On the road to Little Rock

On a road trip some years ago with her sister Diane, Nancy was impressed with the beautiful scenery around Fayetteville, Arkansas and wanted to visit again.  So we're headed north to Fayetteville, and not far away is Branson, Missouri, one of the national capitals of country music.  The plan after Branson is to drive south, back to the Gulf Coast, and eventually to Florida.

Our first stop was Vicksburg, Mississippi.  Vicksburg was the closest (small) city to my ancestral home in Tallulah, Louisiana, just across the mighty Mississippi and about twenty miles from where I grew up.  We drove through Vicksburg's downtown, which consists of several beautifully developed blocks of streets with cobblestone pavers and attractive shops.  Unfortunately, the economy hasn't been kind to Vicksburg, and half the stores are empty.  There are multiple casinos in Vicksburg along the Mississippi River, so you'd think the tax revenue would bring prosperity, but Vicksburg has the look of a dying city.

We drove across the Mississippi River to Tallulah and had a look around.  From a previous visit we were aware that the town had deteriorated badly, and the rot has continued.  When I was a boy Tallulah had a fairly successful farm-based economy, and the stores along the main street were thriving.  At present almost all those buildings are unoccupied, and some are gutted.  Even more than Vicksburg, Tallulah is a town on life support. 

I grew up in the days when segregation was the law of the South.  There was a railroad track running through Tallulah, and the cliche was literal reality - black people lived on one side of the tracks and white people on the other.  Restaurants, schools, and drinking fountains were color-specific.  Hard to imagine that such a time existed, but of course it did.  Integration of the races didn't happen until years after I left, and then gradually black people moved into the white areas.  In fact, after my parents died, we sold their home to a black minister.  White flight shifted most of the Caucasians to a neighborhood enclave on the west side of Tallulah or to other communities.  The racial mix, which was 50:50 when I lived there, is now 75% black.  Home values fell, the economic situation for black folks was and is awful, and many of the homes they've acquired are falling apart.  It's depressing.

I made a phone call to a friend who had been one year behind me in high school.  He is a physician still living and practicing family medicine in Tallulah.  I hoped that we could get together and I would gain more insights into what life is like there nowadays.  Because he was ill with a respiratory infection, we didn't meet for dinner, but he confirmed to me that the town has been going downhill for years.  The great majority of his patients are on Medicaid, and his practice is far from lucrative.  When I finished high school, I couldn't wait to get out of there, but he's lived and worked in Tallulah ever since he completed his medical training.  Different strokes.  We met his wife - a pretty city girl - many years ago, and even then, early in their marriage, she complained bitterly about Tallulah's shortcomings, and indeed that marriage ended in divorce.  He recently remarried, and I wish him well.  As a side note, for years Nancy has likewise threatened divorce if I ever entertained the notion of moving back to Tallulah.  I think she's kidding but I'm not taking any chances.  We could live like kings there, but Tallulah is out.

There is no interstate or other four-lane highway that goes from Vicksburg to Little Rock, Arkansas, our next stop, so the GPS put us for some hours on the two-lane roads of Hwy 65 (the Bienville Trace Scenic Byway in Louisiana and the Delta Rhythm and Bayous Highway in Arkansas), then on I-530 into Little Rock.  We enjoyed the two-lane highways.  They made us feel more connected to the farmlands and small towns we were passing through, and traffic was light.  One negative about two-lanes, though, is that if you get behind a slow driver, passing him with a motorhome and tow vehicle over fifty feet in total length is a slow process, and you'd better be damn sure that the oncoming lane is clear.  Northern Louisiana looked dirt poor, with lots of shacks and abandoned buildings.  As soon as we passed into southern Arkansas, things appeared to be more prosperous.  And our RV park in Little Rock is beautifully located on the shores of the Arkansas River across from the downtown skyline, and just over a bridge from the Bill Clinton Presidential Library.

Farewell, New Orleans

On our last three days in the city, here's what we did.

