For now, I’ve got a ton of photos. Enjoy!

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I like to move around.

Throughout this journey, I’d always been happy to move on to the next spot—but leaving Asheville hurt just a little. Still, there were adventures ahead. No time to stop, not now.

I took the bus to another bus, to another bus, to a hotel in Nashville, Tennessee. The road wound through the Blue Ridge Mountains, and was lined with new sights: little towns that seemed to be no more than bus stops… soda-sipping teenagers in camouflage, heading off to war… endless ridges fading from green to emerald to blue to purple to grey, forever into the distance… and here and there, little bursts of red on the leafy hillsides, signaling the onset of autumn.

I’d hoped to be in North Carolina to see the leaves turn, but with red leaves come cold nights—and after New Mexico’s horizontal snow and Colorado’s ice rain, I didn’t want to get stuck in the cold again.

Hey, it’s another Elvis statue!
photo by SeeMidTN.com

Santa and Elvis on the Roof
photo by robot_zombie_monkey

And so I went to sunny Nashville, where Kevin and Nicole joined me.

We walked Nashville’s strip that night, trying to get excited about Music City USA, but mostly nonplussed by the tourists and the beer-drinking party hoo-ha. We had better reasons to be here: we were in Nashville to visit a friend we hadn’t seen in a while.

Several laughs, a few tears and one bad movie later, I was ready to hop another bus. Nashville had been a renewal, and I was heading toward something exciting.

The next bus was piloted by a driver with Elvis glasses and a pompadour, who had the thickest hills accent you ever heard. He grinned ear to ear while asking me ten questions about where I was from and where I was going. He seemed to know most of the passengers by name. Three of my fellow passengers were Amish: a quiet family in black and purple.

Later we pulled off the two-lane highway and waited for nearly an hour next to a hospital. The driver explained: there was another Amish family in there, the girl had come down with bronchitis, we were waiting for them to be discharged. Nobody on the bus seemed to mind waiting. We all sat silently in the green heat.

Eventually our passengers arrived, and the bus motored on through lush woods, a sunny winding highway into the southeast corner of Tennessee. Traffic got scarcer as we drove, until finally we pulled off at the Summertown bus stop.

  

  

I had called ahead to have someone meet me here, but the bus was now an hour behind schedule. Nobody was here. The town was little more than a scattering of shops, most of them Amish souvenir stores. The six Amish people had all gotten off the bus with me, and were now riding away in black buggies. The Elvis driver winked a goodbye out the window as he guided the bus back onto the highway.

The bus stop was closed. I was out of food and water, and it was late afternoon. My cell phone didn’t work, and there was no Internet reception; how would I get where I was going?

But I hardly had time to worry before the lone bus-stop employee reappeared from someplace. Country manners kicked in immediately: in short order I was being given a tour of the establishment while phone calls were made on my behalf.

And thank goodness: I hadn’t missed my ride, because they’d forgotten to come pick me up. If I hadn’t called, I’d have spent the night at the bus stop. But they were on their way now, for sure this time. I sat down out front to wait.

Soon enough, a muddy Subaru stopped out front. Two barefoot and bedraggled dudes stepped out, all hair and patchouli. I hopped in the Subaru and we toiled up the hill, a few miles outside of Summertown where we came to:

And I’ll tell you all about that very soon.

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There I was in Asheville, wandering around on a sunny autumn day, when I spotted this strange berry:

My first reaction was “wow, that sure looks like a poison berry to me.” So I didn’t eat it—but gosh, that thing looked so amazingly toxic, I couldn’t stop thinking about it. Never did find out what it was.

So I’m asking you, Southerners and foragers and armchair botanists: how are my instincts? What is that? Was I right not to chew on it? Or should I have merrily popped it in my mouth and gathered more for supper?

Comment below if you’ve got an idea.

© jessicareeder for Uprooted, an eco/travel blog, 2010. | Permalink | 15 comments | Add to del.icio.us
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1. Hear live music on a streetcorner.

