Home SWEET home

For all those Americans we met along the way here's a little place in the Aussie Outback where you might like to think we are madly editing the hundreds of hours of footage we captured on our 50 state tour of your beautiful country.

The reality is a lot less poetic.

In fact the reality is after spending 9 months breathing the same recycled air as my husband in the confines of a 24" trailer, it's time for some space. These days hours go by when I don't see or hear from my partner and truthfully it's bliss. I know he feels the same.

Where the Magic Happens

It's winter at home in Melbourne, there are few distractions and not much has changed. 

We thought we'd be holding family and friends in awe with stories of our American journey. We thought they'd be gagging at the bit to hear about the legendary cities of Jackson, Boston, Miami and New Orleans. But truth be told the enormity, adventure and feelings associated with our trip is hard to convey in words. 

Tim has the daunting task of editing the footage and revisiting the people and places was saw. Every now and then I stroll past his edit desk and see Dan from Miami or Alston from Alabama and smile to myself.

 

Tomorrow we catch a plane back to Australia.  Leaving America after nine months feels decidedly odd.  On one hand, we both can't wait to see family and friends (and fill our ears with the sweet sounds of the Australian accent) - on the other hand, we have both become very comfortable being among Americans and used to the American way of life.  In all honesty and without the slightest fear of sounding corny, the strongest impression of "Americans" that we take home with us is of a people who are warm and welcoming beyond all expectation.  Almost everyone we met (and believe me, we met a 'LOT' of Americans) lived life with the unambiguous  intention of being both 'good' and 'successful'. This inevitably led to a uniquely American brand of kindness and optimism.

Our film is quite simply a portrait of a nation as it arrives at a very critical crossroad. For all our sakes, I sincerely hope that the collective journey of the American people continues toward equality and sustainability.  I also hope we realize our dream of debuting our movie at the Sundance Film Festival next year. And, I hope when that happens, we make it out of the cinema without being trampled by an angry audience. 

To all those Americans who have helped us along the way, you have our deepest gratitude.  And to those who were generous and courageous enough to appear in our film, thank you and please don't freak out when you see your self up there on the big screen.

California has been our first and last stops in a journey across all 50 states.  Accordingly, we see it as only fitting to slightly misquote the current Governor of California for our goodbye message;

"we'll be back"

Tim Spicer & Natashia Ting

Goodbye Cougar!

As the Cougar disappeared from sight, her big white gleaming backside rolling down the ramp, I couldn't help but feel a tinge of sadness.

I was trailer trash for 8 months and that was my trailer, being driven away to another home. (Tony the retiree from Maui was her new owner). But she would never travel as far and as wide as she had done with us.

Bye Cougar, thanks for keeping up sheltered, warm, fed, clean and entertained. Thanks for the memories, we miss you already.

Man's Best Friend

Hollywood-types LOVE their dogs. The amount of love on display towards their canine companions borders on disturbing. 

In Tinseltown dogs are another tool to attract attention to oneself. Get a really BIG dog no matter how inappropriate and you're guaranteed to get stares. Perfect for Hollywood. Never mind that your oversized, Alaskan pooch is panting and drooling uncontrollably in the Californian heat while you strut your stuff along the canyon trails. 

Alternatively invest in a tiny little toy dog. Don't forget to dress-up your rat with legs with some La-La Land bling bling. These Chihuahua breeds and their ugly little cousins are carried around in handbags not only by dim-witted starlets but also by big tough tattoo-covered men (Think Mickey Rourke).

If I see one more Chihuahua get a tongue-kiss from it's owner, I think I may do something really offensive and publicly humiliating.

Note: 'Beverly Hills Chihuahua' was advertised in LA when we arrived August 2007. It was still in cinemas in 2008. Oscar-nominated 'Slumdog Millionaire' and 'The Reader' were only on screens for 3 weeks.

Trying to crack the Big Time

What do you do when you start cold calling production agencies and the receptionist is being paid to efficiently and politely slam anyone trying to pitch movie ideas? When you've devoted 8 months and your life savings into making a movie, and the almost robotic response of ,"You need a referral to get a meeting here," starts to feel like knives in your heart.

You Panic. Big Time.

But this is a city that runs on connections. And it's time to start flexing and exploiting any vague half-arsed connection we might have.

Back where we started

Back in LA, where our journey began, the last 7 months feel like a whirlwind.
We are slowly beginning the awesome task of editing 100s of hours of interviews. Looking back over the footage we've captured, it's like seeing old friends. My husband and I smile and reminisce thinking of all the friends we've made along the way. Many past interview subjects have intermittently kept in touch with us via email and phonecalls, particularly when bushfires raged in Victoria in February. If one generalisation can be made about Americans it's that they're a real friendly lot. I mean it.

Saving the best for last

Aloha, Welcome to Maui.
Calling Maui part of America feels like a stretch. The usual suspects are here, Walmart, Starbucks and Borders, but thankfully they're hidden on the island's capital, Kahului. We're some 24 gorgeous coastal miles from town, hiding away on the West coast near Kaanapali Village.

Maui still has one-way coastal roads, tiny villages where residents prefer to barter and small owner operator businesses. The speed limit is about 35 miles per hour (60km/hr) around the whole island.

Ok so we didn't pull out the camera on the first day, or the second or even the third. It may have had something to do with our plush ocean front villa with a King size bed. And more space than we knew what to do with.

We did eventually talk to some locals, descendants of the original inhabitants of the islands and these folk consider themselves Hawaiian first and foremost and "American" a distant second. They are concerned about maintaining traditional fishing practices, language and culture. They see the benefits of tourism on the local economy but are aware it's a double edged sword.

Alaska-Where some have it good

We headed to Alaska with tongue in cheek apprehension, like the rest of the world we saw the rise and rise of the Sarah Palin hot air balloon and it's inevitable deflation. We were cynical about the state which spawned the winking brunette who coined the phrase "Drill baby drill." Were we heading into a liberal wasteland, full of gun-toting, caribou shooting conservatives?

But after less than a full day in Alaska's capital, Anchorage, we were surprised to acknowledge that we were actually enjoying ourselves.

Anchorage is surrounded by intimidating beauty: lakes, glaciers and awesome mountains, plus moose strolling through the downtown. Visually, it really is some kind of winter wonderland.

Compared to a lot of the other 48 states we've visited, Alaska appears to be doing better than most: there aren't vast areas of suburban decay, underlying racism or urban depression. Alaska is rich in natural gas and oil, so much so that every resident of Alaska receives an annual Alaskan permanent fund dividend from the government. Last year's cheque amounted to $4,000. There is no sales tax here and a high standard of living.

We were taken to the most happening lunch spot in town by a local where it was all mung beans, Japanese tofu, organic beef and homemade bread. So it seems Alaska isn't some frontier land stuck in the old days. Glancing around, most diners seem pretty bloody happy with their lot in life.

But speak to a Native Alaskan and you'll get a very different story.

Our interview subject, Yaani, is a Native Yupik from St Lawrence Island, off the west coast of Alaska's mainland. St Lawrence Island which is closer to Russia in geography, is home to approximately 1,300 people. There are no trees just some woody plants here and there, the land is harsh and inhospitable, but Yaani longs for home. She moved to Anchorage for work and better opportunities for her children. Today her brother is visiting her in Anchorage. Cyrus is a small man with slanted Asian eyes and very dark skin. He's on his cell phone chatting in Yupik to the lads back on St Lawrence Island-- they've lost the whale they've been hunting. Yaani and Cyrus are disappointed. A whale can feel a whole village for months. The US government stipulates when the Native Alaskans are permitted to hunt for whales and how many they're allowed to kill per season. "We used to be able to hunt whenever we wanted," Cyrus explains. Yaani just looks away. "I wish the Americans never came."

