Charlotte

This is my last night in this city, I may well never return. I have been here a little over a week and I am surprised by the strength of feeling I have at the prospect of leaving. A part on me has come to love this place, the people who live here and the community that makes it the way that it is. I know I will miss this place.

Tonight, I wandered around the town to see again the places that I have begun to know. There is a cross-roads right in the centre of town with four statues that stand, one in each corner. This spot was where two Indian trading routes crossed, where the white man first met the native and began to trade. Nearby stands a building that housed the last Confederate Cabinet meeting that ratified the surrender to Union troops. There is a street that I have not ventured down and I think it is because of the lurid orange "Hooters" sign that advertises itself about half way down. Tonight I walk down and find the first Presbyterian Church, established by the first settlers . There is an old graveyard attached, most of the stones are unreadable, but I glimpse at names from home. Mitchell, Spratt, Polk, McBride and dates from 1770.

They came to this place and made it what it is. A restless, dour, easily offended people, but they were the best of us. We feel their loss even yet. I am glad that I came here to do them honour.

Shrimp 'n Grits

Today I went to meet a lady called Valerie Pearce. An attorney, she is Acting Director of the Children and Family Law centre. She was waiting for me at the entrance to her Office suite and she showed me into a conference room where around 10 people were waiting for me. Intelligent and with a fierce grasp of their subject, they asked questions of me for about an hour and a half. It felt a little like a job interview, except they were genuinely interested in what I had to say about the UK system. The children of Mecklenburg County are in good hands with these professionals to look out for them. Valerie, Kevin and Renee formed the core of the group and I sensed the passion that they brought to their work. They responded so well to my questioning that, had I been hiring, I would not have let them out of the room until they had signed a contract. That simple.

Around 1300 most of the group had to get back to work but Valerie and Kevin took me to lunch at Mervs. A busy noisy wonderfully atmospheric Soul Food restaurant. The food was amazing. Shrimp and grits, yellow grits mind, not the inferior white sort, was as good a meal as anything I have had in world class restaurants. Collared greens and mac and cheese had vibrant and loud colours and flavour, fried catfish with Yams was creamy and subtle. Okra and tomato, slimy yet satisfying. Fried Green Tomatoes as a starter. And all this within 30 minutes. I wanted to pay, but Kevin insisted. I am in his debt for the time he took to share with me and for his generosity of spirit as well as for buying me such a wonderful dinner. The name "Soul Food" is deserved, for mine felt nourished at the end of the meal.

Back at the office I momentarily forgot his name as we were saying goodbye. He had to remind me. I could see that he felt disappointed by this idiot who spent all morning in his company and couldn't even get his name right. I would go a long way to put that right, if I could.

Judge Lou Trosch

At 6'9"Lou is a big man, who moves with the ease and grace of the basketball player he was in his youth. He has the easy southern charm that is endemic in Charlotte but he couples this with a sharp mind and a deep sense on natural justice. If I were a child in trouble in Mecklenburg County, I would want to come up in his Court. I spent today observing his Youth Court. The American system is similar in many respects to the UK system, yet hauntingly different. In many ways it is perhaps more joined up and for this reason, it may well have the edge.

More later. I am in Starbucks and they are closing.

Deputy Chief Sheriff Felicia McAdoo

I've just had a meeting with the Chief Deputy Sheriff of Mecklenburg County. An African American lady of great grace and intelligence. It was a very useful meeting from the point of view of the study, as the Sheriff's Department deals directly with offenders and offender programmes. Again I have learned a great deal. It is a little disconcerting to note that she was armed throughout the meeting. I know it comes with the uniform, but the post is administrative and managerial. Is it necessary to be armed in such circumstances. It is not for me to question the practises of other countries and jurisdictions. It is a comment, no more than that.

More meetings coming up, so more later.

The District Attorney

Today I met the DA of Mecklenburg County. A very nice, hard working lady who has a wicked sense of humour, is an unsettlingly accurate mimic and who makes the law work on the ground for the children who come within her sphere of influence. She is also very articulate and I learned a lot about a very different system from her.

I have spent the last six hours writing up my notes and I know have a much better idea about how the individual projects I have been looking at fit within the system. Thankfully, I feel a little less thick and I am grateful to Mrs Long for this as well.

I also feel a great tiredness. To the County Jail tomorrow, early. So this is a short posting, I must sleep.