On a sunny day, the downtown area is always populated with buskers. Sometimes it’s your basic guy-with-a-guitar setup; sometimes there are a few dudes in overalls or tweed; sometimes it’s a full band with amplification. One sure thing is that you won’t have to walk far to find a street performer to tickle your ears for free (donations appreciated).

2. Feed your head at Malaprop’s Bookstore.

Granted, Malaprop’s is a business, so they also appreciate monetary contributions. But if you’re broke, spend a buck on coffee and peruse their incredible selection of literature.

This store is one of the places that convinced me so utterly of Asheville’s uniqueness. In fact, Malaprop’s seems to assume that its clientele is highly intelligent, educated in self-sufficiency, and actively committed to social/environmental change.

And there’s the proof: a book on Cattle Health in the Green Living section? We’re not in San Francisco any more.

3. Take a nature walk.

While exploring downtown, I picked up a map that indicated there was a botanical garden next to the UNC campus. Heading out that way, I stumbled across the Reed Creek “interpretive trail”, which was a hugely educational resource. It guides you through an area that was once occupied by buildings; along the trail, a series of signs informs you of what was here, what’s here now and why. In the space of a city block or two, I learned a ton about local history and botany.

The Reed Creek trail lets out near the Asheville Botanical Gardens, a huge and beautifully-managed set of trails, greens and buildings. It’s an easy walk, and just like at Reed Creek, the Botanical Gardens are full of information on native species. Make sure you stop at the creek, an excellent spot for a wee nosh and/or nap in the dappled sunlight.

Click for more photos of Reed Creek and the Botanical Gardens.

4. Go on a self-guided art tour.

As I mentioned recently, Asheville is full of art both strange and beautiful. From the underpass mural, to political graffiti, to statuary both commissioned and independent, there’s art all over the place. And that’s just on the sidewalk—but there are also tons of art galleries for your browsing pleasure.

Don’t miss Chicken Alley, a strange little street that looks straight out of New Orleans or Oakland. It’s haunted by living artists and one dead doctor: Dr. Jamie Smith was killed in a 1902 barfight and still hangs around the place.

If you’re more into modern-age ephemera, guess what? Chicken Alley’s got free wifi. Yippee!

5a. (for hippies) Hippie out at the Drum Circle.

photo by BillRhodesPhoto

Apparently this is a big deal, but I am somewhat opposed to drum circles. If they’re your thing, that’s super! There’s a giant one here every Friday night, on Patton Avenue. Just follow the smell of patchouli and sounds of wild djembe.

5b. (for nerds and queers) Get your summer Shakespeare fix.

photo by Zen

What self-respecting town doesn’t have a free Shakespeare-in-the-park series these days? Asheville is right on point, offering free performances all summer (Friday, Saturday & Sunday nights only). The address is #1 Gay Street, so you ought to feel right at home.

Want more, more, more free stuff? I know right? Cheapskate your heart out at Asheville’s official Free Things to Do page.

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photo by Russ Roca of The Path Less Pedaled

I discovered Tammy Strobel (of RowdyKittens) early on in my journey, and she’s been a continual inspiration. Her simple-living tips and car-free lifestyle, all documented with great photos and useful information, got me through more than one situation—and I expect to keep learning from her for a long time to come.

Now, Tammy’s released her first e-book, Simply Car-Free: How to Pedal Toward Financial Freedom and a Healthier Life.

Simply Car-Free is an excellent, real-world, homespun resource for anyone who wants to get more serious about cycling and spend less time in traffic. I highly recommend you download a copy. It’s cheap, too: $9.95 for the first 500 customers, and $12.99 thereafter.

The book is full of extremely knowledgeable and useful info on why, how, when and where to ride your bike. There are also some great tips and facts you’ve probably never heard before. For example:

Sitting down and honestly analyzing the cost of our car was shocking. The car payment, interest, insurance, gas, maintenance and more added up to about $7,000 per year. The average American spends $8,000 a year on their car.

Also inspirational: Tammy’s own story of how she and her partner Logan switched from driving to riding, and what the process was like for a self-described “normal middle-class” suburban couple.