Some are less impressed

We are camped just across from the gorgeous Lake Tahoe in a delightfully situated RV campsite shrouded in pine trees. It's a stunning setting.

Upon strolling through the site, a friendly camper approaches.

"Oh! Hi! I've been wanting too talk to you. I saw your 'Big Beautiful Wyoming' mud flaps. Are y'll from Wyoming?" she asks breathlessly.

I see the hope and anticipation in her eyes.

"No actually we're from Australia," I say with a touch of pride. "The truck came with those mud flaps."

Silence
More silence
Uncomfortable silence.
She purses her frosted pink lips.

"Um.... so..... nice lake," I offer.

Some folks here are a little hard to impress.

Playing babysitter in Vegas

While safely sharing a cosy RV park (read: an expansive asphalt parking lot) with some 90 other mobile homes just behind the Las Vegas strip, a dear, dear friend from home called and said he and his ladyfriend were heading to Vegas. (For the sake of his professional integrity he prefers to remain anonymous, so for the sake of the story we'll call him Mr. G.) We're both super excited to see a familiar face and take on Vegas with an old mate and his lady love.

After strolling the strip, taking in all the glamour, debauchery, tackiness and public displays of drunkeness, it was time to get in on the action. Enter Jimmy Buffet's Margaritaville- a cheesy chain of restaurants serving up mass produced pub grub and flavoured margaritas in a Hawaiian/Tropical setting. Mr G tells Dick, our all-American waiter, "I just want a regular margarita that's real strong." "Well you'll want Number 4, which is basically pure alcohol," Dick informs us. Husband orders the same.

3 "regular" margaritas each later and Mr G and husband are fitting in nicely with all the other clientele of the establishment-- speaking in raised voices, slurring their words and smiling like Cheshire cats. But it's time for a change of venue. We wind up at Tao, the Venetian's sexy and sultry restaurant and bar. Tonight it's pumping with 30-something men in suits and plenty of ladies showing plenty of cleavage. Mr G notices a sign outside welcoming Samsung executives to a private event on the 4th floor. I'm taking in the Asian inspired decor when my partner comes bowling up to me, "It's time to pretend you're Korean. Ahn-YONG-Ha-SE-Hyo!"

The Samsung party is a little less happening, but there's free booze and some very fancy fingerfood, so like good little gatecrashers we stay. Samsung are launching a new percussion application for their mobile phones and all the bigwigs are in town. I'm thinking we cruise the room, smiling but sticking together, have a few freebies and move on before anyone realises we aren't supposed to be there. We're blindingly conspicuous in our casual, holidaymakers daywear carrying oversized shopping bags....... But Mr G and husband are too wasted to care about consequences or first impressions.

A tall, suited, blonde Swedish guy siddles up to Mr G, "So who are you?, he enquires.
Mr G, boldened by booze responds with, "Well who are YOU?"
Swedish man goes, "I'm the organizer of this event."
Without missing a beat, Mr G grins and confidently states, "There you ARE! I've been looking everywhere for you."

Close to 2 hours later, Mr G and my beloved have met the Managing Director of Samsung who's flown in from Korea for the event, a beautifully presented young Korean woman who's in Market Strategy for the North American region, the Indian-born inventor of the application and anyone else willing to listen to their ranting. We've consumed beers, red wine, seared swordfish, pork wontons and mini New York Cheesecake. I'm still not sure if all these highflyers were just too damn polite to call our bluff or they were simply bowled over by our bombasdic behaviour. In a drunken stumble Mr G fell inches short from knocking the Director off his crutches. It was time to go.

Las Vegas, Nevada - arrival.

I was never able to fully understand what the billboard next to the famous Welcome to Fabulous Las Vegas sign was actually advertising. I think they give you dollars to be in porn (click pic for a closer look).

The Vegas sign was designed in 1959 by Betty Willis and Ted Rogich. It pretty much epitomizes the town it is welcoming visitors to - it made us excited. The billboard on the other hand is not really offensive - its just a bit ugly and sad.

The seach for middle America leaves us cold, again.

Although our first visit to the American heartland lead to a series of encounters with some very nice mid-western folk, we got the feeling we missed the truly "conservative" point of view so often heard on local talk radio. After looping through some warm states (Texas, New Mexico, Arizona, Utah) we decided to return to the middle (or at least the edge of the middle). This plan was going great at first, fantastic interviews in Idaho and Wyoming, until someone (Ahh...me,...tim) got the idea of heading South into the previously un-visited by us, Colorado.

Enter the blizzard.

Several hours after the snow started falling (actually blowing cross ways parallel to the ground), the options for conducting interviews with willing locals pretty much dried up. Driving also became difficult as the roads literally froze over. We pushed on toward the Wyoming / Colorado border until we hit the frozen wonderland of Baggs. The hill on the South side of town proved too slippery and we retreated back to town. The prospect of another night in the trailer in sub zero temperatures (it is quite similar to an industrial refrigerator in its design) was just too much - we checked into a motel and had long, hot showers.

The following day began with a 40 mile crawl on frozen roads to lower ground. Once back on plowed roads we looked at each other and in almost perfect unison said, "!@#$ this, let's go to Vegas!!".

Sorry Colorado, the integrity our "even" coverage across all 50 states will have to have one mountainous, snowy and very chilly exception.

Triple layered vista in South Eastern Utah

Rock on in Utah

If you look really closely, you might see an Australian born Chinese woman in a funny hat.

Flags for fallen soldiers

A visit to Monument Valley on the Arizona - Utah border is enhanced greatly by a conversation with a local ceramic artist and proud Navajo, Lawrence M Crank. His ability to emulate just about any accent is bettered only by his ability to converse in about nine foreign languages. His ceramics are beautiful and his politics radical.

We interviewed Lawrence in front of a barbed wire fence onto which numerous ripped and faded American flags had been attached. The beautiful rock formations completed our backdrop. Lawrence told us of a large group of people from somewhere in the US who rolled up one day and placed a flag in honour of a member of their family lost in the Iraq war. As the nation shifts focus to the more pressing issue of the domestic economy, the Iraq War is rapidly becoming another forgotten war. There are reminders here and there but one gets the impression that unless there exists a direct link to the War, the average American has by and large moved on.

Food Glorious Food

Admitted--we are constantly waging a guilty war between our olfactory senses and the desire to maintain reasonably trim figures. We stick to a fairly regular morning jogging schedule in an attempt to counteract the sugar, fat and salt-laden food which requires an iron will to resist. Friends and family we regularly speak to monitor our weight-- "So have you gained weight yet?" It's almost like breathing the air here might make us fat.

But it's not the air, it's the 99c beef & bacon burger, the All You Can Eat American Breakfast Buffet, the limitless stack of pancakes with Canadian maple syrup at IHOP and the donuts!--that harmless snackfood that seems to be the breakfast staple of cops, undercover agents and officeworkers.

If I never admitted it before it was out of shame, but I am standing tall now to confess I bloody LOVE donuts! And after having sampled these oh so delicious doughy rings across 47 states I have found THE best donuts this country has to offer--hands down!

Phoenix Ranch Market, 1602 E Roosevelt St. Freshly baked 8am and 1pm.

