US Road Trip 2026

Texas Farmhouse

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Texas Farmhouse is an unfortunate name. A wooden house, with dim lighting, far from the nearest town, evokes images of ‘The Texas Farmhouse Massacre.’ (A very slight modification of the film name, which I have not seen, but kind of evokes an unsettling image.) I think the furnishings don’t help. There are austere-looking people gazing from the walls, and although I have similar photos of my own ancestors at home, not knowing these grim people, and feeling nervous, makes for a bad combination.

The ‘farmhouse’ (‘log cabin’ is more accurate) is furnished with historical artifacts so it sort of feels like living in a museum exhibit. They have also tried to make things ‘more old’ by scraping off paint, not removing grime from sinks—which to me seems very inaccurate. ‘Old’ does not equate ‘dirty’ and I’m sure the original occupants would have repainted things when they needed it, and kept their sinks clean and free from rust. There are some concessions to modern living (indoor bathroom and modern plumbing and air/con, heating system). I think it would be nicer if they had also removed rust and grime from the sinks. But we are getting used to it.

The first morning we discussed changing our plans, and abandoning the cabin. We would lose our fee, but if we weren’t going to enjoy it, what was the point? But we have now settled into ‘camping’ mode—ignoring the grubby parts and enjoying what is lovely. And there  are lovely parts. Yesterday evening, as we sat in rocking chairs on the veranda, sipping red wine, enjoying the peace, it was perfect. Leaves rustled in the breeze, birds sang, the spanish moss swayed on the ancient trees.

There are also animals, which I love being near to. We found a field nearby with deer, which came up to the fence to greet us. There were also bison, huge shaggy bodies squarely facing us as they decided whether we were interesting. Then they walked towards us, one deliberate step after the next, slowly coming towards the fence. (We were quite happy to have a fence between us—I don’t know much about bison). An emu appeared, and did a sort of dance next to us (which may or may not have been aggressive—if it was a cockerel I would have been wary, but it’s hard to feel threatened by a bird which has a perpetual smile). It followed us along the fence line as we continued our walk.

Then there was screaming, or a siren—something loud and urgent, which made us stop and look, and worry about whether we should be running towards or away from the noise. It ended with a definite animal noise, and a he-haw that we recognised as ‘donkey-noise.’ Out from the trees, our side of the fence, ran a donkey. It looked very cute, but something about the noise had sounded aggressive, so I wasn’t so sure. Husband assured me it just wanted to be fed, I thought it was warning us away. We walked on, it followed, although never got very near. A second donkey appeared, and they both followed us. It was a shame, because it stopped me wanted to stay and watch the fenced animals. That’s the trouble with animals you don’t understand—it’s hard to know what might be dangerous. (Later, I looked online to see whether donkeys are ever aggressive. The main result was newspaper articles about a mayor in Texas who had been killed by a donkey on his ranch. This was not reassuring.)

Other than the scary donkeys, it was a lovely walk. That, and the wine-on-the-veranda moment encouraged us to stay for another day. I like staying in weird places (for short periods). It’s less comfortable than the ubiquitous modern motels, but also more interesting, something that builds memories. And if we get killed by donkeys—well, it’s a pretty unique way to die and probably better than hooked to machines in a skyless hospital room, isn’t it?

Thanks for reading. More of our road trip in my next blog.
Take care (and avoid haunted houses).
Love, Anne x

Btw, I have since done more research into donkeys, because there were loads of them in Texas. Apparently, they make very good guards and keep foxes and coyotes away from livestock. So people keep them to protect their sheep, flocks. I’m now trying to persuade Husband that we need a donkey to keep foxes away from my birds. He is not yet convinced.

Road Trip 2026

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We drove from New Orleans to St, Martinsville. I was desperate for a washroom when we arrived. It was Sunday, in a sleepy town there were not many options. We tried to buy coffee in a Mexican restaurant, but they said they did not serve coffee. (They may not have understood us.) We bought a couple of bottles of coke. I asked if I could use the washroom. Relief! Now, it might seem strange to begin a travel blog with washroom details, but that will only be if you are not an older female who has had children. Age and children muck up bladders, and this can become something of a hindrance to travel. However, usually it’s not a problem in the US, as there are usually plenty of restaurants with washrooms (you just have to drink a lot of coffee, because they are only for customer use).