I started out biking 5 miles a week and slowly increased the number of miles I rode on weekends. Before I knew it, I was going for all-day bike rides that were between 30 and 50 miles. Anything is possible, just remember to take it slow.

Want more? Yes, trust me, you do. Check out the first three chapters for free here. Then buy the book, and support Tammy’s awesome lifestyle and excellent work!

(legally required) DISCLOSURE: I got a free advance copy of this e-book for the purpose of reviewing it. Neener neener.

© jessicareeder for Uprooted, an eco/travel blog, 2010. | Permalink | 2 comments | Add to del.icio.us
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It was an overnight journey, 18 hours, and that little girl (Autumn) was bored to tears. Autumn’s guardian actually thought she could force a four-year-old to sit still for 18 hours, and hadn’t brought a single toy to keep Miss Hyperactive America entertained. But she was cool with letting Autumn clamber across the seat to poke slimy fingers at me.

To keep her from climbing all over me, I handed her The Navigator and a pen to color with. It kept her quiet for an hour or two, and I got some good footage.

Meanwhile, the great Southwest rolled by outside the window. This is one year ago today; enjoy.

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From Virginia, I turned left, heading southward at last. And right off the bat, things changed.

It all started at the train station, where I sat and waited for an hour past departure time before boarding. And that was just the beginning.

Now, I’ve ridden Amtrak all over the West, and it’s always been my favorite way to travel. It’s scenic, comfortable, affordable and eco-friendly: who, I always wondered, wouldn’t want to ride the train?

As I boarded in Virginia, I started to understand: Not all trains are the same. In this part of the country, you don’t take Amtrak if you can avoid it.

Out West, there were big seats and big windows, and the cars were rarely full. You could walk around the train, hang out in the sightseeing car where happy families sat in cushy chairs admiring the view.

Here, the windows were tiny; the dining car was run down and half filled with luggage; and the tables were inhabited by a passel of loudly un-sober people playing cards.

It was a warm, humid day outside. The train car, however, was so cold that everybody was wrapped up in blankets, shivering.

In the back corner of the car, the overactive air conditioner was dripping freezing water onto one of the seats. A little old lady clucked and shook her head. “It ain’t sposed to be like that.”

   

Freezing water drips from the ceiling onto a seat, right next to a power outlet—
but don’t worry, the outlet doesn’t work.

The people were the saving grace of this train ride—which, as I later realized, was my first hint at the fast-approaching reality of the American South.

For, even despite the weird odors and discomfort in the overcrowded, dingy, freezing-cold train car, people were smiling, and talking. Old women and young college students had amiable conversations, compared backgrounds and family stories. People shared blankets and sweaters, and whenever the train stopped we all rolled our eyes and chuckled at our dumb luck.

We were all in it together, and we knew the train would get us there, and for a couple of hours we suffered through it in good company. After all, it could be worse.

But it could be better. I missed the West.

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Tracy L. Barnett
Photo ©2010. All rights reserved.

I arrived in Mexico three weeks ago as the first leg of my yearlong journey through Latin America documenting the environmental movement across the continent, from the perspective of its protagonists. I’ll be traveling through Latin America for this entire year, interviewing green architects and guerilla gardeners, indigenous farmers and bicycle activists, journalists and academics, even public officials engaged in the transition to a more sustainable lifestyle. I’ll be reporting on what I find – in Spanish and in English – on the Esperanza project, a new media initiative.

Inside the theater at Huehuecoyotl, an ecovillage in the mountains of Morelos, Mexico.
©2010 Tracy L. Barnett. All rights reserved.

Here’s how it all began. About 10 months ago I was working as the travel editor at the Houston Chronicle, when a round of cutbacks slashed a third of the staff, including me. It was a shock, but it ended up freeing me up to launch a project that feels meaningful and exciting to me in a way that working for a daily newspaper never could.

The roots of this project really began long ago in Columbia, Missouri, long before I became a travel writer. Back in 2000, I started the bilingual newspaper Adelante, and my student reporters and of course our readers came from all over Latin America. I accepted every invitation I could to visit friends and their families in the South. Before that, I was an environmental writer at the Columbia Daily Tribune. The Esperanza Project tries to pull all of those themes together—travel, Latin America, and the environment—using the multimedia tools I learned as a travel writer and the Spanish I learned as an immigrant affairs reporter in Missouri, California and Texas.