As the crow flies

A Monumental Sand Storm.

A clear morning in the jaw-droppingly, breath-takingly, awe-inspiringly magnificent Monument Valley started without incident to the strains of Ennio Morricone.  

Not long after we entered John Ford's favourite movie location, the wind picked up a little.   

Until today the expression, "it's a dog's life" never quite resonated with me.

Anastazi Ruins- Canyon De Chelly, Arizona

Hopi Reservation, Northern Arizona

Hilltop Tarot - Sedona.

I have long been skeptical about just about everything - Tarot readings have always been high on the list.  But, I suppose, if you have to have it done, atop a "vortex" is as good a place as any.

"...the six of cups,  this card tells of your recent reconnection with the mother earth and her power to heal...."

Sedona, Arizona

OK, most of us are on some kind of quest - many of us have no idea what we are looking for whilst others are certain they have the answers...some are just trying to workout the questions.  All of these types and more are represented in the desert wonderland of Sedona. 

From healing crystals and the mystical powers of the area's famous "vortex" to All Terrain Vehicles and all you can eat buffets - this place covers the entire spectrum. 

A word from Birdie

Rolling in top style along the streets of Tombstone, Arizona

Yet another guilty pleasure here in the land of the free (to indulge boyhood fantasies)

A dream came true for me today;

Between the junk food and the junk entertainment, if I stay in this country much longer I will become Homer Simpson.

Tim Spicer

38 years old

Border Photography

About an hour due West of El Paso, we decided to take a picture of the seemingly endless and very remote border fence.  No sooner had we stopped the Cougar and pulled out the camera than two border patrol cars sped toward us, one from each direction. Where these cars came from and how they knew we had stopped so instantaneously is as impressive as it is unnerving. The patrol guys seemed a bit bummed out when it became apparent that we were just stupid Australian tourists and not involved in any form of smuggling.

Public Health Warning

During our recent visa run to jamaica a new and very bad influence entered my life. For those of you not bothered by detailed descriptions of your highly anti- social behavior from a very unimpressed partner whilst trying to ignore the violent revolution being conducted by disgruntled cells in most parts of your body, this substance should not be a problem. For everyone else, all I can say is, "STAY AWAY FROM WRAY & NEPHEW WHITE OVERPROOF RUM"

PS: Deepest apologies to anyone who may have received a call from the rambling fool who temporarily was in possession of my mobile phone.

Omaha is cool

If ever one were to find one's self hankering for a spot of culture whilst traversing the midlands of ye olde US of A, one could do a lot worse than to avail one's self of the many splendid cultural delights of the very "happening" Omaha, Nebraska.  Seriously, go there - the place is way kool!!!

No Joy in small American business

As we travel across the United States of America, there is one impression  stronger than any other.  Put simply, the "chain" stores are killing the little guy.  

I know this phenomenon has been widely documented and reported on by far more smarterer peoples than I - but for what it's worth, I think that as at the Joy Motel in North West Arkansas, the "uniqueness" of independently owned and operated business is in its final days.  The "Walmartifcation" of America is almost complete.  

Westward Bound

As my trusty companion and I zigzag our way across this enormous country, having visited 42 states and spent countless hours side by side in our F250 truck, admittedly the silences between our flippant banter and intellectual debate are becoming longer and longer.
But tonight, on the way from Santa Fe to El Paso, witnessing this awesome sunset we were both happily stunned into a contemplative silence.

Wish you were here

Border Town

Just miles from the West Texas town of El Paso, the lights from the shanties of Juarez, Mexico glow like a gold-sequined sheet. But beneath the pretty vista, the town of Juarez is tackling some of the worst drug wars in recent history.
In a frightening display of power, local drug lords relentlessly threatened the Chief of Police which forced him to resign on February 21, 2009.
In the meantime rival gangs are literally killing each other and anyone who stands in their way to gain control over the lucrative passage into the United States. Last year more than 2000 people died in drug-related violence in Juarez, 50 of those were local police officers. Juarez police officers are quitting out of fear for their lives. Since early March the Mexican army has flooded into Juarez in the thousands to try and regain control over the embattled area.

Santa Fe, New Mexico

We heard the silent co-founder of Microsoft and Shirley McLaine have recently made Santa Fe home. I'm not sure if that was after or before the zen day spas and chakra realigning clinics sprouted up around town, but Santa Fe is one of the trendiest liberal American towns with a dash of cowboy spunk and Native American artistry.

Eureka Springs...Where there is only one religion

Religion is a big deal in America. And the town of Eureka Springs has been cashing in on it for decades.
For some wholesome family fun you can watch the Great Passion Play depicting the days leading up to the death of Jesus or merely pick up a souvenir at the Kerusso Christian Outlet. We're told the fashion here never goes outta date.
.

Home is where the "Cougs" is.

Our Keystone Cougar 5th wheel trailer has kept us warm and sheltered for 23,000 miles across 41 states (and counting).

Admittedly she wasn't our first pick, she definitely wasn't the most snazzy on the Used RV lot, but she's found a sentimental place in both of our hearts.

We haven't always treated the "Cougs" with the respect she deserves.  We ran her into the roof of an Asian grocery store in North Dakota, collided with a street sign in Montgomery, Alabama (the awning brackets ripped right off the sides) and have overestimated the height of low hanging branches on numerous occasions.  

But after spending each day in a new place, meeting a host of new people, settling back in a familiar environment is quite comforting - home is where the "Cougs" is.  Well, perhaps more accurately, home is where the "Cougs" is except when it's minus 15 degrees C outside and the pipes have frozen solid.   We've managed cold in Kentucky and blizzards in Baltimore, but for some reason the cold here in Omaha, Nebraska is really cramping our style.  Frozen pipes means no running water...need I say more?

Time to break Southward for the second time.  We'll return to the heartland of the great American interior in a few weeks, when showers in the Cougs don't involve a bottle of drinking water and a hand towel.

The Ice Storm.

Traveling through Oklahoma, Arkansas, Mississippi, Tennessee and Missouri we saw hundreds of miles of the aftermath of a terrible ice storm.  Many people told us of power outages and long cold nights.  Many also mentioned that there never used to be so many and such severe ice storms.  

People all over the country have said that the weather has changed dramatically since their childhoods.  We've also heard from countless Americans that the entire concept of Global Warming is a hoax orchestrated by self serving liberals.

Graceland - Memphis, Tennessee.

In general we have tried to avoid "tourist traps".  But with Memphis, Tennessee, exceptions had to be made.  Sun Studios, Stax Records, Graceland, Rock and Soul Museum...the list goes on.  

Can't think of anything profound to say - Memphis is totally awesome.

Missouri in Winter

Possible cover shot for Natashia's next introspective, contemporary bluegrass album.

Victor P tells it like it is.

We've now heard all manner of explanation on the significance of the new President. 

Victor's take on the subject is one of my favourites.

George W, back among friends at last

The Lower 9th Ward

When the levies broke Robert Green, his mother and 3 grandchildren had minutes to hack through their roof and climb to the highest point of their house.

 

The media jumped all over the devastation  caused by hurricane Katrina and the previous Administration's seeming incompetence at dealing with the situation. On our couches in the comfort of our homes, we could only imagine the fear, chaos and sense of loss and desperation happening a world away.

 

But for Robert Green, born and bred in the Lower 9th Ward, the day of hurricane Katrina marked the day he watched his 3-year old grand-daughter slide off the roof of his house and drown and his mother suffer a fatal heart-attack.