Elthestan

For some reason today, I have been thinking about Elthelstan, the great grandson of Alfred the Great. He was the first real King of England and he introduced fairly radical changes to the legal system that pertained at the time, many of which are with us to this day.

For example, he introduced a law that said if you were convicted of stealing and you were under 12 you need not necessarily be hung. He also introduced the concept of a period of imprisonment followed by a fine - which was quite radical for its time. On the down side he was quite keen on the trial by fire, water and the like, but hey, it was late 10th - early 11th Century.

I looked around Mecklenburg County Courthouse today, just to get my bearings. It is a new, very imposing building, built close to the jail, which is four separate but linked high rise blocks. The old Courthouse is nearby and appears to be undergoing refurbishment. The new one has quotations from the great and the good carved into it's walls, including some from a personal hero Cicero. His name means chickpea by the way, did you know that?

Anyway, whilst the footie is on and the hotel is quiet I intend to ready myself for the meetings tomorrow. I have noticed a lot more police and other security on the streets and all are armed. Still the place feels secure and people appear happy - there is no air of fear or the like. And so gentle reader, I bid you adieu until the morrow.

Trains

Raleigh has filled up in the time I have been away. There is a convention in town and the streets are thronged with people with lanyards around their necks. Most are in a holiday mood, but they move in groups and I feel unaccountably lonely. I resolve to move to Charlotte in the morning. I catch the 1150 train. From Raleigh to Cary, then Durham. About 20 minutes after we pull out of Durham the train slows and then stops. After 20 minutes we are told that the train been involved in a "pedestrian strike." The Sheriff's men and Paramedics make their way up the line, sweating in their gear. It takes an hour before we are released. The pedestrian is dead. Then comes Burlington, Greensboro, High Point, Salisbury and Kannapolis. The country is wooded and I spot a number of deer in the woods watching the train as it speeds by. We pull into Charlotte at 1610. By the time I get to the hotel and go for something to eat, the day is gone. On the way into town to eat I pass the NASCAR Hall of Fame. It has no interest for me, but it is a big building, futuristic and filled with fast, macho looking cars. I note it for a visit if things are quiet tomorrow.

Jason's Deli for pizza and cheescake, and a Dr Pepper. Then back to the hotel for admin, emails and preparation for the week ahead.

Chapel Hill is a nice city. A bit hippy but in a good way. The Uni is massive and fills a great proportion of the city. It has a stiffening influence on the local Southern pace and I here a lot of accents from Europe and the northern States. After a while I notice something else as well. People are not as friendly. I stop in the Carolina Brewing Company for an iced coffee. The brewing vats fill the space behind the bar and men work at stirring the wurst and boiling the mash behind the barmaids. The sample of wheat beer I was given was excellent and I loved the way the staff could talk in great depth about their products. I resolve to return at a time more conductive to consuming larger amounts.

Onto the botanical garden. There are a great many old trees in this city. None are cloaked in the Spanish Moss that you see in South Georgia and Florida, but I am struck by the incidence of disease, mostly fungal. Still most of the trees seem to cope well with it. I see a number of massive Lirodendrons with their familiar "cut" leaf that are succumbing to the rot and there are some Acacias that will not see another decade, but the oaks treat the fungus with disdain. I see red, white and willow oaks - all as large as the English oak I am so familiar with at home. There are some Hawthorns that look nothing like the fairy thorns at home and a number of hollies that I know not. I am glad I came, not least for the shade as the heat is already in the high 90's and it is not yet 1100. Little grey squirrels run around the grounds and up and down trees quite oblivious to the human traffic that darts around the place. They are smaller that the greys we see in the UK and a different colour of grey too, almost greenish. There are small birds that look like miniature pheasants, chipmunks and little sparrow like birds abound.

The afternoon is set aside for shopping. I catch a bus to the mall. The hotel staff are helpful, but incredulous that I prefer the bus to a cab, or a personal driver, especially as I will have to walk approximately 0.2 miles form the bus stop to the first shop. As I walk in the sky clouds over, there is a rumble of thunder and the first rain I have seen in many days falls in great waves.

Two hours later and I have had my fill of shopping. I step out into an atmosphere that resembles a sauna. The sun is out and steam fills the air. Within 10 minutes the road is dry but water saturates the atmosphere. Everyone looks as if they were out in the rain. Sweat pours from every pore. I am glad when the bus rolls up.

I go to eat and remember I have had no lunch. The heat numbs the sense of hunger. I set reminders for myself for tomorrow and reflect on how sub - normal this makes me appear. I wipe the reminders - I must still have some reservoir of pride left, buried deep. I make a mental note to find and drain it.

