On the Road: A Recap

As you may have noticed, my grand plans of doing a daily blog re-cap of my drive cross-country disintegrated quickly. Did you know that driving about 500 miles a day by yourself can be quite exhausting? And that when you reach your destination, all you'll want to do is drink the $5 wine you bought at a Wal-Mart in Garland, Texas out of a plastic hotel cup, find HGTV on the dial in whatever city you're calling home for the next 12 hours, and pass out? Because that's just one of the lessons I learned during #krissyscaliforniaadventure. So we will all have to content ourselves with a recap of my observations and experiences while on the road, written at the dining room table of my lovely new apartment in Studio City, California. It's been a whirlwind of a week - buckle up and let's go!

Sunday, 1/6/19: Day 3 of my trip found me in western Tennessee, where I stopped for breakfast in Memphis. I went to the Arcade, the oldest restaurant in Memphis, established in 1919. It was a cute place, with friendly service and delicious food (I got a breakfast platter with ham, eggs, biscuits and grits that also provided my lunch that day). Being a solo traveler, I opted to sit at the counter, so as not to take up a whole table or booth, and I felt the weight of history settle on me. Although nothing in the write-up of the restaurant's history mentioned it, having existed in the Jim Crow South, I can only assume that the Arcade, like so many establishments of that era, was segregated, and that had I been a Black woman visiting the Arcade in its 1950s heydey, I would not have been allowed to sit in the seat I presently occupied. It's a disturbing thought, especially when considering that Memphis is still one of the United States' most segregated cities. It's an understatement to say that I'm perplexed by racism - why should the color of my skin affect where I am allowed to eat a meal? And sure, maybe people don't want the darker elements of our nation's history served to them with their morning coffee, but I can't help but wonder if these establishments don't have a responsibility to acknowledge their role in upholding racist laws in the past. 
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This idea was further driven home when I walked around the corner from the Arcade to the Lorraine Hotel, where the Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. was assassinated on April 4, 1968. The hotel is now part of the National Civil Rights Museum, and is preserved to look as it did the day of the MLK's murder. 
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I unfortunately did not have time to visit the museum, although it looks really interesting, but even standing on the sidewalk below room 306, where Dr. King was shot, resonated. Here stood a man who dared to demand equality for all people. Here was a man whose whole system of agitating for equal rights was based on non-violence. Here was a man who just wanted to make the world a better place. And because he was Black, and the people he advocated for were of all races, he was so dangerous to some that he had to be shot dead. It makes no earthly sense to me how a person like Dr. King, who achieved so much in such a short time, and could have gone on to do so much more, was killed, while throughout history and the world, tyrants are allowed to live to continue perpetuating acts that actively harm people and the planet. 
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With this in my mind and heart, I hit the road to Little Rock, Arkansas, where I stopped at the William J. Clinton Presidential Library and Museum. Ironically, the library was closed because of the federal government shutdown (presidential libraries and museums are operated by the National Archives and Records Administration, a federal agency), but I was able to tour the park surrounding the building, which overlooks the Arkansas River. The grounds include a small memorial area that acknowledge Arkansas as the site of acts of discrimination, including its location on the Trail of Tears, its hosting of Japanese-American internment camps during WWII, and its history of segregation. These are the kind of acknowledgments that I feel are necessary to make sure we as a country do not forget the horrors and injustices that have been perpetrated and sanctioned in our country. After all, the internment camps and Brown v. Board of Education occurred less than a hundred years ago. Yes, we've made progress, but we still have a long way to go.

Monday, 1/7/19: After Sunday's thought-provoking experiences, Monday was a bit more subdued, as I drove across Texas from Garland, outside of Dallas, to Fort Davis. Everyone I talked to before and during my trip said that this leg would be the worst part of the trip, and while it wasn't horrible, it definitely was a slog. Texas is just so. damn. big. Out of six days of my trip, I spent at least part of three of them in Texas. 
There is one interesting thing that happened on this day of the trip, which I know any theater folks reading this will especially appreciate. In my research for the trip, I discovered that Odessa College in Odessa, Texas, is home to the "Globe of the Great Southwest," a replica of Shakespeare's Globe theater in London. Being a theater person, and not knowing when I would return to Odessa (spoiler alert: probably never), I figured I might as well try to see it. My expectations of getting inside the building to actually see the space were marginal; maybe there would be a rehearsal or show, or maybe the school was still on winter break and everything would be locked up. What I did not expect was for the theater, and the replica of the home of Anne Hathaway (Shakespeare's wife, not the Devil Wears Prada actress), to be completely unlocked and unoccupied, offering me completely unlimited access to everything. It was so fucking weird, I still can't believe it really happened. Had I been a less scrupulous person, I could have made off with valuable lighting and sound booth equipment, not to mention a whole dining room set from the Hathaway house. Luckily for Odessa College, I just took some photos and stayed far away from any expensive equipment, but seriously guys...lock your doors. 

