Word: mattes
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Early in the trip Matt and Andrew had taken precautionary measures against the inevitable information overload and started a diary. But it didn’t last. The third time they used it, someone struck their Volvo hard on its side. Suddenly superstitious, they never wrote anything down again. They told me this as we walked toward an outdoor café in New Orleans’ French Quarter, ruled at the time by a bizarre economic love triangle. Tourists shared the space equally with the homeless, drunk, and destitute, who entertained them to get by; meanwhile, dozens of missionaries...
This summer, though, he was just driving. Sure, it was a little hard to believe. After all, that UC campaign was pretty successful. Why stop at Harvard? Why not introduce themselves to the rest of the country? But the fact is, though they live and breathe politics, Matt and Andrew happened upon the trip with little forethought and less planning. This is probably not what Bill Clinton had in mind. But in the future, he might consider writing it into his philosophy because, as it turns out, falling in love with your country is a pretty convenient way to figure...
...Travel is the best education,” said a woman in a New Orleans park exactly five days before Matt and Andrew arrived in Nashville. She had pushed a cart full of electronic equipment next to a huge oak tree. Wires from the cart connected to soil on the ground and then up into three pairs of headphones worn by her assistants, kids about our age. “What are you guys doing?” Matt asked. They were listening for termites, what were we doing...
...begun, like fortunately few days that summer, with the smell of vomit and the sound of retching. Matt and Andrew had been out until 4 a.m. drinking on Bourbon Street—New Orleans’ main stretch, where, before Hurricane Katrina drowned the city, Mardi Gras beads were available year-round and brightly lit bars served frozen cocktails from spinning machines, 7-Eleven-style. But the vomiting was all courtesy of an anonymous roommate they’d met in the bunk beds of their hostel, a place called India House. They shrugged it off, washed their faces...
...travel really is the best education, information overload may be travel’s most overlooked risk. Six weeks in, here are some of the things Matt and Andrew had already learned: that “rodeo” is often a euphemism for sex; the seductive appeal of fried pickles; that, according to Boston Market, “corn and convenience should not be mutually exclusive”; that, according to experience, nine times out of ten waitresses in bars are not actually interested in sleeping with you; the name of Paul Bunyan’s ox (Babe...