Community members at Teopantli Kalpulli, an intentional community near Guadalajara.
©2010 Tracy L. Barnett. All rights reserved.

Some people have asked me, why Latin America? I can give several reasons for that: First, I wanted to do it. All my life I’ve wanted to take that trip where I just keep on going. Now I’ll be headed south for a whole year, and I’m really excited about that.

But more importantly, I think we in the States get a little self-important thinking we have all the answers. But there’s a lot we can learn from other cultures, ones that aren’t quite as caught up in the consumerist, carbon-dependent model we’ve adopted in the States.

Latin Americans, in particular, bring a different perspective and a level of creativity and passion to their activism really inspires me. My hope is that it will inspire my North American compatriots, as well.

Right now a completely unexpected green revolution is going on in Mexico City. Rooftops of homes and factories are being planted in gardens to provide an alternate food supply and offset carbon emissions.

A young activist in Coyoacán.
©2010 Tracy L. Barnett. All rights reserved.

In Guadalajara, bicycle activists are taking to the streets by the thousands, demanding green spaces, bike lanes and a more people-oriented approach to transportation and city planning. In the mountains not far from here, the Huichol people are fighting a groundbreaking legal battle to take back their ancestral lands and manage them in their own integral way.

But this is just the tip of the iceberg. Everywhere you look in Latin America, local groups have formed to raise consciousness about the urgent need to shift to a more sustainable lifestyle. They don’t have a lot of resources, but what they do have is creativity, passion and spirit.

One of my first articles, though, has to do with a more personal dilemma: Whether to buy carbon offsets to help compensate for the pollution my travel will inevitably cause. Carbon offsets have become pretty controversial of late, but after a lot of thought, I decided to donate $10 a month to the Marda Permaculture Project to plant olive trees and build greenhouses in the town of Marda, Palestine.

Composting at the ecobarrios in Mexico City.
©2010 Tracy L. Barnett. All rights reserved.

I don’t claim that this is the answer to corporate pollution on a broader scale, but on a personal level, it felt like the right thing to do. It’s a wonderful project that builds community resilience using tried-and-true permaculture techniques, and you can read all about it here.

This year I’m going to be using video and photography and my best reporting skills to bring these people to life for The Esperanza Project readers. I’ll also be seeking collaborators, people to write stories from their eco-experiences in Latin America, and people to help with translations. I hope some of you will join us at theesperanzaproject.org.

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As many of you are aware, I’ve reached the end of my journey around the United States and am now back in the West. The story is far from over, however!

For the next several weeks, I’ll continue telling you about my adventures. From Virginia, the path leads south and west: through North Carolina to Tennessee, finally landing in New Orleans for three weeks of mind-blowing, frustrating, inspiring, parading, jazz-infused mudraking.

And then it’s all over, which is a sad prospect for you and me both. But never fear! There are new things on the horizon.

One question many of you have asked: where am I headed next, and when? The answer is a bit complicated. So here’s the plan, as I see it.

Uprooted International will take me around the world in 2011. I’m hoping to focus more on sustainability and travel issues, including the ethics of travel and what the tourism industry is doing to respond to environmental concerns. And as always, I’ll be talking about how to travel dirt-cheap.

As Uprooted grows, I’ll be bringing more and more outside voices: fellow travelers, explorers and gamechangers with stories to tell from all parts of the world.

At the same time, I’ll be launching a new project or two, to focus more on the green/cheap living, radical interdependence and DIY ethic that’s inspired me throughout this journey.

So, lots of irons in the fire. It’s very exciting around here—but I’m glad, too, to be home with my people, in my beloved West, watching spring break over familiar horizons.

In the immediate future, my travelogue posts will be slowing down as the inspiration for new projects picks up.

Keep reading: there’s good stuff in the pipe.

© jessicareeder for Uprooted, an eco/travel blog, 2010. | Permalink | 8 comments | Add to del.icio.us
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