You could understand it if Robert Green was a bitter, angry man. But the man who lives in 2 FEMA trailers on the site of his old home greets us with a smile. 

A 3-year old girl across the road plays in the yard with her grand-parents and volunteers from the local Baptist church. She likes the attention and laughs and plays like any normal 3-year old. She lives in a newly-built house championed by Brad Pitt's "Make it Right" campaign, but to her it's just "home". She's happily oblivious to what transpired on the grounds where she now runs. 

"See that girl? She wasn't here for Katrina. I can't keep living in the past. Living in the past serves no-one," says Robert Green.

I think if a man who has suffered this much can move on, so can we all. 

Finding the blues in New Orleans

After 20,000 miles on the road, across 32 states and more encounters with "pre-fabricated" American culture than we'd care to mention, arriving in New Orleans we were well and truly ready for something real.

Proving that the best 12 bar blues runs for 11 sometimes 13 and occasionally 7 and a half bars, Lil Freddie King and his band kept it really real for us, Friday night at BJ's in the Bywater, Upper 9th Ward New Orleans.

Totally and utterly awesome.

Monticello High School, Mississippi.

On this journey into the hearts and minds of Americans we have heard countless pleas for racial integration, tolerance and an end to discrimination, endless proclamations and assertion regarding the end of racism and more than anything, a flood of desire for the past to be finally a thing of the past.  Despite having visited many wealthy areas that are seemingly populated entirely by white people and equally as many poverty ravaged, largely black neighborhoods, a bubble of hope had formed around us.

Heading South from Jackson, Mississippi we chose to avoid the huge interstate in favour of the small local roads that run more or less parallel.  This often leads us to surprises.  On this leg of the journey the first of these surprises was a hill covered in home made doomsday signs (Revelations seems to have had a big impact on many in Americans).  The second surprise, in an instant, popped our bubble of hope.  A wrong turn took us past a High School on the edge of the tiny township of Monticello, Mississippi.  The sun was out and the kids were playing on the rectangular grass field in front of the school building.  With a jolt we  both simultaneously 

noticed that all the white kids were playing on the left side of the flag pole, all the black kids played together on the right - there were about 100 kids and not one exception to this self imposed segregation.  

Perhaps we should think nothing of it, perhaps we should.

PS Sorry no photo.  In the minute it took us to turn the Cougar around, lunch was over and the kids were heading inside (mixing as they climbed the steps of the school house).

Deep South, Mississippi

  Forget the humble garden gnome or water feature, call Dwayne on 1-800- GOD BLESS for a truly inspirational lawn statement.

On sale now at recession prices

Watching Inauguration - Brown Chapel Selma, Alabama

This first passage has been lifted word for word from nps.gov 

March 7, 1965, despite a ban on protest marches by Governor George Wallace, about 600 black protestors gathered outside Brown Chapel to march fromSelma to the state capital in Montgomery. Leading the march were the SCLC's Hosea Williams and SNCC's John Lewis. At the EdmundPettusBridge, six blocks from Brown Chapel, mounted troopers confronted the marchers and ordered them to disperse. The marchers stood their ground and the troopers advanced, billy clubs raised. Lewis fell, his skull fractured. Others fell, screaming, as white onlookers cheered. Then Sheriff Jim Clark's deputized posse charged the marchers, firing tear gas and swinging bullwhips and rubber tubing wrapped in barbed wire. That night, ABC interrupted its showing of the movie Judgement at Nuremberg to air footage of "Bloody Sunday." By morning, news of the event had spread to nearly every American household, and thousands of march supporters began to flock to Selma. On March 9, Martin Luther King, Jr., led a "symbolic" march to the bridge, and on March 21, after Governor Wallace's ban was overruled by Federal Judge Frank M. Johnson, Jr., King led the five-day march to the capital. Less than five months later President Johnson signed the Voting Rights Act.

On March 4, 2007, Senator Barack Obama visited Brown Chapel and gave the speech transcribed on this website;  

http://www.barackobama.com/2007/03/04/selma_voting_rights_march_comm.php

On January 20, 2009, Natashia and I sat in the pews of Brown Chapel in Selma, Alabama and watched the inauguration of Barack Obama.  Later that day we met a friendly old man named, Click. He was among the 600 protesters on that Sunday in March, 1965.  Needless to say, he was in a great mood.

Business deals in parking lots.

Philidelphia parking lot - Mountains of frosting, dotted with cherries.

Siren stabs through distant, consistant murmuring - tonights film is decidedly noir.

I am foreign here - awkward and inconsequential.

Black Car enters the picture - once around the perimiter, quick but not fast.
Glides to a stop in the middle, engine running, facing the entrance - and exit.

Moments pass - confidence, tension, anticipation.

White Car cuts in - diagonal and assurred - headlights dimmed.
Pulls aside its patient counterpart, almost touching - showtime.

A transaction takes place - in shorthand.

White Car breaks first - gone in an instant.

Black Car lingers, jerks forward - and stops again with a jolt.
"Now is not the time to lose your cool" - I mutter pointlessly.

An ungracious retreat - all lurches and squeaks.

The shiny, black fields and fluffy white hills are once again mine -
and mine alone.

20 January 2009 - Montgomery, Alabama.

Some people we have spoken to say that President Barack Obama being an African American is of no special significance; "it's not about race, it's about the person".

I suspect that for some, it is profoundly significant.

Alabama State University - Inauguration party

 

Making Friends in Selma, Alabama

When we mentioned to Sam and his mates that we were from Oz they quizzed us about "shrimps on the barbie" and Australia's deadly wildlife. After much joking, some Bud Light and BBQ-ed drumsticks we all agreed some stereotypes are just that, formulaic conceptions with scant founding in reality.
As we move further into the fabled Deep South, we remind ourselves that assumption can be dangerous terrority.

Checking in with God in Alabama

If enthusiasm is a prerequisite for admittance into heaven, the good folks at Pilgrim's Rest Baptist Church in Montgomery, Alabama have a one way ticket through the pearly gates.
Hallelujuh!

Trenchtown, Jamaica

I don't know what I was expecting from the stomping grounds of Bob Marley, Peter Tosh and Bunny Wailer, but regrettably we rode through the streets of Trenchtown with our doors securely locked.

Livin' it up in Montego Bay, Jamaica

After a somewhat messy New Year's Eve celebration on the Gulf Coast of Florida, where the retiree community have more money than style, we decided to hit a few birds with one stone, as they say.

In order to renew our visas, which were due to expire mid-February, we jumped on the cheapest flight out of Miami. We were headed to Jamaica!

After almost 5 months of being in the States, I think deep down we were both quietly gleeful to be taking a break from the land of Wal-Mart, Dunkin' Donuts and strip malls. I know my waistline appreciated the breather.

Wildlife in the Everglades

OK, to be to totally honest, our visit to the enormous Everglades National Park at the Southern tip of Florida was not all David Attenboroughesque passive observation of the natural wonders of the region etc etc. We couldn't resist having a spin in one of those boats with the big fan on the back (known as an Airboat by locals) - I had expected to breeze into the heart of the Everglades where we would cut the engine and silently observe the candid behavior of the amazing wild birds and animals in their natural habitat. In reality it happened a bit like this - like lemmings over a cliff we pulled into a side-of-the-road AIRBOAT RIDES place and after parting with a fistful of American magic paper were greeted by a tall, beefy dude named Kevin who sat us in his boat and blasted off.