We were in St. Martinsville because the guide book told us there was a famous oak, a famous square, and an eternal flame. The people who we spoke to in the street seemed unaware of this. We did, eventually, find the oak, and the square (which was not really identifiable as a square) and the eternal flame (which could be seen by walking across some grass and peering through a fence). I don’t think they get many tourists. Most things were closed (it was Sunday).

We then drove, without much optimism, to the nearby Cypress Swamp reservation. This also seemed deserted. We parked and followed a pathway to look at the river. It was swampland, with wooden decks into them, and it was pretty amazing and very beautiful. However, the decking was low over the water, and broken in places, and I worried it might give way and we would plunge into the swamp water and be eaten by alligators. (Not that we could see any alligators, I think it’s the wrong time of year.) We survived, and took some photos. We could see large white egrets in the trees, getting ready to nest. It was beautiful, and peaceful, and very unnerving because we are foreign and not sure of the dangers. We went into the information hut afterwards. This is like reading the instructions of a machine after trying to work it out first. There was a helpful man, and information boards, and it all seemed very well organised and safe.

We drove to Lafayette and checked into a Residence Inn which are my favourite motels because they have a little kitchen area, and a shared laundry. I like being able to wash our clothes. We ate in a nearby restaurant, which had welcoming music, and comfy booths, and a very friendly waitress. I ate alligator nuggets, which were deep-fried and tasted exactly like chicken. Apparently, alligator meat is high in protein and iron, but low in fats. 

(I think from my current study of Noah, that humans were told they can eat fish and ‘creepers,’ not all animals. I have not yet finished researching this, so I may come to a different conclusion, but currently I try to only eat veggie food or fish/‘creepers.’ I decided alligators are ‘creepers.’ Husband is not admiring of my food choices nor my theology.)

The following day (Monday 23rd Feb) we drove through Louisiana (LA) towards Texas. We passed flooded fields, and swampland, and vast green fields of cows. According to the internet, the flooded fields are for rice, which some farmers alternate with crawfish after the harvest. It would be interesting to stop, and see one properly. I hadn’t realised that rice was grown in the US.

As we neared Houston, the roads grew very busy. We stopped for food, and I asked the waitress for the name of a good grocery shop. Kroger’s. (It’s very hard to find supermarkets, because Google does not differentiate between the small garage shop with outdated food and the big supermarket that locals use.) We drove through Texas. There were fewer farms, and lots of industry: aggregates and oil. Some of the oil refineries were huge, the size of a town, filled with tall metal tubes and machines and nasty smells. Driving around Houston was no fun. Huge lorries, 9-lane roads, junctions on both sides, everything moving very fast, overtaking on either side, roadworks shutting lanes.

We made it, and left the main road for our next stop. 

Husband had booked an airbnb on a ranch. Sounded nice. It took 15 minutes to drive down the dirt track. The houses were cabins, hidden in the trees, full of historical furniture. As we parked the car, we saw a wooden outside loo. I was silent.


We went into our cabin. It felt haunted, I don’t really like houses that have photographs of dead people on the walls (which makes no sense). The facilities were quirky, but there was modern plumbing, so I felt happier. We ate some food, and went to bed. No ghosts visited. I rather like the place now, it’s very unusual, but has good working washrooms.

It had a washing machine. Sort of…

Thanks for reading. More of our road trip in my next blog.
Take care (and avoid haunted houses).
Love, Anne x

More New Orleans

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Our last day in New Orleans was Sunday. We woke early (managing a sort of hybrid UK/US time, although the extra hour when we moved from Florida towards Alabama was brutal). We ran in the hotel gym, because even though we wait until it’s light, running in New Orleans would feel unsafe due to all the drug addicts—who I suspect are unpredictable when needing money.

We wanted to attend a church. I like attending local churches when away from home. Since I went to Spurgeon’s College (a Baptist college) I have definitely become less Baptist ironically, and much more interested in how different denominations express their faith. Most of the churches near us were black churches, so I checked with the hotel receptionist whether we would be welcome in a black church, or whether it would be rude to attend. She assured us we would be welcome, and also suggested we could try the local Catholic church—St. Jude’s. This, plus the information that the local Baptist church service would run to at least 2 hours, was helpful. We walked to St.Judes.