Lunch at Bayona, one of the New Orleans restaurants of Susan Spicer, who appeared on Top Chef and is now a celebrity chef.  Beautiful restaurant, good food, genteel atmosphere.  For whatever reason, this restaurant attracted mostly women diners, by a 10:1 margin on the day we were there.

The Museum of Death, which featured shrunken heads from the Amazon, letters from Jeffrey Dahmer, Ted Bundy, and other serial killers, an autopsy movie, and other tasty bits.  Don't miss it if your inclinations run to the grotesque.  I didn't want to go; Nancy made me.  Sorry, no photos.

The Jazz Museum, in the French Quarter.  As a jazz aficionado, I was very disappointed.  New Orleans could be considered the birthplace of jazz, and you'd think there would be a world-class collection of memorabilia, videos, recordings, art, and written history.  But it's a pitiful effort.  Clearly there's a need for an infusion of cash and a curator who gives a damn.  The one high point of our visit was that we happened upon a concert on the third floor by a pianist named David Torkanowsky, who is a brilliant player.

An evening on Bourbon Sreet.  We began with cocktails at Hermes Bar, which is connected to the aforementioned Antoine's restaurant.  Nancy discovered what she says is now her favorite cocktail, the "French 75", which was recommended to her by Harry Domash. 

Afterwards, dinner at the historic Felix's Restaurant and Oyster Bar right on Bourbon Street.  The chaos of the street bleeds into the restaurant, so it's noisy and crowded, but they fry a mean oyster.  We left Felix's and strolled along Bourbon.  The deafening sounds and craziness reminded us again that that is a young person's scene.

The New Orleans Museum of Art.

Finally, dinner at the elegant Commander's Palace.  This is the restaurant whose alumni include Paul Prudhomme and Emeril Legasse.  I'd eaten there once before, probably in 1966, when I was a medical student.  Commander's has a dress code, so I wore a sports coat and tie for the first time in years.  They offer valet parking, and my chest swelled with pride as I handed the young man the keys to our 2004 Ford Ranger pickup truck (which is the vehicle we tow behind our motorhome).  As we were led to our table, there was a lineup of waiters welcoming us as we passed.  Service was perfect, and the dinner was excellent (though not our favorite on the journey so far) and it was a perfect way to end our stay in New Orleans.

Do we put New Orleans on our list of possible landing spots?  No.  It has to be one of the most fascinating places to visit in the world.  The food is phenomenal.  There are lots of beautiful homes spread among many neighborhoods.  The musical scene is still impressive.  But it's a big city, and the prevailing attitude of the residents isn't nearly as warm and welcoming as that in the rest of the South.  We'll not make New Orleans our next home .. but we will visit again.

Death, War, Food, and Music

On Sunday morning we rode through New Orleans on a "hop on/hop off" bus, which included a drive through the garden district and French Quarter.  An entertaining native New Orleanian filled us in on the architecture and history of the city.  The most interesting factoid involved the cemeteries of New Orleans, which are well known for being above ground.  The classic explanation for that style is that the city is built on a swamp, slightly below sea level.  But there's a practical aspect, too.  In the tropical weather of New Orleans, the graves become ovens in the summer, essentially cremating the corpses.  After a year of festering, the remains - bones and dust - are swept into containers, and the graves can be reused.  Families thus don't need to buy more than one gravesite.  It's cost-effective.

Monday was the day we toured the National World War II Museum, supposedly the #1 tourist attraction in New Orleans and one of the top museums in the world.  It is indeed an almost overwhelming experience.  Anyone my age or younger (which is to say nearly everyone) sees World War II as ancient history.  Hard to connect with it.  For young people the Vietnam War is in the distant past, the Korean conflict even further back - and the second World War seems almost as remote as the American Civil War or the War of 1812.  But the museum reminds us that this catastrophe actually happened to people who weren't that different from us.  The exhibits cover several blocks and are fascinating.  This is history that makes you proud to be an American.  It is not to be missed the next time you visit the city.

The highlight for us was Beyond All Boundaries, a widescreen film and multimedia experience narrated by Tom Hanks.  During certain scenes - artillery barrages, the Normandy invasion, an atomic blast - your seat vibrates like crazy, the sounds are amazing, and you feel that you are in the middle of the action.