The roar of the un-mufflered V8 no more than 2 feet from my ears was bone quaking - the G forces were pushing and pulling (and creating a potential problem with the footlong sub devoured only moments earlier). From the side of his mouth not filled with a sloppy wad of chewing tobacco, Kevin shouted at me. I couldn't make out a word he said. We zig zagged and spun, revved and swerved. Kevin pulled over and pointed to a lonely alligator on the safe side of an embankment - with no time to waste, he went on to tell us that due to the high revs, the airboat only gets about one mile to the gallon (even our Cougar gets 11 miles to the Gallon), we jumped back on the boat and he promised to "really show you what this baby can do". We mashed up the banks, ran over and decimated mangroves and created bogs of sticky, black mud.

In short, we fucked up a tiny portion of a fragile and unique ecology. I'm not going to pretend it wasn't kind of thrilling - but clearly, this sort of fun is just a bit stupid.

On the edge of the Great Savannah, the Cougar waits patiently.

Are your souvenirs "emotionally significant"?

Firstly, Natashia and I are both perpetually in fear of falling into the very overdone "only in America" school of writing about things that could happen..urrh...only in America.  

It seems this country has always had a deep respect and love for those who serve.  The first President, Mr Washington, having lead the military to victory over the English was the only real candidate for the job - despite the presence of the more "political" Jefferson and Adams. General Custer is revered by most Americans as a hero who made the ultimate sacrifice (although some Native Americans we met referred to him as a murderer who got what he deserved).  And civil war heroes from both sides are are remembered fondly.  

Most likely since the loss of so many uniformed men and women on September 11th, 2001, even the slightest mention of army, navy, air force, marines, police or fire fighters brings on a highly (and uniquely American) emotional reaction.

This has lead to a thriving new industry - the design, production, distribution and sale of "uniformed figurines" often in highly dramatic poses (Pictured above - don't know the deal re the flying Dalmatian).  One wonders who is giving these little "heroes" to whom and with what message.  My gu

ess would be that even Chuck, the shopping mall security guy (who heads off to work in uniform each day) stands a good chance of receiving one of these mini-statues when his neighbor returns from a visit to Dollywood in Pigeon Forge, Tennessee.  A Dolly Doll may have done the trick years ago - but in post 9/11 America, Dolly would not convey the appropriate amount of "gratitude" for Chuck's "Sacrifice".

Above photos were taken near in Pigeon Forge, Tennessee.

Bardstown, Kentucky.. the wintery home of Bourbon

In case you forgot.....

Entering West Virginia, unbeknownst to us we were cruising obliviously into America's Bible Belt. (Before we get started here, I just want to preface this by saying, in the interest of transparency) that my husband and I have a healthy respect for almost all religions, but we are atheists (and maybe, just maybe, the story of Adam and Eve really is a fairytale).

At the heart of our little undertaking is the desire to speak to everyday Americans.  As it was Sunday and raining we figured a visit to a local church might yield some interesting folk. So we stepped into a Full Gospel Service with Pastor Beverly in Gilbert, West Virginia. 

Through the doors of the octagonal church we were showered in welcomes and smiles by all 6 faithful worshippers. 

Less than 2 weeks from Christmas, we were reminded that, "Rudolph is cute n' all, but he can't replace Jesus."  The congregation was worried that Americans were forgetting the real meaning of Christmas (the reason for the season), which apparently is not about getting presents, eating too much and accidentally/on purpose pashing a colleague at your end of year work Christmas party.  The next 3 hours were a serious discussion about how good Christians should truly commemorate the birth of Jesus. We were strongly advised not to see Reese Witherspoon's secular movie "Four Christmases" which 'makes fun of our Christian beliefs'. Definitely, avoid the Demonic, "Twilight". And in case we doubted the serious devotion of our new found friends, one in our congregation began wailing in tongues to display her alliance.

To cap off an action-packed Sunday, finally the projector was fired up and Penny, our ever-smiling choir leader, seized the microphone with zeal. In a karaoke-style singalong, we were encouraged to follow the bouncing ball to modernised hymns such as "I am a friend of Jesus". Penny bopped along with other-worldly enthusiasm. 

In closing Pastor Beverly took the pulpit once again and on 7 separate occasions she referred to non-Christians as the "enemy" and hinted that "God" intentionally put other countries "in darkness - like in Africa" because they have not found "God". I think such a calculating, uncompassionate "God" as this is just not my kinda guy. 

Venison anyone?

House on a Hill

Hillsboro West Virginia is famously known as the birthplace of Pearl S. Buck, Pulitzer prize winning author for "The Good Earth".

Maybe we should be grateful that West Virginia has decided not to cash in on this fact and turn Buck's house into an literary-themed amusement park. 

Instead in the midst of a wintery morning Hillsboro conjures up images of Norman Bates lurking beneath darkened windows, but we'll put this down to some particularly grey weather in a particularly eerie landscape shall we? 

A view of Salem Nuclear Power Station from Augustine Beach, Delaware.

Took this picture in December, 2008.  

For more information;

http://www.nrc.gov/reactors/operating/map-power-reactors.html

Just in case one forgets one's current location

Two trees in Virginia

At Ty's Cycles, Baltimore.

If you go out in the woods today...

WE HAUL JUNK...the "Corner Boys" of Baltimore

"Corner Boys" are real - the series, "The Wire" got it so right - Baltimore is a city in crisis.

After giving an awesome interview, local legend, Ty from Ty's Cycles, took us for a drive around the streets of inner city Baltimore.  It was cold and it was Sunday - the streets looked beat up but not too intimidating.  The following day we returned with the intention of getting some footage of life on the street.  Not as cold as the day before and more poignantly, a Monday, it was back to business as usual.  Driving through a corner loaded on all four sides with "Corner Boys", I busted out my stills camera.  

Not surprisingly, "Corner Boys" don't like having their picture taken.  

Not more than 100 yards up from this corner, my dear wife and documentary making comrade, Natashia decided she felt like a snack and pulled the car up at a Fort Knox like convenience store.  I waited in the passenger seat with HD video camera, Digital stills camera, Large format camera, lens kit, tripod and macbookpro strewn across my lap.  Six of the stars of my "real life" photo shoot appeared from down the street and slowly walked toward me.  Inside the store my dearest, soon to be widow, Natashia faced a critical decision - Cheetos or Doritos???  The "Boys", hoods on tight, hands in pockets, broke of into three groups of two and literally surrounded the car.  Happy with her choice of a "mid-sized" pack of Cheetos (jalpeneo flavour, I think), my rescuer emerged from the store, climbed in the car and set about accessing the spicy cheese flavoured snacks.  I stuttered, "let's...let's go... ...I mean...drive, please".  She didn't detect the subtle quiver in my voice.  I continued, "these boys are from that corner...".  

As tends to happen in a lot in America, a movie-like moment happened.  On this occasion, our huge Ford F250 truck was transformed into Dr Evil's golf buggy stuck in the hallway (Austin Powers) and after an excruciating 16 point turn, with the "Boys" literally six feet away, now wearing expressions shifting from menace to curiosity, we made it out onto the street.  Waiting for a break in traffic, one of the "Boys" came right up to my widow and in a friendly voice asked, "hey...how come ya'll taking pictures?"  In strange half Eric Cartman, half Ritchie Cunningham voice imbued with pathetically fake confidence I answered, "...aint no thang...we're tourists".  The traffic opened up and Natashia drove off cursing at me, "I told you not to take pictures...".

