville could dish up.

Every place you walked past was howling out Country and/or Western, but we'd been given the heads up that Tootsies, while possibly the smallest bar, was probably the rootin'est, tootin'est on Broadway. We wandered in to find a two man band on the smallest stage I've seen, just enough room for the two of them if they didn't swing them old guitars too hard. The singer was young and pretty, and I think he had his eye on a Keith Urban style career by the looks.

The bar was packed, and at first the only room we could make for ourselves was in front of the men's room. I didn't recognise any of the songs they were playin' but the crowd sure did. The manager swept round with the tip jar every few songs to make the most of the moving tide of people. There were newspaper cut outs and photos of country stars stuck up around the walls, and in between, covering every bit of space was the scribbling of countless would be singers, fans and drunks imparting their 'wisdom' to whoever cared, or could still manage to read it. It was an older crowd too. I mean a few younger people were there, but it was kind of your 30-50's there who just wanted to be a part of it, who'd grown up with country in their blood and could darn near sing everything better than those guys behind the mic, and kick up the dust while they were doin' it.

Behind the bar was another flight of stairs. As soon as you walked through it was like someone had cut the sound to the band down front and picked it up from these other guys right down the back of the place. This young guy, singing cool in his black John B and Wranglers, was all country. He had the dance floor moving, and tipped his hat where it counted. Again, I didn't know much of what he was singing, but was happy to slide on back into the crown and take it all in.

Some LA boys were there wondering what a bunch of four Aussie chicks were doing in Nashville. What do you say to that? It does seem strange to me that I, personally would go to Nashville, having very little appreciation for the genre at any other time, but sometimes you do things that you can't quite explain. And then you get something from it that is even harder to explain. I was having a ball, right up to the point when I just couldn't listen to country anymore. It was like a switch that flicked off in my ears.

Nashville is great for souvenirs. There's a great selection of John Deere merchandise, and any number of places selling CDs and the coolest country T's you've ever seen. I have to admit, that when you come across a store like this, its a little hit and miss - you could hit the jackpot of cool stuff, or it could be like you've crawled into Garth Brooks' bottom drawer. Either way it would be an entertaining, yet horrifying few minutes of your life. Monday morning we hit a few of the stores, then headed on to the Country Music Hall of Fame. If I need to save face here, there was a Special Exhibition of Ray Charles life and times (in country music) that I was keen to check out, but I found a lot more there. My brother loves the old Harmonica stuff, so I can now advise him to check out DuFord Bailey who could make a train whistle on that thing. I also know that Dolly was writing about a little girl she met with green eyes and red hair when she wrote Jolene, but maybe that's a little much.

We didn't really want to leave after getting tangled up in the nightlife, but on our last night in Nashville we once again realised that Road trip was soon rolling to a stand still. But there was still time to experience yet another American institution, so that night we made our way to Hooters for dinner. We were almost shocked to find as many women as men there, and even a birthday party for a 14y.o. kid. I have to say, the food was terrible, and the women were no where near as well endowed as I had been led to believe, or maybe we just got the dud waitress...

Unfortunately time didn't allow us to get out to the Grand Ole Opry, something that I would love to do (now that they allow the drums and amps), although not to see country, which is just about all you get out there these days. Don't get me wrong, there are a lot of Blues roots in Nashville also, its just that country is so big - its all you can get on the radio in them there parts. But its a pretty cool place - please don't overlook it just cause you ain't into the twang - I can guarantee a good time regardless.

Next stop: Memphis and mixed emotions. Still so much to do, but by now, so little time.

Georgia, Georgia on my mind

Our next stop was to be Savannah. For weeks before I had been practicing my southern accent to proclaim "I do declare!" at every available opportunity. I was also under the spell of Hollywood's depiction of the place, and couldn't wait to see it for myself. I'd always hoped to find a gospel service out in the middle of nowhere, as though it had been transplanted there directly from the 40's. A reincarnation of Ray Charles sitting on a porch singing the blues just down the road, and a crossroad somewhere where we'd meet a fast talking man with a fiddle in his hand just out from the Bayou would have completed my picture to a tee.

The drive from St Augustine to Savannah was not all that long. I played Ray's tribute to his home state about four times in a row as soon as we crossed the state border. We stopped at a drive through ATM, only to park and walk through the drive through...Drive through's are prominent in the States. You have your obvious selection of fast food (well, when I say obvious, that doesn't cover the range really) then there's the drive through Starbucks, then the drive through pharmacy, then the drive through ATMs. I'm sure there are more, but we were impressed enough with this lot. But my point is that the drive through ATM was our first really good sighting of the majestic Live Oaks covered with Spanish Moss. I love this stuff, but not enough to pocket it, its crawling with little bugs called chiggers, and I did hear say, that the original colonists used to put it in their beds, only to awake irritated by bites, and hence came the saying "sleep tight, don't let the bed bugs bite". Apparently.

