Hour 1: It’s hot, humid, cloying and clammy. The ACs blasting and I’m heading down the coast. It looks quite pretty. I keep thinking that this place is Hawaii, but I’ve never been there. That’s odd.
Savannah had been great, weather-wise. Not too hot, not too humid, a little light drizzle, but nothing to discourage our in-depth exploration of the culture. As I get to Florida, however, the humidity ramps up. It hasn’t gotten much warmer and it’s still overcast, but it’s muggy and cloying.
That hardly matters, though, because: space!
I head south from South of the Border and the world starts to become sane again. Well, I’m in South Carolina, so “marginally more sane”. As I head further south, I pass possibly the best billboard I’ve seen, though since I was driving I don’t have a picture of it. I forget the store it was advertising, I think it was a mechanics, but the billboard read:
“I trust ‘em!” – Actual Customer.
“Actual Customer”. I love it. It’s either adorably unself-aware or just mad.
The friend I was visiting in North Carolina insisted that there was a place I had to see to disbelieve. I have seen it. I do not have many words to describe it. So, while my mind struggles to understand it, let me give you as many details as I can:
There are signs for this place from miles away, on main roads, on back country roads, it’s everywhere, drawing you towards it like the Wise Men and the star. It is located, as the name might imply, just south of the border of North Carolina. Colloquially, “south of the border” often refers to Mexico. Combining these scraps of information has produced this:
I’m in Raleigh, North Carolina for Christmas (don’t you love a timely updated blog?). The weather is a balmy 60-something Fahrenheit, which in actual temperatures is around 15-20C. You know, Christmas weather. Much to the chagrin of my friend, there’s no snow in sight. I, being a kindly person, scooped up a cup of Iowa snow and brought it down with me, but by the time I got to her, it had turned to water. Bloody Global Warming.
I think it’s well known that I’m a party animal, so it should surprise no-one that the first thing I do in Kentucky is go to a night club. I’m also quite hip, quite fly, quite jiggy with it, so I of course heard about the underground night club. How underground?