Tuesday, 1/8/19: I started my day by swinging through Marfa, Texas, which many people recommended I visit, as it's known as a funky, eclectic creative haven in the middle of the desert. Not to shit on anyone's opinion, but I was very underwhelmed. Maybe it's because I was there on a Tuesday morning in the middle of winter, but Marfa struck me as just a sleepy little Texas town where it was hard to find a spot for breakfast (although I did end up getting a delicious and cheap breakfast burrito at a local joint called Mando's). I'm not sorry that I made it a point to stop there, but it was a bit of a letdown. I had really been looking forward to seeing what Marfa had to offer, and was disappointed to find that it wasn't much.

Driving back to the interstate from Marfa meant about an hour on a super-isolated two-lane highway. This was the only point of the trip where I got really nervous; I saw maybe four other vehicles in the entire time I was on this road, and my cell phone service was spotty. If my car had broken down or I was somehow impaired, I was going to be right fucked. Obviously, I made it, but despite the lovely scenery, I was happy to put those miles behind me.

Also, while I was on this road, I spotted what could only be described as an unidentified flying object. As I drove towards it, knowing full well that it was probably some kind of weather-tracking device, I developed a newfound empathy for people who think they've seen alien spaceships. When you're driving alone through an isolated moonscape with nothing but cattle for company, and you spot an oddly-shaped object floating, apparently untethered, in the sky - well, it can make you question reality a bit. Of course, the thing I was not an alien UFO, but rather some weather-tracking radar balloon, but I'll always remember that half hour when I almost believed in aliens.

Tuesday also saw me traveling through El Paso, right on the border of Mexico. The timing seemed auspicious, given that 45 is currently throwing the longest temper tantrum in government history over border security in this area. Look, driving past one small section of this vast national border doesn't make me an authority on what's going on in this area (although I guess if I were Trump, I would claim that it would). But I certainly didn't see a migrant caravan hurtling themselves at America like zombies in World War Z. Interstate 10 passes within miles of the U.S.-Mexico border, and from what I could see, Mexico was just over there, chilling. Interestingly, since I was listening to a lot of NPR and new podcasts on my journey, some of the experts and commentary I heard changed my opinion on border security somewhat, in that we do need to increase it, but in an intentional, comprehensive way. The wall, of course, remains one of the most asinine, illogical solutions to a highly complex, ongoing problem I've ever heard, and I've worked in higher education, so I know from dumb ideas.

New Mexico lived up to its name of the "Land of Enchantment." Even though I only spent about half a day there, it was my favorite state along the way, and probably number one on my list to revisit. Absolutely breath-taking scenery:
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Wednesday, 1/9/19: My last day on the road was good, but a little strange. I met up with a friend for lunch in Tempe, AZ; his was the first familiar face I had seen in six days, and I realized how quickly I had gotten comfortable with my isolation (I would make a fantastic hermit, if that ever comes back as a viable career path). As I got closer and closer to California, I actually found myself getting nervous. In one sense, my journey was coming to an end. I had made it across the country, all 3,142 miles (I counted), alive! But of course, my journey was just starting - once I arrived at my new apartment, I was going to have to get out of my car, unpack all my shit, and start a new life. I don't know if you've ever done that, but it's kind of terrifying. For six days, life had been pretty uncomplicated; wake up, gas up, hit the road, eat when you have to eat, pee when you have to pee, get to your destination in one piece, sleep, and repeat. Although I had been putting pieces in place for my life in California, now the whole picture was coming into focus. This wasn't like going on a vacation and returning to your regular life. I talked to my mom about it, and likened it to what I imagine having a baby is like: you spend months planning and preparing to have a baby, which is a huge event, but it doesn't end with the birth. That's just the beginning of a whole new reality. I spent months planning and preparing for this move, and now the move is over (pretty much - there are still a few boxes in my car), but the new reality is just beginning.

So that's where I am. If you've made it to the end of this massively long post, thank you for reading, have a cookie! (Spoiler alert - I don't have any cookies). But I will have a lot more to say in the coming weeks about my new life here in LA, so stay tuned!