The walk to church typifies New Orleans for me. The roads were big, but easy to cross because traffic stops at crosswalks. The streets were fairly busy, with a mishmash of people—many with dyed (blue/green/pink) hair, many looking smart, music seeping from doorways. Lying on the hard tarmac, huddled under old coats because the weather was chilly, were the homeless. There was a police convoy, stopping traffic as floats from Mardi Gras swept past—going I guess into storage until next year. The floats were bright, huge figureheads, painted fences to enclose the people who would ride on them.

 As we neared church, I saw a couple of people, sleeping with blankets pulled over their heads, bare toes peeping out from under the cover. It was sad, sadder for some reason than the homeless that I see in London—perhaps because there are places they can go to if they choose, and here I don’t know what their options are. Plus so many were young men, thin faces and blank eyes, ravaged by drugs. It broke my heart. I wanted to lay my jacket over them, but Husband stopped me, said it would probably be sold for drugs, better to donate money to a charity that could help them properly. But it was sad. As we arrived at the church I felt very near tears. I kept wondering where God was in this city, wondering who was working for him to help these people.

The church was welcoming when we entered. We are not Catholics, and much of it was completely confusing, everyone else seemed to know what to chant at intervals, which responses to give. It was a big church, packed with a whole variety of people—many were very smart, posh clothes ladies wearing hats and heels, some were casual, some looked like they had wandered in from the street in search of somewhere warm to rest. The choir were dressed in white and processed down the aisle to signify the start of the service. Most were fairly old, and they wore fez-type hats. All the church wardens wore red gowns, which helped to know who was an official. There was a brass band, and the songs all had a Kum by Yah African-American spiritual-folk flavour to them. The offering was collected in baskets with long handles (like fishing nets) and after collecting it, they came back a second time, which was unexpected. (I think they were collecting for two different things, but it made me giggle.) The Priest gave a talk, which was short but I thought it was good—about Jesus being tempted and how people are tempted today by Power and Prestige and Profit (even the leaders). There was then a prayer asking that leaders of countries should behave according to God’s will, and for the good of the world not just their own prestige or the good of their own country. (But he did not name anyone specifically.) At the end was a little prize-giving for the women’s group (who seemed to do all the work in the church) and they reminded me of the strong women working in the Zambian church we visited. Then it ended, and people walked out, dipping their fingers in a bowl of holy water.

We packed our bags and drove away from New Orleans. I’m glad we visited, but it made me sad. There was so much creativity, a lot of carefree relaxation, a lot of excellent music, all with an undercurrent of heartbreaking sadness when you noticed the lost faces of the addicts. But we were only there for a few days, so my impressions might be wrong.

First Impression of New Orleans

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I cannot explain my first impression of New Orleans to you, I can only show you what I saw and try to describe my feelings about the city. It is not like any other city I have visited previously, and it felt sad, like I had entered a world read about in the past. A city I thought no longer existed today in our modern world of mental health care and intellectual superiority.

Arriving was easy—Google maps guided us along highways, bridges over vast rivers, lanes of traffic swooshing past the clogged streets of the city until finally, just before our hotel we were taken onto smaller roads, a brief moment of stress and traffic lights before arriving at the hotel. We’re staying at a Courtyard by Marriott—a nice reliable chain of hotels—you know what you’re going to get. We checked in, dumped our bags, went for a walk.

The pathways were busy, lots of colour, lots of noise. Mardi Gras finished this week, so we thought it would be quieter. Not sure there was anything quiet. There was music. Bands and piano music drifting from bars, trumpets played on the street, children using upturned plastic cartons as drums beating out a rhythm. It made you want to dance.

The creativity of the city is undeniable. There were poets,  offering to write for any price. Artists with paintings hung on walls. The buildings were pretty with lattice work on balconies, strung with beads and draped with bright fabric. Even the people wore bright clothing, hair dyed pink and purple and blue.

But the sad side of the city is unescapable. People in drug stupors lying on the kerbs, on benches, huddled in corners. Homeless people carrying all their belongings.