As Hitler invaded one country after another with minimal resistance and began bombing Britain, American public opinion was strongly against involvement.  It occurs to me that if Japan had not attacked Pearl Harbor, and Hitler had been satisfied with his conquest of mainland Europe, it's far from clear that America would have ever entered the war.  Hitler might have lived out his days as emperor of Europe, and history would have taken a very different course.  But his ultimate goal was world conquest and he felt compelled to attack England and Russia and partner with Japan against the US, and those actions led to his downfall.

On Tuesday we had lunch in the Quarter at Antoine's, the oldest family-owned restaurant in the country,  This elegant old warhorse of a place offers a $20 prix fixe lunch, and it was delicious.

As I wrote earlier, music in the French Quarter isn't what it used to be.  When I lived there, many of the bars along Bourbon Street featured big-name acts - Al Hirt, Pete Fountain, and other lesser-known but excellent musicians playing in the popular styles of that time.  Nowadays that kind of music doesn't exactly pull the customers in,  so the clubs go with what's current and what appeals to people with a buzz on.  To be honest, I enjoy listening to the street bands more than the club bands there.

Currently, if you want to hear good jazz in New Orleans - traditional and modern - take a mile-long drive from the Quarter to Frenchmen Street, the new musical center of the city.  A bunch of bars and restaurants line that street, many of them offering music of varying sorts.  Tuesday night we drove there and checked out the scene.  It's a much more pleasant area to walk through than Bourbon Street, and the music is more to our taste.  From the sidewalk you can hear the music coming from each bandstand and listen for a while by the door or sit down inside.  While we were there one of those brass bands that spring up in New Orleans was playing on a street corner for tips - and they were really good.

Laissez les bon temps rouler

The snow and rain and freezing temperatures closed the main road into New Orleans for several days and delayed our departure from Lake Charles, but finally we pulled into the French Quarter RV Resort, only a block or two from the French Quarter.  It's a beautiful park and possibly the most expensive facility we'll stay in on our trip - $108 a night (with a small discount because we'll be staying a full week).

Ah, New Orleans!  The memories flood back.  This is where I went to medical school as a lusty twenty-something, studying anatomy in the classrooms by day and sometimes in the strip clubs on Bourbon Street by night.  I was a huge fan of Dixieland jazz in those days (still am, embarrassingly),.  There were traditional jazz joints on every corner, and Al Hirt and Pete Fountain were musical princes of the city.

These days Bourbon Street seems as seedy as ever, but it's changed.  There are fewer strip/gentlemen's clubs, and I assume (without personal knowledge) that the nudity is total in the ones that exist whereas in the good old days tassels and g-strings were mandated.  The music is different, with Dixieland jazz featured mainly in Preservation Hall.  Blues and rock bands predominate in the bars, and the volume hits you as you walk among the crowds.  However, the number of drunks and those aspiring to inebriation seems to be much the same.  Young black kids play drums on plastic buckets for tips ($5 suggested).  A water line ruptured recently in the middle of Bourbon Street, and the pavement is torn up for a couple of blocks, leaving only the sidewalks intact.  The repair work going on just adds to the noise and chaos.

Walk a block away, however, and things are calmer.  There are lots of street musicians all through the quarter, the musical quality mostly good and sometimes exceptional.  A couple of guys are sitting at typewriters offering to write poems on the subject of your choice, and Nancy commissioned one of them to compose an ode to Tammy Faye (one of our dogs) as I listened to an exciting trumpet player on the other side of the street.

Just off Jackson Square we toured the Cabildo Museum, which offers an introduction to the history of New Orleans.  And today on the outskirts of the quarter we came across a parade.  Not a Mardi Gras parade (the first one of those for the current year still a week away) but part of the nationally organized women's march.  Pardon the profanity expressed in the following photo.

This evening we ate at Toup's Meatery.  We are familiar with Chef/Owner Isaac Toups from the time he was a contestant on Top Chef.  We ordered cracklins, deep fried duck livers, lamb neck, and venison.  Hungry yet?  The New Orleans restaurant scene is a truly exciting one, with enough fascinating options to rival San Francisco or New York City.  Hard to imagine us moving here, but it's a cool place to explore.

