Sweet Home Alabama

I don’t even know where to start….

I keep saying to myself, “Who lives here?” Then I look at who lives here, and I feel like I don’t know these people, and I say again, “Who lives here?”

I’ve been trying spend my ten days here like I always do when the Air Force puts us in random places…I get to know the place, I go exploring, see the sights and do the things I do, but in this new place.

I always say I could live anywhere…but here, that belief is being tested.

Well, to start with, I went looking for a place to run with my dog. I found a park called—and I’m not joking-- “Cooters Pond.” It’s not a pond, it’s a lake, and when I ran down to it to let my dog cool her paws, I saw about 15 American made pickups with boat trailers in the parking lot and lots of good ol’ boys pulling their boats out of the water after early morning fishing.

What a scene…

Men (there were no women), all of whom were 40-plus pounds overweight, were wearing either NO SHIRT or the Alabama standard t-shirt-with-sleeves-torn-off, shorts and--get this--CROCS. They were being very serious about the way they handled their boats and trucks…all of them shined to a high degree.

Now I’m sure Crocs are entirely practical for boating, but really, should anyone over the age of six really be wearing them? Really? And why is it that people latch onto the worst fashion that comes along, hang onto it for 15-plus years, and let all the good stuff just float down the river?

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There seems to be two competing major radio stations. Of course they play only country music. They talk each other down constantly, but play exactly the same songs. There are other stations, most of them country, some specializing in 90s country, or classic country...you get the picture. And as for the title of this post, I've heard that song, either the classic or the Kid Rock version at least 10 times since I got here.

I've also listened to a little talk radio, and local TV. There's definitely, a bit of racist dialogue you would absolutely not hear anywhere else…it's kind of scary.

When visiting the civil rights memorial I can so feel the contrast of its small footprint next to the big, powerful, white buildings of the Alabama government a couple of blocks away. It's very strange…almost eerie, like race is the elephant in the room no one talks about.

Black churches and white churches are in sight of one another, each worshiping God their own way.

It’s so easy to imagine the bus boycott and the marches taking place here.

We came through here in 1990 and drove the 1965 Selma to Montgomery march route. I am thinking of doing it again, I want to get the feel of how much things have changed. Then I felt everyone in Selma knew we were there to look at their bridge where the beatings took place and to gawk at their backwardness. I want to know if the town has a different feel now, if it has healed...or if maybe my perspective has changed.

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The weather has been unbelievably sweltering…the air is thick and hot, and running takes all I have, even at 8am. I get Okinawa flashbacks with the Cicadas singing in the trees, and I find myself wondering if a California girl like me is equipped to deal with such conditions…And with all the bites I’m getting, I wonder if someone like me should even have to wonder what a “chigger” is...

However, the biggest problem for me in Alabama, is that every day I have to go on a search for good food.

On the first day, for lunch, I went to a Mexican grill hoping for my skinny, Baja/Chipotle-like rice bowl. What I got was rice that had been tossed with butter I think….WHY?

On the second night we tried for Asian…our standard healthy “go-to.” I told the Chinese man we were concerned about the amount of oil, and asked three times that the chicken not be fried. What we got was not Chinese food, but an Alabama-ized version of Chinese food. There was a heavy, almost gravy-like sauce on our supposedly stir-fried chicken.

Of course there was.

My foodie friends in DC advised I just go for the fried catfish..."It's what they know how to do," they said. "Worry about the calories when you get to Florida." Well, I'm over most chain restaurants and I do love to try local cuisine when I'm visiting a place, but I can’t quite do the catfish.

I have, however, gone for the BBQ.

Where I was raised barbecue is a verb…it’s the way you grill out and cook your steak. Here, it’s a noun. It's a slow-cooked, put on a sandwich with coleslaw noun. They do it pretty well actually, and I’ve embraced it twice. If I could only leave the fries it really wouldn't be that bad, should they have a whole-wheat bun. But, of course, I can't and they don't….

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I was super-jazzed when I saw online there was a Thai restaurant not too far away. I thought surely, like most Thai restaurants, it would be run by a Thai family and have a menu full of veggie dishes. I went on a mission to find it that took some serious work, ending with me stopping at an Irish pub to ask directions.

The Alabamans who owned the pub absolutely charmed me. They took a lot of time to tell me where the restaurant was, so I asked about their establishment.