There were the businesses I wanted to avoid: the photos of naked girls outside, the ‘first church of witchcraft’ the stalls offering tarot readings. We had only walked a few minutes when we encountered a naked man, and a shouting policeman, watched by a grinning crowd filming the spectacle on their phones. I didn’t see the crime—the drug sellers, the pick-pockets, the people traffickers—but I felt they were there.

The authorities were easy to spot, but I’m not sure what they were doing. We saw a few groups of National Guard—young men struggling in layers of uniform in the humid air, looking uncomfortable, as if they didn’t know what they were doing either. Mostly they seemed to be standing in a group, looking aimless. Some were walking, but they still looked a little aimless, maybe they had finished for the day, were on their way home.

I don’t know how to explain the city. It is somehow creative without being beautiful, as if all the creativity is too much for itself, and it doesn’t know where to go. Maybe for creativity to be beautiful it also needs boundaries, or it spins out of control into drugs and aimlessness. It all felt a bit pointless, as if the people there—the musicians and artists and entertainers—had forgotten what they were trying to achieve. As if they were searching for freedom but had become trapped not having any goals; trying to escape but unsure what they were escaping from or where they wanted to go. Overall, it just felt sad. I wanted to wrap it up and take it home, show it some security, the beauty of the countryside, the peace of routine. It felt like a city that has lost its mother, and it needs some care. But first impressions can be misleading. I will look further tomorrow.

More Travel

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After Sanibel we drove to a motel in Brooksville. I can’t tell you anything about Brooksville. We stayed in a Fairfield Inn (always reliable) next to a busy road. When we went for our morning run I was not worried about alligators (my usual fear when running at dawn in Florida) but we did inhale lots of car fumes. Other than that, it was good. We ate in ‘Glory Days,’ a sport’s bar, which is less seedy than it sounds. It served delicious espresso martinis, in proper glasses, so I was happy.

The following day we drove to Cedar Key. This is a small town, on the coast. It has pretty houses and huge trees full of spanish moss, and a LOT of tourists! It has had its share of hurricanes, and there were still signs of damage from Helene, which hit in 2024. The houses next to the coast were built on stilts. Pelicans had moved in to sunbathe on the vacant stilts, left sticking up like the skeletons of the demolished houses. Some of the buildings looked very unstable, although they were still being used so I am assuming (hoping) they are safe. It’s a very sweet little town, and I think it would be fun to stay overnight in one of the houses perched over the water’s edge. Maybe we’ll come back here on our return drive.

We left the coast and drove to Monticello. This was another quick visit, although we had booked an Airbnb so stayed overnight. The town was quiet. Very quiet. There was not even a grocery shop (just a few groceries at a petrol station and a market selling local veg) nowhere to buy fresh milk or bread. But there was a Mexican restaurant, so we ate there. I have never been to a Mexican restaurant before. I tried a margarita. Delicious, like slightly melted lemon sorbet. I thought it wasn’t alcoholic, and nearly ordered a second one. Glad I didn’t—definitely had alcohol, just bit of a delayed reaction.

We were the only customers (because we’re on an early clock still) but they were very nice to us, and the food was good. The restaurant was painted with scenes from Mexico (I assume—have never actually been to Mexico, so I guess they may have just been random countryside scenes). We enjoyed it.

Finding my inner Mexican!

The Airbnb was unusual. It was basically a single room, with a bathroom added to one side, and the conservatory turned into a bedroom. It was pretty, and convenient, and scrupulously clean. The owner had left beers and water in the fridge for us (I certainly didn’t need any beer!). It was right next to the main road, so quite a fretful night every time a lorry whooshed past, but for one night it was fine.

Woke tired. Decided not to run (which is a shame, because running in a strange place is always fun—it makes me feel like a local). We packed the car and drove away. It was a long drive, through Florida, across to Alabama. Next stop was Dauphin Island.

Dauphin Island is another place that gets demolished when hurricanes hit. To combat this, all the modern buildings were built on stilts. As we drove across the bride to the island, you could see the pretty wooden houses perched on their stilts, overlooking the coast. On the horizon were the hazy outlines of oil rigs. The island was pretty—similar to Sanibel (lots of tourists on bikes, well-kept roads, white beaches) but different due to all the houses on stilts.