At the the WhiteHouse

We saw W driving in the back entrance of the Whitehouse with very macho motorcade 

Then the very macho cops told us to stop taking pictures.  Perhaps we looked like a threat to homeland security.

America is...

West Virginia - an Appalachian Odyssey

West Virginia is one of the more enigmatic States in the Union, rarely making the news in the US, far less internationally, who really knows anything about West Virginia??

I could say I came here with an open mind.... but truthfully - I was hoping to meet a friendly hillbilly named Dwight dressed in denim bib & brace sitting on the porch 

of his log cabin in a handmade rocking chair with a banjo on his lap and a bucket that goes, "ding!" when he spits out his gob full of tobacco slop.  Seems once again my romantic/stereotype image of life in the US is way off Target - the dude's name was Chuck and he plucked a mandolin, not a banjo!!

My only knowledge of  Appalachian culture stemmed from having engineered numerous recording sessions with Melbourne's legendary old timey institution, Headbelly Buzzard

...and I love their music.

As with much of traditional American culture (or at least the kind popular amongst white, urban males, who are not as young as they behave) the locals are just not really that into it...

Bill Monroe anyone??? "Nah...we like Kid Rock...he's kule."

Musical disappointments aside, our arrival in West Virginia brought into focus some issues we had previously been gladly avoiding.  Not all Americans are friendly.  Not everyone thinks our film projects is totally fascinating.  Hillbillies exist - and they're generally don't play musical instruments.  And you don't need a big house to warrant a No Trespassing / Private Property / Keep Out sign.

After rain, in the shadow of the hills to the South, they multiply like mushrooms.

Bluegrass, Virginia.

Alas, not a banjo, mandolin or guitar in sight.

When you need to fill up, don't settle for anything but the...

Gettin' Around Amish-style

Lancaster County, Pensylvannia

Sunlight beams shine through the clouds onto an Amish Farm.

Hollywood has a way of romanticising things. "Witness", starring Harrison Ford and Kelly McGillis made the Amish way of life look quaint and wholesome: Women hiding hot bodies beneath turn of the century shapeless sack-like dresses, men exposing their solid biceps from their hessian overalls. Real farmers tilling the fields by horse and plow and uniting with the earth. Mothers instructing joyous children (who aren't distracted by cable TV) the lessons of life by candlelight. Ah the good old days....

In reality the Amish people we saw looked like they could benefit from a few beers and nice warm down jacket.

Club, downtown Philly.

Crossing Over To The Dark Side

The Cougar Takes Manhattan

I'm yet to determine whether it is a good or bad personality trait, but i've always been the kind of person who, when told not to do something becomes determined to do that thing. After a week of fun and games in the Big Apple, the time had come to leave the quiet streets of Queens and head for New Jersey (a charming state that sits next to New York and happens to share it's name with Bon Jovi's break-through album).  

Two simple options:

1) cut straight across Manhattan Island

2) take long arduous detour avoiding Manhattan Island altogether

Numerous conversations, words of warning and pieces of friendly advice swirled around my head as I pulled The Cougar out onto Queens Boulevard.  At this point i would like to point out that The Cougar is our 29-foot long 13-foot high 5th wheel trailer. Our modest little home on wheels is hitched to a Ford V10 extra-cab pick-up truck. From top to tail it measures somewhere in the order of 45 feet. Over the cacophony of naysayers, and glass-half-empty type pessimists filling my brain, one phrase resounded within increasing clarity, "If I can make it there, I can make it anywhere."

With my new (sets in minutes) resolve and my very relaxed wife (as yet unaware of the impending adrenaline surge) by my side, I steered The Cougar towards the island.

First obstacle:  Queens Midtown tunnel, height clearance 12' 5". Not willing to sacrifice our air-conditioner, skylights, recently replaced TV antenna and God knows what else, I had to veer away at the last minute. This led me to a uniquely New York type of entropy - circling around underneath a huge bridge trying to find an on-ramp. Some reassuring words from a Brooklyn cabbie and we were on the Queensboro Bridge. The cabbie said take FDR north and follow the signs to the George Washington Bridge (the only toll-free option). At this point, I'm not sure if I was overcome by the sensory overload so often described by visitors to New York city or I simply missed my turn-off, but before I knew it I was hurtling through the narrow streets and avenues of the Diamond District. (By the way, at this stage it was around 6pm on a busy weeknight.) Initially I assumed a state of phony laid-back Aussie denial, nevertheless the growing realisation that we were heading directing south towards the pointy end of a very over crowded island snapped me back into reality. The names of the streets served as a countdown, 55th, 54th, 53rd .... some action was required, but what?  46th, 45th, 44th, 43rd .... and then, there it was - simultaneously the most real and absurd moment of my journey so far - i'm taking The Cougar down 42nd Street!! Sharp right turn into the heart of Times Square.  Gloriously bathed in the multi-coloured wash of a hundred giant TV screens, I sat for a moment and enjoyed a previously unfelt feeling -  I was the heroic fool whose naivety and ambition had led him all the way to Broadway, it was as if I had entered a composite reality; Crocodile Dundee meets The Muppets Take Manhattan. No sooner had the Lloyd Weber-esque thrill subsided than we were faced with another extremely challenging challenge.  Manhattan Island is flanked by two major arterial roads, FDR drive on the east (the one I missed) is big and would have comfortably accommodated The Cougar. Henry Hudson Parkway is old (I think constructed in the  Scorsece Gangs of New York era i.e. lots of low clearance bridges). This necessitated a return to the thick of it. Heading north on West End Avenue, the going was mostly good. Some peculiar looks from digital camera totting tourists and various uniformed folk were not gonna to put us off. 'If we can just make it to the George Washington Bridge,"  became our Kurt Russell 'Escape from New York' mantra. The neighbourhoods got posher and posher until we reached 110th Street and suddenly we were in the back streets of Harlem. In a pattern repeated in so many American cities, conspicuous wealth is neighboured by abject poverty. Judging by the perplexed looks we received it's been a while since a white guy and a Chinese girl have cruised the streets of Harlem towing a 30-foot RV.  At this point my sweet bride pointed out the LOW FUEL light had been flashing for quite a while...I responded with the usual "she'll be right" approach.

Eventually there it was, a huge and beautiful structure stretching across the Hudson to New Jersey and beyond,...so of course I missed the on-ramp.  Three right turns will make-up for one missed left turn, but between the second the third of these rights, we became stuck behind a large black SUV left running and blocking the single lane side street. Unable to reverse in the narrow streets, trapped on both sides by parked cars and blocked-in by the stubborn drug delivery dude (who rudely ignored my polite and tentative beeping), an air of vulnerability arose. Several more quiet toots later, a gigantic and menacing drug baron emerged from the passenger side of the parked SUV, he turned to us and delivered a near homicidal glare. Then jumped in the driver's seat and drove off.  Maybe I have watched too much TV.  One more impossibly tight right-hand turn later and we were home free. Elated and relishing in this moment of triumph over adversity, we sailed across the hulking iron mega-structure. Our pathway to no-fuss RV-ing reaching the end of the bridge we were greeted by a huge brightly lit sign saying "Welcome to New Jersey". My loyal wife said, "Well done Tim, that was So Awesome "...and then I ran out of petrol.

How to wear a black fedora

Judaism 101

Williamsburg, Brooklyn.

Traveling across country for Thanksgiving.