The night we arrived in Savannah, we were slightly apprehensive about getting around after dark. Like New Orleans, there are areas sweet, unsuspecting tourists should not go. We were downtown looking for Southern style chicken - chicken fried chicken actually - and dang nab it if we couldn't find any. The best we could manage was chicken tenders I do believe. We all cancelled our side of fries, in favour of the broccoli, if I remember correctly, as we wanted the great southern gastronomical experience, but were craving a bit of the green stuff but this stage.

Next day was the only day we had that it just rained and rained. After breakfast we jumped on one of those town bus tours that tells you loads for you to later forget, but its a really succinct way to see what any good tourist should. About 90 minutes later and we were done. We wandered down to the river to take a look, but I was a little disappointed with the lack of interesting placed down there, really only housing tourist shops full of the usual stuff you don't really want. The rain was bucketing down by now, so we turned tail and headed for the hostel. I was keen to jump in the car and head out to the Bonaventure Cemetery. Like any other sicko around, I'm kinda fascinated by these places, and add in the Spanish moss covered oaks, I was ready to be impressed. We got out there with only about half an hour before closing, so we did a quick drive around - it was right up against the Wilmington River, not quite the gator infested river I was expecting, but it did enough to get the "I do declare!" from me.

The locals say that Savannah is the most haunted place in North America. I didn't personally experience any such otherworldly visitations, but I wouldn't want to wander around this place at night, despite all the angels watching over these resting souls. I would have liked to see more of Savannah - two days was not a long time to spend there.

Once we left Savannah it wa kind of like we were on the home straight, but not in that great way that mean's you're gonna win the cup. We were closer to saying goodbye than we cared to ink about, so we didn't. Instead we concentrated on finding a place to lay our heads in between Savannah and Nashville, without it being Atlanta. We ended up in Chattanooga, just for the hell of it.

I don't know what I was expecting, maybe that 40's attire yet again with everyone singing in the streets before a backdrop of railway steam. Needless to say that is not what we got. We found a really nice larger town with a newly developed centre and river walk, as well as some of the prettiest country around, showing of the best of its autumn colour.

Miami

Miami - what can I say - its like a stuck-up version of Key West. Two last places on earth and I had to inhabit one? Easily Key West. The body beautiful reigns at South Beach, Miami. Steroid dealers may do well. Having said that, its not bad at all.

Those famously HUGE meals you hear so much about in the states - Miami seems to be King. The locals clearly know that one meal out can feed your table of four, and subsequently maintain trim figures. The tourists? Well let just say that our meals fed our table of four for four meals, and still required the letting out of a belt buckle or two.

After a bit of a sleep in, I was keen to see the beach. And a lovely beach it is. Florida had turned on yet another warm day, and the water was beautiful.

Don't leave your sunnies at home, the sun off all the white art deco buildings is a killer. But I like it - palm trees and white sand, white buildings and white linen pants go so well.

From Miami we drove to St Augustine, the oldest town in the States, via the very lovely I-95. It started off as a very pleasant drive - we'd even stopped off for some home made candy and were enjoying our sugar rush when a few chunks of wood, including a 2ft section of wood, complete with rusty nails, came flying off the trailer being towed by car in front of us. With a few bumps and prayers we ran over the wood, thankful that nothing had bounced up and hit the windscreen (I mean full liability insurance on rental cars is nice, but who wants to test it, not to mention enduring the inconvenience and paperwork). By now fists were shaking furiously as we passed him, trying to communicate his stupidity at not securing his load. But it wasn't until another driver passed us and indicated that we should pull over that we found this little beauty in the grill:

A second after we pulled over a stranger after us just to make sure that we were OK and had not sustained damage to out radiator while out 'in the middle of nowhere'. Luckily, I've always depended on the kindness of strangers, and with a word of thanks we were on the road again, plank of wood in hand and a succinct note ready to return to the moron with the trailer in case we passed him again. Although, none of really wanted to risk getting that close a second time.

But I digress: the town of St Augustine still embraces its rich pirate history, and it was not unusual to see the town folk getting around in period dress. It was a quaint little place, not far off the coast to the east, and Georgia to the north. We'd deposited the plank of wood safely at the local Taco Bell dumpster, no longer requiring it's menacing nail as a reminder for irresponsible Highway driving, and were now free to explore. There were cobbled streets and water wheels, old stuff and a nice little river wrapping around the town.

St Augustine was only supposed to be somewhere to stop between Miami and Savannah, but we found it a really nice spot to spend the night. We also took advantage of the winery on the edge of town to sample the regions wines. I can't say I'm that impressed with the wines of Florida, but our server's bung eye and great sense of humour and made it a fun experience anyway.