Lake Charles

For those of you considering the RV lifestyle, here are the procedures when we leave one campground and head for another.

While Nancy cleans up the interior and makes it shipshape, I hit the switch to stow the DirecTV dish flat on the roof of our motorhome.  I retract the metal feet that make the unit level.  There are slides that extend the interior room of the motorhome, and I hit buttons to bring them back in.  Then I go outside and pull some levers to drain the holding tanks.  I disconnect the sewage line, the water line, the cable TV line, and the electrical line.  I do a walk-around of the motorhome to make sure everything is ready for the road.  Finally, we connect our tow vehicle, which is a Ford Ranger pickup truck.  Nancy drives it forward to get it in position, and I attach it to the tow bar and connect an electrical cable between the two vehicles.  She puts the pickup truck in neutral, takes the parking brake off, and turns the ignition key partway so that the wheels will turn freely but the battery isn't drained.  I start the motorhome engine and pump the brakes and use the turn signals so that Nancy, who is standing behind the pickup truck, can tell if the brake lights and turn signals are also working on the truck.  I drive the motorhome forward and turn the wheel so that Nancy can confirm that the towed vehicle's wheels are turning properly.  If she signals that everything is okay, I stop and let her in, and we drive away.

On the morning that we left our campground on the outskirts of Houston, heading for Lake Charles, Louisiana, there was a problem.  With Nancy standing outside as described above, I pulled the motorhome forward as usual, but instead of seeing her hand signal that all was well, I heard a screech from her that indicated the opposite.  The brake assist unit had malfunctioned.  That is a gadget which is supposed to automatically engage the pickup truck's brakes whenever the motorhome's brakes are applied, to aid in slowing down and stopping.  But on that morning the truck brakes were being applied randomly, and if this happened as we were driving down the road, the wheels might be locked and bald spots worn on the tires.

Luckily there was an RV serviceman working on another unit in the campground just a few sites away.  He was unable to fix the problem, but he disconnected power to the brake assist so that it no longer worked, and since I was never convinced that the brake assist unit did a lot of good, we were able to proceed.

Our route took us through downtown Houston, and even though it was Saturday, we experienced the legendary traffic of that city in all its glory.  Driving a big, wide motorhome on multi-lane highways is stressful, especially on unfamiliar roads requiring frequent lane changes, because moving a unit over fifty feet long from one lane to another requires the cooperation of drivers in the other lane, who are sometimes happy to yield and sometimes not.

But we made it safely through downtown Houston. and when we crossed the border into Louisiana, the landscape changed for the better, with lots of trees lining the roads and scenic bayous along the way.  We pulled into an RV park in Lake Charles, a fair-sized city in southeast Louisiana.

We hardly ever go out for breakfast, but on the morning after our arrival we went to a local Waffle House restaurant and had waffles with butter, maple syrup, sausage, and bacon.  Embarrassing to admit but damn! that was tasty.  Not something to make a habit, however, if we don't want to blimp up beyond all recognition.

We visited a grocery store called the Market Basket.  It had a lot of personality, with all sorts of items not common in California.  We bought a bottle of dark Cajun roux (a staple of Louisiana cooking), a can of Creole seasoning, a box of dirty rice, and a couple of pounds of link sausage produced by the store.  Fun shopping, and once again we were delighted by the southern-style friendliness and helpfulness of the staff.

The real estate section of the local paper had a list of Sunday open houses, and we were fascinated by the prices.  We drove to a three bedroom, two bath home listed at $269,000, and talked with the agent.  Here's what that amount of money will buy for you in a suburb of Lake Charles:

The city borders a huge lake, as its name suggests, and there are a number of casinos located there.  For years the laws in Louisiana and other states have required that any casino be located on a boat - although most or all such casinos used a loophole that allowed constructing them just offshore but firmly anchored to land, so that once you entered via a gangplank, there was no sense of being in anything other than a land-based facility.  But you do need a substantial body of water in order to get approval for one.