If you're ever in Crown Heights, Brooklyn and need a haircut

Bailey - a lad from Trinidad gave a great interview and an equally great clipper-cut.

New York New York

After having started off in LA and finally reaching New York some 8,000 highway miles later, the neon lights of NYC feel like a significant milestone.

A friend from home invited us to a get together in Queens the day we arrived. In typical Aussie-style, we crashed not even knowing whose party it was.

We chit chatted with some local girls and explained what we were doing in the States. They looked noticeably unimpressed, I would even go so far as to say they where bored by our story. Hey, I guess everyone in New York is doing or trying to do something super exciting, extraordinary or ground-breaking. And maybe they've just heard it all.

I guess we're just couple more anons tryin' make it big in the Big Apple.

Natashia

Snow time folks

The average daily temperature has dropped to 35 degrees Fahrenheit (less than 2 degrees Celsius).

We feel like wimps having now resorted to $5.00 Made 

in China ear-muffs.

You're Not From Around Here Are Ya?

Hailing from Melbourne, Australia we're simply not built for cold weather extremes.

On this day I was padded in:

1) a pair of thermal leggings

2) a pair of denim jeans

3) 2 pairs of socks

4) a pair of fur-lined water-proof boots

5) a singlet

6) a long sleeved thermal top

7) a fleece-lined hoodie

8) a zip-up Thinsulate lined jacket

9) a down-filled jacket

10) a pair of black woolen gloves

11) a scarf

12) a woolen hat

Before heading off on our adventure I read somewhere that to avoid attention one should try and blend in with the locals. 

Off the coast of Maine on Bailey's Island, we meet a friendly local lobster fisherman. "You're not from around here are ya?" he throws at us, bemused. He's in a pair of jeans, gum boots and a flannel shirt.

Our efforts to appear local are falling a tad short.

P-Town

Welcome to Cape Cod's Provincetown! -- the gayest place on earth.

Where It All Began For Those Pilgrims

Hang On...what year is it?

FREAK ME OUT!!  We're jammed into a fancy ballroom, soaking up the excitement and sense of collective relief - in a few moments, victorious in today's election, John Kerry will take the stage and deliver his acceptance speech.  The last four years have just been a REALLY vivid dream.

But no - turns out Big John did get whooped in the Presidential Election 4 years ago but today was returned to the Senate by a comfortable margin.  

So how did we end up amongst 1000 sweaty Democrats celebrating not just Senator Kerry's but also Senator Obama's momentous election victories?

Earlier in the day, in an attempt to maintain our splendid record of impartiality, we first sought out the Republican Party campaign office in Boston. The tiny fluorescent-lit room was crammed with 10 or so volunteers making last ditched calls to undecided or lazy voters. Posters and life-size cut outs of Mc Cain and Palin were already starting to peel from the stark white walls.  Having stated we were interested in interviewing a volunteer for our film, we waited for someone with appropriate media clearance to be fetched - the atmosphere was heavy with a grim, collective denial.   A pinched-looking woman approached, hot and frantic.  She tersely told us she could only spare us 3 or 4 minutes as there were still calls that needed to be made -- the expression "pissing in the wind" sprang to mind.  After describing what we required she qualified her position with us stating that she would be happy to do the interview but unwilling to answer any question involving "issues".  We chose to let her resume her busy work in the phone-room. 

Not phased we sought out the Democrat Campaign HQ.  We met the chirpy young volunteer co-ordinator and in flurry we were led across the huge open warehouse, past at least two hundred busy phone volunteers. Crowded tables were furnished with phones, bowls of candy and a single page script.  "It's easy, Colorado polling stations are still open for another 4 hours - start calling!"

With an almost religious fervor, the room was buzzing.   Wildly excited people of all shapes and sizes were high-fiveing and yahoo-ing as the results came through state by state. This was the winning team, no doubt about it. 

By 10:30pm Eastern time, Barack Obama was declared the 44th President of America. How history will remember Obama remains to be seen - he certainly has his work cut out for him. 

But for today it seems like the whole world's eyes are on America and there's nowhere else we'd rather be.

Holiday in Montreal

After 2 months on the road and the cold weather encroaching we sped up to Quebec, Canada from Michigan to visit family. We stopped off to take in the wet haze of Niagara and then drove for 6 straight hours. Passing through Toronto via the expressway, it must be said, Canadian drivers as aggressive as they are fast. Towing our 5th wheel, we are a conspicuous sight on the road, nonetheless drivers saw it fit to pass us on either side, skimming past at speeds of 80 m/hr with mere inches of clearance. It was terrifying.

Ah! Luxuries. Sleeping under a solid roof, long hot showers and home-cooked meals--- my brother's house in Notre Dame de Gracie seemed like the Presidential Suite at the Hilton. 

This wasn't the Canada of my imagination. And after 2 weeks in Montreal, it felt like we holidayed in Europe rather than Canada. Established as a permanent French settlement in 1642, shop attendants trill "Bonjour hello" as a general greeting. The Quebecois display European dress sense, a refreshing change from the American uniform of khakis, T-shirt and trainers.

We stuck around for Halloween, a holiday tradition not celebrated in Australia, and were subjected to the mood swings of sugar over-indulgence on a 12, 11, 8 and 3 year old. An experiment not recommended. But with the US election drawing near, it was time to fill-up the RV and head back to the States.

Tony takes a call.

 

Spicer in Motown

Holy Toledo

Every news channel in the country is tip toeing around the "R" word but all are blatantly saying America is facing the toughest economic challenges since the Great Depression. 

We stayed a couple of nights in Elkhart, Indiana. At the time Elkhart had the highest unemployment rate in the country. Situated on the northern border of Indiana, the city is home to much of America's RV and motorhome construction/production industry. With gas prices well over $3.50/gallon coupled with the housing crisis and a shaky economic climate, the whole RV manufacturing and servicing industry has slowed to crawl. There seemed to be more people loitering about town than there were working. Most of Main Street's restaurants didn't even bother opening.

In Toledo, Ohio we met Scott who lives in a trailer park with his wife Renee and young son. Scott is unemployed. He got laid off last year. He hasn't worked full time in months. Renee waitresses part-time. He hasn't resorted to crime to survive yet, but tells us that he knows many who have.

Nestled deep within the fractured urban landscape of Detroit, Michigan "The Cougar" patiently awaits her next chance to pounce.

Detroit

The city of Detroit was where all my stereotypes of a genuinely scary American city manifested themselves. 

Chicago's Millennium Park

Contemplative in Milwaulkee

Yes I'm Australian, Yes I speak English

We are steadily heading eastward along the northern border of America. The last few weeks it's been rolling hills, tranquil lakes, pretty little streams, prairies, enormous mountain ranges and a whole lotta nothin'.

I got the distinct feeling that many of the locals we met around this area (Montana, Idaho, Wyoming, North and South Dakota) had never seen or met an Australian-born Chinese woman before.

When we meet people my usual introduction includes the fact that my husband and I are from Australia, here shooting an independent documentary.  At times, in response, I have been met with looks of doubt, curiosity and suspicion. 

"But aren't you 'Asian'?"

I explain my heritage--born and bred in Australia and married to a guy I went to high school with. Some smile awkwardly, others try to make me feel at ease by informing me of an 'Asian' connection they may have. 

"My brother's sister-in-law's friend's neighbour is from 'Asia'", one lady offered. "My aunty's friend went to Thailand once," another said.

I try to smile in a non-threatening way...."Oh, that's nice", I say.