Tomorrow I head back to Raleigh.

Another day in Raleigh. This day there is more activity in the street. The banks and hotels that make up the downtown area buzz with people, but there is another element too. Street people are much more numerous here and there is an air of quiet desperation. "The Sir Walter" a once grand hotel on Salisbury Street, has been converted to social housing for the poor, it looks forlorn and ill at ease with its new role. Grand facades and gilt are defaced with warning signs and fire notices.

There is a free bus around the town, which is supposed to show the sites, the R ride. The windows are almost blacked out with a heavy black and green mesh and the bus is populated with the urban poor. I am the only tourist, the only white face. The journey takes about 10 minutes and I get off at the convention centre where I started. I walk up to the Governer's mansion. It is an old neo classical structure with many statues, cannon and other guns in the grounds. I even see two mortars and a naval 6 pounder. The grounds are surprisingly unkempt and there is need for a lot of small, inexpensive projects to be undertaken. The mansion is in the middle of a square and is surrounded by the offices of state, Education, Agriculture etc. It's a bit like a mini Whitehall and there are busy civil servants scuttling about between the buildings looking terribly important. I decide not to stay here any longer. I cannot get a bus to the University town of Chapel Hill with my bags and there is no train, so I get in the first taxi I see. It is driven by Abraham, from Eritrea. He has travelled to Europe and is interested in Ireland. I surprise and delight him with my limited knowledge of his homeland the Marxist dictator Meingistu and of the civil war that raged there for 30 years. We talk for almost an hour. About 30 minutes into the journey Abraham shows me where the University of North Carolina's land begin. Impressive. I am deposited outside the Carolina Inn. Chapel Hill looks lovely, like the prosperous campus town that it is. The Inn looks most inviting and I am struck by the fear that there will be some difficulty. I paid very little for this accommodation, but there are numerous valets who rush to take my bags, the place reeks of old opulence and luxury. But there is no problem, I am even upgraded! I decide to freshen up, make contact with a University Professor who works in the area of juvenile justice and who is the main reason that I am here and go for a stroll in the 104 degree F heat.

Raleigh is a strange place for a capital city. The train station is small, even by Irish country standards, but it is a short walk to the city centre. Whist waiting for my bag a lady looks over my shoulder and stares into the distance, "so that's where it is!" she exclaims. I look at her, puzzled. "The Pit, you know that restaurant thats always on the food channel. I knew it was around here". I see a non de-script single story, glass fronted building on the other side of the tracks. It does not bode well and I begin to sense a low, unpleasant vibration. It is the 05th July around 1730 and the town is deserted. There are numerous high rise office blocks and hotels but there is no-one about It begins to feel like one of those disaster movies, like "the omega man", or the vastly inferior remake,' I am legend".

To the hotel, a soulless block. I ask about somewhere to eat, as I have had eaten nothing since breakfast, and the receptionist recommends "The Pit". Once is coincidence, twice is happenstance, so I decide to walk the three block distance.

It is now 1830 and as I pass out of the lobby the heat hits me like a hammer blow. I meet no-one on the walk there, two cars pass. I open the door to a welcome coolness and the buzz of a good atmosphere. The place is alive. I get a seat, order one of the many speciality beers and soon after, begin to eat. I notice a blind man who is eating alone. He appears momentarily agitated. One of the waiters, a boy, goes to him immediately and they talk briefly. He leads him to the toilet and as they pass me I hear them talk in easy, unembarrassed terms. After he returns, he pays his bill and another man appears to lead him out. I wonder for a while what it is that strikes me about his manner. I think now that it was that he appeared content and happy, comfortable in his place in this town. Not special nor in need. He just belonged and no-one needed to be reminded of that.

This is not meant to be a food column but, Southern food is just so different from the northern varieties I have to describe it. First, I have been labouring under an illusion for many years. Barbecue, I am informed, was invented in North Carolina. It is, it appears a noun, not a verb. You eat barbecue, you do not "do" it. A hog (not a pig), is put into a pit whole with hickory and oak embers and turned every few minutes all night. The meat is then chopped finely and shredded. It is the product of this that is barbecue. Mine came with creamed corn, fried okra and collared greens. It was beyond delicious and as it melted into my mouth I think I finally glimpsed the meaning of soul food. There was a free starter of pickled vegetables, including watermelon rind, okra, beet, greens and a whole large white onion. I also got hush puppies (excellent!) and home made biscuits. I could barely move, let alone walk back to my hotel, but the city seemed much nicer on the return journey.