Sunday night we drove to a casino-hotel named L'Auberge Lake Charles.  Here's what it looks like from the parking lot.

Nothing that huge could be floating on the lake, but perhaps the casino was separate and met the state requirements, or maybe the laws have changed.  Regardless, there were no shows or other entertainment that night, and the restaurant didn't appeal.  The massive casino itself looked like all the others of that type, but I was shocked that the chips at the blackjack and other tables cost $25 each.  I had been prepared to happily donate $100 or so to the casino owners, but the price of gambling there was just a bit too heavy for the likes of me, who had no delusions that I might win big and just wanted to enjoy a bit of time at the tables.  The casino was packed with customers, many of whom were smoking, and maybe it's our age, but it was depressing for Nancy and me to think that so many people, many of whom certainly didn't look prosperous, were simply throwing away their money.  We left the premises with our bank accounts intact.

On our last scheduled night in Lake Charles we had dinner at 121 Artisan Bistro, which had been recommended by a butcher at Market Basket.  Fabulous meal.  Sensational fried oyster appetizer, delicious steak tips with grits, tasty rib-eye steak, and possibly the best bread pudding we've ever eaten.  Foodwise, I'm proud of Louisiana (my home state).

We're staying an extra night at this RV park.  Why?  Because the weather forecast is for snow tonight and tomorrow.  Snow in southeastern Louisiana!  Driving our motorhome to New Orleans in snow and sleet just didn't seem like a smart decision.

Corpus Christi and Houston

Corpus Christi (literally, from the Latin, "Body of Christ") is a Texas town on the Gulf of Mexico.  Our RV Park there was quite nice - beautifully maintained and lots of palm trees.  Permanent residents here - and most of the sites are long-term - say that it's a real community, everybody looking out for each other.

But to get to the RV Park we had to drive through mile after mile of strip malls visible from the freeway.  Every chain store and restaurant you can name must be represented there.  Handy for shopping but unattractive.  We were not tempted.

We drove to the Texas State Aquarium, which is set on one of the Corpus Christi beaches.  The aquarium is wonderful, although not quite as magnificent as the one in Monterey.  The beach itself was impressive, with gorgeous sand, but for someone coming from the Santa Cruz area, it was slightly shocking to see how little development there was there.  Hardly anyone around.  I'm sure that things are hopping during the summer, but most of the huge lots facing the beach are empty.

Our next stop was Houston, and we like our RV Park here.  There's a man-made lake, and the sites are large and spotless.

At first, once we were all hooked up, it was warm inside, and we had to use our motorhome's air conditioner, but in the early evening the temperature plummeted and the winds became fierce.  When we walked the dogs, we had to brace ourselves against the cold air and hang on tight to their leashes so they didn't sail away.  All night long the motorhome shook and groaned and the temperature fell close to freezing.

Admittedly, these few days haven't been overly eventful.  Your humble blogger had to search for something - anything - to write.  Things should pick up once we reach southern Louisiana, which is next.

Could we consider moving to Texas? Really?

Well, yes, we believe we actually could live happily in Fredericksburg, Texas.  Shocker.

First of all, the people there are incredibly friendly and polite.  Obviously plenty of exceptions, but in general compared to California there's a different vibe in that part of Texas - more open and welcoming when you shop or eat out or have a casual conversation.  It's nice.

Lots of good restaurants, a couple of them top quality.  A charming Main Street, with great shops and bars and wine tasting rooms.  Many of the houses and shops are faced with the pretty cream-colored limestone found in that part of Texas.



There are wonderful churches and an impressive library.  The wine culture there is a big plus.  I've mentioned previously the magnificent Museum of the Pacific War.  We loved the looks of the big park on Main Street, especially in its holiday mode.  I wouldn't call Fredericksburg beautiful but it's quite attractive  On the other hand, the surrounding hill country landscape, while lush by Texas standards, isn't close to northern California in natural beauty.  Real estate prices were somewhere around half what they are in Santa Cruz.  This is not a college town, but the exciting cities of Austin and San Antonio are within driving distance.

