9) Mississippi Delta
You don't have to pay money for a $200,000 seat on a rocket ship to sight a divide world. Just head south fr
om Memphis on Highway 61 through the Mississippi Delta. Distinct from the rest of America and from the South itself, the Delta is a potent subculture shaped by sadness and shrouded in mystery and mythology. Its inheritance of slavery and scarcity tears at your soul, its blues soundtrack toughens your hide; its hospitable citizens can restore your humanity.
The 185-mile route stuck between Tunica and Vicksburg from side to side flat, fertile farmland can be ambitious in a day, but full approval almost certainly takes a lifetime. Our more than a few journeys have averaged 2½ days each and they've hardly allowed us to get a handle just on the food and music.
The Delta gets attractive in Clarksdale, at the legendary crossroads of highways 61 and 49, where bluesman Robert Johnson is supposed to have knelt and sold his spirit to the devil in exchange for guitar-playing prowess. We sit and reproduce on that at the nearby Abe's Barbecue, where the beam sauce is hot as misery.
From there we strike the Delta Blues Museum and make past Stovall's Plantation (where Muddy Waters was raised) and keep heading south (we haven't brought ourselves to keep on at the Shack up Inn in Clarksdale, where the rooms are changed sharecropper shacks). There are gravesites to stay (we've seen two that evidently are Johnson's and have just read about a third), oddities to explore (the Muppet memorabilia at the Jim Henson Museum in Leland is delightful, Parchman Farm jail of blues lyrics fame is not), and tamales and perhaps the country's premium steaks to ingest (at Doe's Eat Place in Greenville).
10) Northern New Mexico
We've heard it said that northern New Mexico is a comedian opera played with solemn intensity. We be grateful for a little play in my travels, so when we've had our fill of Santa Fe style, w
e strike the northbound back roads for nonstop performances on a daily basis.
Maybe it's the flowing together of Native American and Latino cultures. Or the propagation of artists, seduced more than a century ago by the spiritual excellence of the light. Or the clash of the spiritual and the irreverent. But Taos and the flyspeck towns along the way are full of unforgettable encounters.
True believers (and doubters, too) make the pilgrimage to El Santuario de Chimayo, where the grime is respected for its healing powers. Years ago, the chief priest declined to tell me whether he believed in those powers. What matters, he said, is that thousands of wonder seekers do.
Former night small table clerk Johnny Chapman, who would separate himself from his oxygen tank only to light up a Winston 100, boasted that "people from curtains the United States, parts of Arkansas and the rest of the world" came to see the works of fine art. Chapman is left, but the barred paintings still exist in at La Fonda.
They're not great. But the company is good.
If you visit cheapest hotels website, you will find the solution
You don't have to pay money for a $200,000 seat on a rocket ship to sight a divide world. Just head south fr
om Memphis on Highway 61 through the Mississippi Delta. Distinct from the rest of America and from the South itself, the Delta is a potent subculture shaped by sadness and shrouded in mystery and mythology. Its inheritance of slavery and scarcity tears at your soul, its blues soundtrack toughens your hide; its hospitable citizens can restore your humanity. The 185-mile route stuck between Tunica and Vicksburg from side to side flat, fertile farmland can be ambitious in a day, but full approval almost certainly takes a lifetime. Our more than a few journeys have averaged 2½ days each and they've hardly allowed us to get a handle just on the food and music.
The Delta gets attractive in Clarksdale, at the legendary crossroads of highways 61 and 49, where bluesman Robert Johnson is supposed to have knelt and sold his spirit to the devil in exchange for guitar-playing prowess. We sit and reproduce on that at the nearby Abe's Barbecue, where the beam sauce is hot as misery.
From there we strike the Delta Blues Museum and make past Stovall's Plantation (where Muddy Waters was raised) and keep heading south (we haven't brought ourselves to keep on at the Shack up Inn in Clarksdale, where the rooms are changed sharecropper shacks). There are gravesites to stay (we've seen two that evidently are Johnson's and have just read about a third), oddities to explore (the Muppet memorabilia at the Jim Henson Museum in Leland is delightful, Parchman Farm jail of blues lyrics fame is not), and tamales and perhaps the country's premium steaks to ingest (at Doe's Eat Place in Greenville).
10) Northern New Mexico
We've heard it said that northern New Mexico is a comedian opera played with solemn intensity. We be grateful for a little play in my travels, so when we've had our fill of Santa Fe style, w
e strike the northbound back roads for nonstop performances on a daily basis. Maybe it's the flowing together of Native American and Latino cultures. Or the propagation of artists, seduced more than a century ago by the spiritual excellence of the light. Or the clash of the spiritual and the irreverent. But Taos and the flyspeck towns along the way are full of unforgettable encounters.
True believers (and doubters, too) make the pilgrimage to El Santuario de Chimayo, where the grime is respected for its healing powers. Years ago, the chief priest declined to tell me whether he believed in those powers. What matters, he said, is that thousands of wonder seekers do.
Former night small table clerk Johnny Chapman, who would separate himself from his oxygen tank only to light up a Winston 100, boasted that "people from curtains the United States, parts of Arkansas and the rest of the world" came to see the works of fine art. Chapman is left, but the barred paintings still exist in at La Fonda.
They're not great. But the company is good.
If you visit cheapest hotels website, you will find the solution
1 comment:
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