Tomorrow, the holiday is over and I hope to see this southern town come to life.

Zaika

Laptop issues resolved.

I meet with a man who runs a program that guarantees to take a troubled child and get them through college. He does good work, but I feel his methods are very specific to American culture and to the mountains. I am glad to have come here and I will report on the work that he does, but it is a dead end is as far as my work. In the evening the town becomes even more busy as people move in for the 4th of July celebrations. The park at the front of the Buncome County Courthouse slopes toward a stage and I estimate that 10,000 people fill the area. Don't let the name fool you. The Courthouse fills a city block and stands 12 stories high. Made in sturdy mountain granite, it imposes itself on the surrounding buildings who all seem to lean away slightly, as it afraid. The crowd is made up of families for the most part, but young people too. There is no drinking, children play around flowerbeds and the elderly are made way for by everyone else. It is done automatically, without thought or in expectation and unexpectedly, the gentle grace of these people touches me deeply. The show starts, the compare asks if there is anyone in the park from outside the continental US of A. About six hands go up including mine. We are welcomed by the entire park. Appelatchian music is played, bluegrass and blues. I feel in it the rhythm of the old country and the vibrancy of the new. But then a clog dancing troupe are introduced - average age about 12. Their energy and skills amaze and hypnotise me but some part of my brain ticks off the styles that have gone into the mix that has made up this art form. I saw clog dancers in Lancashire once who would easily recognise the foot shuffle that starts the dance and brings the dancer to the music, Scottish girls at any highland show today could easily join with these, their lost cousins and know by instinct the steps and jigs that complicate and stylise their movements around the stage. And as each dancer exited they turned and kicked one foot in a exact replication of the rearing horse movement that makes Irish dancing so distinctive.

The crowd are appreciative, young people dance along and as it ends the crowd move off to watch fireworks. I talk to a knowledgeable, educated man and woman who have come up from Georgia for the holiday. They are passionate about their roots in Ulster, but they know nothing of how their people came to this place, of Queen Annes Test Act of 1703, of the two great migrations of presbyterians in the 18th Century. They don't think it matters, I think they are wrong, but I do not say so. They are good people and I do not want to be hectoring or lecturing them. We part with mutual respect. The park is empty, as is usual there is no litter and delicate flowers and plants jounce in the gentle breeze as they did before.

I meet a man who is playing a strange instrument the next morning, at a street market. It looks a little like a small, thin lute and sounds like a dulcimer and although he is playing wonderful, original bluegrass music, I hear in its tones that it yearns to do more. It yearns to learn of the music of the Moors, and of the Desert. The man makes these from mountain oak, cherry and maple. I buy one for my boy as I know it will respect him and he will teach it well and that together they will shape the wood into a form of rare beauty and sophia in time.

I drive back down the mountains to Charlotte in the afternoon. The temperature rises steadily to 100 F by the time I arrive at my hotel. The car must go back in the morning, so I check in and go to sit by the pool to read my notes and make sense of my schedule over the next few days. The receptionist is a woman with a thick New Jersey accent and she helps me with many small but important tasks, like printing out my Amtrack ticket for the next day. She gives me a voucher for the steakhouse next door and I walk to the car to retrieve the last of my bags. Someone has scraped their car right up the side of my rental. It is badly damaged. The receptionist goes into mother mode (she is 67) and the police arrive. I make the reports and phone the rental company. It is late before I get to eat and my mood is low. To bed, but sleep eludes me. I lie awake for a long time listening to the cycads and I think much of my life and of the lives of others.

The next morning I give the receptionist a bottle of wine I bought in Laurel Grey. She is happy and I get a hug, so I am too. To the Amtrack station and to Raleigh. But first a little more about Charlotte and the vagaries and inconsistencies of history, and even that Zaika must wait until tomorrow.

To my faithful follower, who travels these roads as much as I.

I often forget how fate can play a role in life. I suppose we all live in safe, uneventful steps most of the time and there is no need to pay it respects. I went early the next morning (Friday 02nd July) to meet with a local official in Elkin who co-ordinates activities among groups of young people who have had experiences with the law, only to find that he was bitten by a Deer tick whilst out hunting. I am told that this is a bad thing, potentially fatal, due to the diseases such things can introduce to the body. The man is unavailable. I felt more than a little frustrated by this as I had travelled some distance to meet with this man, and I stopped on the street to think about what to do next. After a moment I realised a black man was waving me into the shop I was staring in the window of. It was a barbers shop and, as I was in need, in I stepped. Within a few sentences he had figured out where I was from and what I was doing in town. He "tol" me all about his shops (he has three) and how he had started them to provide training and employment for local youths who had trouble with the law.