We'll put Fredericksburg on the list of candidates.  But the search continues.

I did have one issue with Fredericksburg.  My primary care doctor in Scotts Valley called in a prescription for generic Celebrex, which I take for back pain, to the Walgreen pharmacy there.  When I went to pick them up, I was told that it would cost me $600.  I was surprised because it is ordinarily a lot less at the Costco in Santa Cruz.  I fled from the store and phoned the Costco nearest to us, in San Antonio, and got a better price - $41.  $600 vs $41 for the same medication order - hmm, that's a tough decision.  So when we left Fredericksburg and headed to our next RV park in Corpus Christi, Texas, we stopped off at the San Antonio Costco and picked up my pills there.  Boys and girls, let that be a lesson to you.  Trust your pharmacist but check his prices.

Texas wine

If you scroll way way down in this blog, you'll find a description of our visit to Fredericksburg six years ago, when we found the Texas wines we tried to be - well, putrid.  But things have changed.

Interestingly, on this visit we didn't see a lot of vines along the road.  A lot of wineries, but very few grape fields.  What could explain that?  It turns out that this region is not ideal for growing any of the grapes from which the wines we love are made.  The weather is all wrong.  In the summer, of course, it is hot around here, which is not a problem - but it doesn't cool down at night, as it tends to do in California wine areas.  So the main wine growing region in Texas is now around Lubbock, which is in the high desert and does have the hot days and cool nights that are ideal, and also has the sandy soil and good drainage which are characteristic of many of the great wine regions of the world.  Most of the local wineries, then, and there are an amazing number of them, buy their grapes from two sources: California and Lubbock.

On the advice of a knowledgeable saleswoman in a Fredericksburg shop, we drove to Comfort, Texas, about 20 miles away, where there are supposedly some of the best wine producers in the state.  We punched into the GPS the address of the Bending Branch Winery and followed it on country roads and up a narrow lane that ended in a large rambling featureless structure that didn't look much like any winery we've ever encountered.  We asked a worker there if this was a winery, and he said, no, this is a retirement home.  Nancy and I conferred and decided not to apply there.

After another try, the GPS did direct us to the Bending Branch Winery, which we learned originally had grown grapes locally, but eventually gave up, plowed the vines under, and began buying their grapes from both California and the Lubbock area.  Bending Branch was recently named the best winery in Texas, and all the wines we tasted there were very good - on a similar level with tasting rooms in California.

Next we drove to the Newsom Winery in downtown Comfort, Texas.  The wines we tasted there were all from the Lubbock area, and in fact the Newsom family is one of the major growers of grapes in Lubbock.  They have been supplying many of the wineries across Texas for some time, and have now begun producing their own wine.  Nancy and I thought the wines we tasted there - both their own wines and some from other wineries that purchased their grapes from Newsom - were even more impressive than the Bending Branch offerings.  So our conclusion is that at least some of the Texas wines are on a par with many excellent California wines.  I suspect, however, that many of the wines of Texas are still not ready for prime time.

Back in Fredericksburg we toured the George H.W. Bush Museum of the Pacific War.  (The elder Bush flew fighter planes in World War II.)  I recommend it to anyone interested in the history of that incredible time.

We ate at a highly recommended local restaurant, Otto's.  It's a small place with an ambitious menu.  We sat at the bar and enjoyed an excellent meal.  Next to us was a fellow who, when we mentioned that we come from California, asked if we were conservatives fleeing that nest of Communism.  We answered no, we were liberals looking for a blue population pocket.  He was originally from Idaho, had lived in Southern California, and recently served in the Army in Afghanistan.  There was a lot of good-natured banter involving two very different points of view, and it was a good lesson in how to interact in a friendly manner with folks who disagree with you about issues you are passionate about.  Especially important in a concealed carry state.

Best little town in Texas

When we decided to spend the holidays in Texas, we didn't anticipate this incredibly cold weather - below twenty degrees at night, never rising above freezing during the day.  But it seems awfully wimpy for me to complain, when Nancy's siblings in the Northeast are dealing with temperatures twenty degrees colder than here, and Minnesota's citizens twenty degrees colder than that.  Still, for a Louisiana boy who's been living in California his whole adult life, it's chilly here in Fredericksburg.