In South Dakota we spoke to a man, as his son stood by. His son, Dennis Junior was silent for 45 minutes, throwing sideways glances at me, as I spoke to his Dad. Finally he blurted out, "Was it hard for you to learn to speak... y'know our language... English?" Poor lad, couldn't hold back his curiosity any longer.

My home state's population is over 3 million and over a quarter of Victorians are born overseas. I've read that over 200 countries are represented in Melbourne. Anyone from Melbourne will tell you that cultural diversity is synonymous with the city. Before coming to the States I kind of assumed that Melbourne's multi-culturalism was well-known. But I'm happy to spread the love in this country's slightly insular states.

  

 

New York, Paris, Cottonwood

heap of horns

The Dakotas

Montana Bison

When a 800kg animal plods past you it's hard not to sit there mouth agape. I whispered to Tim, "Whoa man, can you see that? Can you?" - as if he could miss it.

Apparently these creatures can clock up to 35mph (56 km/h) and have more stamina than a horse, so when my husband proffered sneaking up and slappin' it on the arse (to get some "memorable" video footage) - I just glared.

Note: No animals were hurt during the taking of this photo.

Mmm....DO.NUTS

Dances with bisons

Dutton, Montana

The "low fuel" light had been on for 35 miles. Our GPS told us our nearest gas station was in Dutton, Montana. 

I think tumbleweed blew across Main Street. We re-fueled, cleaned our windows and didn't see a single soul.

(According to Wikipedia the population of Dutton was 389 in 2000.)

Glacier National Park

We woke at 5am to watch the sunrise across Glacier National Park, located in the northwest corner of Montana.

Rugged mountains, verdant valleys, pristine lakes, alpine meadows; this is some of the most outrageously dazzling landscape I have ever seen. Words like 'stunning' and 'breathtaking' hardly suffice.

Today there are 26 remaining glaciers, compared to 150 in 1850. 

Regardless of the facts, many Americans we speak to as we travel across this huge country think that global warming is liberal bullshit or tree-huggers propaganda.

Whatever the case may be, Glacier National Park may have to come up with a new name soon.

The Election - What Election?

Spending each day talking with people about their views on a range of issues (including politics) that affect their lives can be an eye opener. Almost without exception, adult Americans fit into one of three categories with regard to their thoughts on the upcoming Presidential Election; Pro- Republican, pro-Democrat or non-voter.

Coming from a country where voting is compulsory, this third category of (non)voter is hard to understand.

The non-voter in general seems to know exactly what they want and don't want.  They usually also talk of America's freedom and liberties with the same fervor as their fellow voters - but we hear again and again, "I wouldn't know who to vote for".  

I can draw no deep insights into this phenomenon - it just seems weird that a country that has spilt so much blood in the name of "democracy" should have so many of its citizens so totally disconnected from...democracy. 

What is it with men in uniform? Were they all picked on at school?

Cayuse Grandma with Grandkids

Curly Fries at the Rodeo

OK - I'll be honest, Curly Fries taste kind of awesomely awful.  I mean, these things should be illegal. A processed gooey swirl (maybe containing potato) soaked in high fructose corn syrup, doused in radioactive orange flavour enhancing powder, deep fried in way too old oil, then drowned in pre-melted luminous yellow "cheese" - a healthy squirt of ketchup was required to mask the saltiness.

There are lots of overweight people in America - the Curly Fry is at least partially to blame.

At the Pendleton Round Up we saw........a Cowboy

African American cowboy, Fred Whitfield is a bit of a superstar in the Professional Rodeo game. Hence the bright green eye-catching shirt. But admittedly, his blinding speed in the calf-roping event justified his fashion choice of the day.  We were filming interviews "backstage", he walked past, we asked if we could interview him, he said sure but after he watered his horse, he never came back.

Early morning shoot

Early morning shoot in Washington. The Cougar rises above the morning mist.

Husband says the camera is heavy.

I wouldn't know.

Northern California - modern farming and the "immigration question".

All over the "developed" world, it seems that much of the really hard work is done by the residents who have arrived most recently - at a glance, California seems to support this theory.

Cheap labour = cheap groceries.  I don't understand how there can be a debate on "illegals" at all.  I get the feeling some people in this country are not making some fairly obvious connections.

Being American can be fun.

Nowhere else in the world have I seen so many grown men having so much fun with big expensive toys.

Cars, trucks, bikes, guns, crossbows, allterrainvehicles, boats...much fun can be had with motorized vehicles and weapons - preferably at the same time.

Ventura CA - collecting thoughts and inhabitions

After what felt like weeks in LA, we are on the road - we made it about an hour up the coast - baby steps, baby steps.

Suddenly the task ahead seems very big and very daunting.

With no guarantee that anyone will like what I am doing, I can't help but feel the occasional fleeting hesitation.

Oh well...we're here now - time to shoot!!

It's a long, long way to Pasedena..during peak hour.

We acquired a very handsome vehicle/trailer combo ("The Cougar" will feature heavily in later posts no doubt) in the quiet Northern Los Angeles suburb of Chatswood.  Two days after we drove away in "The Cougar" a young man was shot dead on a Chatswood street in what police described as a domestic altercation that turned violent.  There's something about actually knowing a place to makes the news all the more real.

A week later we picked up the last of our camera gear in Pasedena.  Several days after that another young man was shot dead in a Pasedena park in a "gang related" shooting.  The stuff of countless American movies and TV shows is starting to seem less and less like the stuff of fiction.

Introducing, "The Cougar".

Due to the sudden increase in my dietary intake of a variety of synthetic proteins, growth hormones and artificial flavour enhancers, since arriving in America, I have had quite a growth spurt.

...and she handles like a dream!!

There's a green monster bottle feeding a two headed baby...oh yeah, I'm in Hollywood.

What better place than Los Angeles to begin a film making odyssey?  If this project is to be a success, we are going to need to make friends here...but first we need to get a really big car. 

What are we doing here?

Most of us have grown up with "American-ness" all around - we watch, hear, read, eat, drive, and operate American stuff everyday.  We have seen the results of US foreign policy, been influenced by American trends, fashions and social phenomena, bombarded by American media and had our businesses and economic lives transformed by the unstoppable freight train that is Modern American Capitalism.

Since high school I have been a fan of American music, literature, movies and TV - I have loved their technology and engineering, their innovation and design, but (and this is a very common "but"), I have been concerned by what seems like an insidious form of economic, cultural and (indirectly) political imperialism.  

The winds of change seem to be building in strength across the United States. The Presidential election, worsening economic turmoil, growing discontent over the "War On Terror", obesity and diabetes epidemics, conflict and disharmony over religious and racial issues and an unprecedented obsession with the lives of celebrities - what better time than now to visit The United States of America and find out what's really going on?

My wife, Natashia and I will be traveling to all 50 states, filming conversations with Americans we meet along the way. The subjects covered will vary as greatly as the landscape and its people - we are not intending to test a theory, prove a point or push a barrel - we simply want to hear what people have to say.  These recorded conversations will be put together to form a snapshot of contemporary American thought, opinion, tastes, language and values.  I hope to discover an America that explodes media generated stereotypes and my preconceived notions of what Americans are really like.

From time to time Natashia and/or I will jot down our own thoughts, experiences or misadventures on this very public version of a diary.  We hope to make a unique, interesting and entertaining film and hope this blog provides an occasional glimpse into another world.

Tim Spicer

Gotta start somewhere...

...not so much a promise...more just an intention...