“Do you guys have live music?” I asked.
“Sometimes,” he said.
“Tonight or tomorrow night?”
“DJ this weekend, but you’ll like it…it’s not your younger crowd, it’s all classic and 80s music,” he said.
“Oh, so you’re thinking that’s what I’ll like?” I countered.

There was only a smile, and no comment from the Alabama man who was raised NOT to talk about a woman’s age….

I found the Thai restaurant and took my husband there for dinner Friday night. The menu was only partially Alabama-ized…we were fairly happy. The place was not owned by a Thai family, but by an Alabama lady who sat and chatted with us awhile. (I have to say, I almost already have friends here…would only take a week or two, they are so friendly…) She said she loved her military customers, we are so much more “cultured” than some of the “bumpkins” she gets in there asking whether or not they serve “dog.”

Wow...In DC, military people are considered the bottom of the “culture” totem pole, I learned (painfully), from my work at the wine bar. Here, we are freakin’ cream of the crop?

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We decided to hit the Irish pub after dinner…since alcohol wasn’t available at the restaurant. (It’s hard to decipher the liquor laws in these states...)

Now I’ve actually been to a few Irish Pubs in a few countries. They are kind of a little western oasis in places like Hong Kong, Bangkok or even Paris. You always know exactly what you’ll get: Irish stout on tap, a bar menu of food like stew, shepherd’s pie and fries, probably some live music, and an American and European crowd.

Not in Alabama.

In Alabama, “Irish Pub” is apparently just another word for “Redneck Bar.” There was no Irish beer on tap, the menu had no Irish items on it (but included “fried crab claws”), and, as warned, there was only a DJ for music.

It wasn't quite what I was hoping for, but I have to admit, I quickly got pretty comfortable there and sang out-loud to almost every song. The DJ was mixing country, classic rock and '80s music, showing videos to many of the '80s tunes from our high school years I wasn't then allowed to watch.

We were having a great time.

Kevin knew I wanted to dance, so limped out onto the floor with me for a few songs…that is until I bumped that bad knee….OUCH. We decided to leave and he stepped into the restroom.

A half-toothless old guy pushing at least 60, possibly 70, wearing a t-shirt with the requisite no-sleeves, a ball cap and white Reebok tennis shoes came up to me and asked if I wanted to—and I’m not kidding--“Shake a leg.”

I replied that I simply could not because, regretfully, we were leaving. He said he was crushed because he had surveyed the bar and I was, without a doubt, the most beautiful woman in the bar. He added that he was an ex-Marine, and he knew women….an expert no less.

Did I mention that he had only half of his God-given teeth??

And I'm not going to describe the size of the other women...

When I told Kevin on the way to the car, he was slightly bugged that the guy waited until he was in the bathroom to talk to me, and added that if he wasn’t crippled he’d have had to throw down. He also said he noticed I was getting a lot of play across the bar from a ‘roided-up guy with a receding hairline and another guy wearing--at 10pm--TWO pairs of sunglasses…one on the visor (who, besides golfers, wear visors these days?), and one on the neck of his sleeveless t-shirt.

I was, apparently, the bell of the ball.

When I got back to the hotel I called my friend who lived here for a year, and relayed my impressions of the Sweet Home state. She said I need to get the hell over to the new side of town where all the fancy shopping is, stay in one of the new “master-planned” neighborhoods, and hang out with all the “normal” people.

I asked her why the hell I would want to do that? I can do that in any city in the US, and, not only that, I would miss out on observing all this true, local culture. Besides…there’s no way I’m getting the compliments over there I’m getting on this side of town….

When I first got here I was second-guessing my plan. Why didn’t I stay in DC 10 days longer, let Kevin come down here on his own, then meet him at our beach house in Florida on Wednesday?

Now, the truth is, I’m kind of getting used to my days of working out (twice on some days to counter the calories), hitting the pool and observing and exploring the true South.

I suppose I actually could live here...for awhile.

So far my favorite part is the obvious head-nod I get from all the males over 14--It's no compliment to me, just the way they're taught to respect women I think. It’s not quite as awesome as that hat-tip you get in Texas or Wyoming, but it’s very close, and awfully nice.

Actually everyone in Alabama has been, if nothing else, awfully nice.