This is how we attained water flow in our motorhome.  That morning I placed a tiny electric heater next to the metal water supply line so that it blew warm air against the water pipes, and I covered the whole arrangement with a large pail.  After fifteen minutes or so the ice within the pipe melted and water began flowing.  I removed the heater but left the pail over the water pipes and the attached heated water hose, thinking that the heat in the electrically-warmed hose might keep the temperature under the pail high enough to keep the water pipes from freezing at night - and it worked.  Since then we've been warm and cozy in our motorhome, with plenty of hot water.

We've fallen in love with Fredericksburg.  It's hard to imagine that we would actually move to Texas, but if we did, it would probably be here.  The locals are incredibly friendly and helpful, and many of them - both lifelong residents and recent transplants - are enthusiastic about the town and are anxious to tell us about the cool places to go - restaurants, activities, things to see.

Dressed warmly on New Years Day, we wandered Main Street and dropped in to Vaudeville, a wonderful upscale shop whose downstairs took us to the Bistro for lunch.

It felt like a transplanted bit of California.  The menu was fascinating.  The daily special that Monday was Crawfish Etoufee, Tuesday was Duck Confit, and so on.  Our waiter, who came here from Redding, California, told us that the owner of Vaudeville was the chef, and that he offered pre fixe dinners on Friday, Saturday, and Sunday at $150 plus wine pairings.  More and more like Napa or Sonoma, and maybe this is what happens to an area that goes into full wine country mode.

Here we are on Wednesday, January 3, 2018, and the worst of the cold spell has broken.  It's expected to rise to 51 degrees today.  We will stay here for several more days and expect to do wine tastings, tour the museums, and visit a local real estate office before we pull out.

Our plans, subject to change, are to drive to and spend a few days in Corpus Christi, Texas on the Gulf of Mexico, then to Lake Charles, Louisiana, followed by a stay in New Orleans next to the French Quarter.  After that, we hope to drive north to Little Rock and Fayetteville, Arkansas, then to Branson, Missouri before heading back down south to Florida - but if the weather stays cold we may have to alter those plans.

Frigid in Fredericksburg

Six years ago Nancy and I stayed in Fredericksburg, Texas for a few days and thought it was a really cool place.  Established way back in 1845 by German immigrants, it still had evidence of German influence, especially in some of its restaurants.  By the time we first visited in 2012 it was the center of the Texas wine industry - although the wine we tried then was barely drinkable.  Friendly people, good restaurants, and Fredericksburg had one of the best museums I've ever walked through - the George W. Bush Museum of the War in the Pacific.

On our current trip we made it a point to revisit this town, which had charmed us back then.  As we approached Fredericksburg we were amazed by the number of wineries that lined the highway; it was almost like we were touring Sonoma or Paso Robles.  We hoped that the region's wine industry had grown up while we were gone.

Fredericksburg has expanded since we were here in 2012.  There are lots more interesting restaurants and shops along Main Street.  One evening we enjoyed alcoholic beverages at one of the more elegant establishments of my experience - The Bar - where there was a very good singer and some of the patrons wore ten-gallon hats.

The park on Main Street was a Christmas wonderland, with an ice skating rink, huge decorated trees, a manger scene, and a multi-story tower with animated characters.

Our RV park in Fredericksburg was not Shangri-la but it was a big improvement over the previous disaster.  We were told that the weather forecast was for unseasonably cold temperatures by New Years Eve.  And by that night the internet told us that temperatures would not rise above freezing for the next couple of days.  We bundled up to visit the town park's New Year's Eve celebration, but there was so much ice covering the windshield that we chickened out.  And even though the water hose we used was electrically heated, we were worried about the water supply within our motorhome because the park's supply pipes were unheated.  Would we be able to take showers, flush the toilet, and wash dishes?  And indeed when we woke up on New Years Day, turning on the faucets yielded .. nothing.