We were too early for our Airbnb, so had lunch at a fish restaurant. The staff were very friendly, said we were welcome to hang around until our house was available. We shopped (had to leave the island to find a grocery store of any size, and I wanted yogurt). We drove to the house. It was unexpected—it was built on top of the highest stilts ever! Walking up the steps was quite a feat for someone who doesn’t like heights!

The back of the house rested against sand dunes, and behind the trees the sea glinted, so it was a nice place to stay (once you had climbed the scary steps). Not sure I would feel safe there on a windy day. There was a washing machine, so I emptied our suitcases and washed everything. Nice to be clean.

Before we left, we ran through the town. It was lovely, big trees shading the roads, birds singing, very peaceful. Then we loaded the car and set off. We drove through Mississippi, into Louisiana, to New Orleans. 

Hope your day goes well. Thanks for reading.

Take care.

Love, Anne x


anneethompson.com
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A Reluctant Traveller

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I did not want to visit the US. I had read lots of scary things online about new border regulations, and how the border guards now check social media accounts, and insist on looking through computers, and how aggressive it all is now. Plus the news reports showing innocent people being shot, or sent to holding centres prior to being deported. It made the US seem like a very unwelcoming place, somewhere that did not want visitors, somewhere that I didn’t want to go.

But Husband had other ideas. Husband talked about the Florida sunshine, the ease of living in a country with diners, and clean motels, and empty roads. Husband yearned for another road trip. He talked about being retired, having more time, what was life for if it wasn’t to be enjoyed?

So I relented. I chose the books I couldn’t live without for a few weeks, and then put half of them back on the shelf because I couldn’t lift my suitcase. After a few hard work days of sorting animals and house, we caught a flight from Heathrow and flew to Orlando.

The flight was mainly full of families visiting Disney. The flight attendants wore Mickey Mouse ears. When we landed, the border guards did not wear false ears, but the mood was the same—they were friendly and welcoming, gave tips about which roads to use. Nothing threatening at all. Maybe other airports are different, but I did not find any change at all to arriving in the US, despite the news coverage. Our first breakfast was at Denny’s—a typical diner, one of the things I love about travel in the US. Food is so easy, service is friendly.

We collected a car and drove to Sanibel Island. This is always beautiful. We had a few days adjusting our clock to US time (slightly, we stayed on an early clock). We strolled along the beach, I spent some time studying and enjoyed not having to sort animals or cook/clean anything.

Sanibel Inn
Lighthouse
Sunset

On Sunday we went to church. I looked online, and nearly chose the Community Church, because that was the oldest on the island, and it looked easy. Instead we attended the Congregational Church, which turned out to be excellent. Since being at college, my theology has changed slightly, so I was expecting there to be things I disagreed with, but I was raised a Baptist, I know how to ‘be’ a Baptist (and Congregational churches are basically the same). I chose this one because the website said they welcome everyone, and specifically listed race, gender preferences, marriage status—everyone was welcome. I like this. Some churches, in their statement of faith, choose to state that they are against gay marriage (and whatever they believe, this never strikes me as a welcoming thing to write on their website, which is usually the first indication of their church ethos).

The photo online: were flower hats compulsory??

Husband came. I wore jeans (may as well test the welcome anyone thing) and it was easy to find and park. Churches in the US are sometimes like shopping malls, although this one was normal sized. They had a brass band—excellent start. They had a choir—also excellent (although I don’t think people had to audition to be a member). The sermon was by the minister, and surprisingly I didn’t disagree with anything he said! He obviously keeps up with the latest developments in biblical studies, and did not feel constrained to keep to the fundamentalist line (like who authored certain books). It was also very welcoming. 

As well as attending different churches, I also want to compare espresso martinis in different places. The one I had in Sanibel was very average, especially as it was served in a tumbler, and half the fun is in having a pretty martini glass.

After a few days we left Sanibel and drove to Brooksville. The plan is to spend a few days driving north, round the pan handle, visiting places like Dauphin Island and New Orleans, heading towards Texas. We’ll see how far we get before we need to head home.

Thanks for reading. I hope the things you dread turn out to be good. I’ll let you know about the other places we visit.

Take care.

Love, Anne x

Holiday blogs are always written at the time, but posted later when I am home.

anneethompson.com

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