"Man, fate brought you in mo shop this day" he shouted. He is 36, he committed a crime in Raleigh when he was 17 and is now a convicted criminal. As such he can hold no public office or job, cannot visit Canada, Mexico etc, and is barred from receiving and state or federal aid for his project. We talked for about an hour, and I promised to talk about him and his work to those within the justice system that I meet later in the trip.

I drive to Asheville, in the far west, high, high up in the Mountains. I have a 2.5 litre Nissan but it struggles to make it up some passes and I pass massive trucks crawling along in low gear, engines howling. On the down sections there are numerous escape routes for runaway trucks, signs advise cars to look out, and make room for fast moving trucks coming up from the rear. I take the advice seriously but there are no such incidences. But before arriving there, in the town of Boone (named after Daniel, an Ulster - Scot) I detour on a whim to Grandfather Mountain State Park. Wonderful walks, views and wildlife. Eagles, both Bald and Golden, abound. I see 3/4 bears and otters. I climb a trail and I am out of breath with only a little exertion. The air is thin and there is a sign telling me I am a mile up from sea level, on the highest peak in the Blue Ridge Mountains. It is a wonderful place. A guide told me on a clear day you can see for 75 miles. I believed him. This day was hazy, a bluish haze hung at about 25 miles distant, but such was the scenery, I could have stared until the sun went down and the big bears came out. I walk down to to car with a group of young men who appear wild and, if I had been at home, I would have described them as threatening. They are wild only with the joy of being young and living in this wonderful place and, despite my old man cynicism I feel a little of their lust for life enter me and I laugh in a way that I had forgotten I could.

I leave late and only make it to Asheville at nightfall. I go into the town to eat and I immediately like the place. It is a strange mix of art deco/victorian and modern buildings and it is HUMMING! ?About 30 djembi drummers have take over the central square and there must be 1,000 people packed into a tiny triangle of grass and park space, all swaying and dancing to the beat. I see the Park Warden in his van looking a little worried and then a Police Officer arrives in a futuristic electric golf buggy type thing. He is fat and he is wearing a very tight fitting spandex uniform with panels in dayglow yellow and black. It looks like a Jean Paul Gaulitier design. He appears hassled and sweaty. No one pays him the blindest bit of notice. There is no litter, no crime and everyone I meet smiles and is extremely polite, especially the teenagers, who insist on calling me "Sir". I step into a chocolate cafe for a chocolate pot and some cold sipping chocolate. There is a long queue but the young people who own and run the place keep the crowd entertained with a double bass, an acoustic guitar and a girl in a way too tight red dress signs. Others move up and down the line giving samples of their wares, which are among the best I have ever tasted (you should know that I am somewhat the expert).

Then I find that the town has TWO award winning chocolate manufacturers and 19 micro breweries.

I may never leave.

Winston Salem is a very spread out place. In common with a lot of places in the states, it has evolved around the car. Not necessarily a good thing. Old Salem a bit of a disappointment. Just for tourists. On to the Yadkin Valley. Yadkinville has three pawn shops, six attorneys at law and one Courthouse. The Courthouse is in an old failed mall, that looks like it had failed in a spectacular way. Not a good start. Things brightened up a few miles on. I came across a number of wineries, mostly small, independent wineries that have diversified out of tobacco, although I came across a number of fields all planted up with the evil weed. None of the wineries were older than 10 years, but for all that I found the wines interesting with bags of potential. If I had the money the wine region of North Carolina would be worth a punt.

I stop for the night in Elkin, a small mountain town that holds on to life with a determined grace. To the Elkin BBQ pit for food and I am offered "meat, (chopped or sliced) slaw, hush puppies and grits. The waitress laughs her leg off at me when I explain that I didn't get a word of what she was saying. I ask what the meat is to more gales of laughter (pork - its cooked in a pit overnight with a sauce. Only pig is used). Slaw, it turns out, is very finely chopped cabbage mixed with vinegar and ketchup. It was actually very nice. As for Hush puppies......I've written enough. More tomorrow my faithful follower.