Dazed and Amused in Austin, Texas – Part I

I knew this could be a problem. Less than 12 hours after returning from my heart-thumping rendezvous with Santa Fe and Albuquerque, I departed for a first date with Austin, Texas. The pitfall of such brazen promiscuity? I’d gotten so besotted with New Mexico that I forgot to do any research or planning for Austin. I scooped up a few articles I’d printed out ages ago and scrambled to make my flight.

Now, as many of you know, this is highly out of character for this congenital planner. (I didn’t earn the nickname “Planny McPlannerson” for nothing.) Arriving in a place I’ve never visited without a guidebook, map or at least a heavily-researched list of ideas is frankly unprecedented. I was winging it, and I felt out of sorts. I also felt somewhat unburdened. I couldn’t be responsible for the success or failure if I didn’t plan it, I rationalized.

To be fair, I have gone on spontaneous adventures orchestrated by non-planner, Type B friends and significant others. And I enjoyed how they pulled me out of my comfort zone. But in those instances, I just followed their lead. This time I was meeting a college friend who rivaled me in the planning department. Shockingly, though, she confessed she hadn’t had time to look into Austin either. Gulp!

So here we were – two Type A control freaks in a rental car without even a decent map to pee on. For a panicky moment, I didn’t even think we had the address and directions for our B&B, though it turned out we did. The sensible thing would have been to rent a GPS with our car, but we gamely headed out with our crappy Avis map. Not surprisingly, we were soon muttering “This can’t be it!” and calling the B&B to find out where we’d gone wrong.

Fortunately, once we found the historic Woodburn House (built 1909), located in the venerable Hyde Park neighborhood, we realized we at least had a soothing resting place. With its double porches and yard full of pecan trees, things were looking up. Plus, our lovely room (a steal at $125/night including breakfast) was remarkably plush and period-appropriate without any of the bright floral prints or doilies you might expect. Instead, we got soft robes and plenty of surface space, a real luxury when you have toiletries for two women.

Yes, we were here, in a grand mansion surrounded by tiny Craftsman bungalows, but now what? Being in Texas, eating some BBQ seemed like a good first move. So we pulled out the laptop and headed to the upstairs porch to do some Googling. The air was warm and humid (an odd sensation having just come from arid New Mexico), and the reviews were equally confusing, pointing us to joints outside of town (e.g. The Salt Lick) for “the best BBQ in Austin.” With our paltry map, and the growing darkness, we balked at driving that far.

Eventually we gave up and decided to drive towards downtown. We were winging it, after all. We were soon rewarded for our intrepidness with Ironworks Barbecue, located in a former ironsmith’s shop south of the rowdy Red River District. (According to their website, they’re ranked #1 in Texas, but isn’t it funny how every BBQ place is rated “top” by someone?) We ordered the $12.95 sampler platter, which came with sliced beef, one rib, sausage, beans, potato salad, pickles…and a slice of white bread. Yep, soft, enriched sandwich bread like you’d buy at the grocery.

I was puzzled…and a little turned off. It wasn’t until I learned that the slice of bread was a deep South tradition – meant to sop up all the good stuff – that it made sense. But I still think it’s weird. Nonetheless, I managed to scarf up most of my ginormous platter (ignoring the bread) and still find room for the banana pudding. Sitting with our cafeteria plates on the screened porch, I was satiated - and staring to get a sense of Austin’s casual scruffiness.

Later, we motored through the downtown club area, where pounding hip hop beats spilled out followed by packs of kids who seemed very young. This is a mild concern when I think of living in a big college town (Austin is home to the University of Texas, with 48,000+ students) – namely, feeling old and saying things like, “This place is way too loud.” So not surprisingly, we instead chose a tranquil gelato bar where we could hear each other and catch up.

Normally, I wouldn’t question whether this was lame, but in a good-timer place like Austin, you feel a little ashamed. Tomorrow we’ll do better, we agreed. We just needed to find the part of town that was our speed.

Read on for Part II!

Desperately Seeking Santa Fe, New Mexico

I’ve been eager to return to Santa Fe since I started this blog in June 2008. My quest at the time was to find my geographic soul mate, and Santa Fe loomed as potentially “the one.” I’d last visited on a post-college road trip, and of all the places we stopped, it stood out as the city with the most unusual, peaceful lifestyle. And truly, there is nowhere like Santa Fe, which is why it’s ranked the second best place to live in America by Sperling’s Best Places as well the number four destination in the US by Conde Nast Traveler readers.


Since the start of the blog, however, a lot of things have happened. I’ve gone on dates with long-standing crushes (e.g. Charleston, South Carolina), old flames (e.g. New York, New York), and new, unexpectedly beguiling suitors (e.g. Los Alamos, California; Apalachicola, Florida.) I’ve thought a lot about the right size city, as well as other criteria like home prices, culture and airport proximity. And perhaps most importantly, I’ve questioned whether I should be looking to hunker down in one place for the rest of my years. After all, is that really a fit with my intractable wanderlust?

The result is that I’ve dispatched the notion of a “long-term match” in favor of “my next great affair.” My new vision is that I still have several more places to live in me, and I should be looking for a place to spend the next five or so years with. This has been a fundamental shift in thinking, as I don’t have to reconcile things like: could I live in an arid desert forever? Or, will I ever return to the East Coast? Or, what about my dream of living abroad at some point? Now, I’m looking for the stepping stone that will help me relieve my ticking “real estate clock" and grow as a person.

So how did Santa Fe sync up when I finally visited in March? Beautifully, in all ways but one: price. Despite New Mexico’s generally low cost of living (it’s the 27th cheapest state in the US), Santa Fe is not a bargain. It’s the most expensive county in New Mexico, and thanks to its far-reaching reputation and million-plus tourists per year, it attracts wealthy retirees, transplants and second home owners who help keep the housing prices elevated. Case in point: while the average home price in Santa Fe County is down from 2008, it’s still averaging $440,000 thus far in 2009. As a true luxury destination, it’s also not unusual to see $1,000/night hotel rates and $35 dinner entrees catering to the elite visitors seeking refuge here.

Beyond this $$$ revelation, Albuquerque emerged as an affordable, livable city (area population 845,913) not to be overlooked, and I saw that the areas along the Turquoise Trail in between the two offered nature, space and privacy, the latter being something that had recently jumped in importance after one too many days working from home to the sounds of construction, car alarms and hyperactive yip dogs. If it was within reach to have more room, more acreage and more serenity for as low as $115/square foot, and be within easy driving distance of both Santa Fe and Albuquerque (including the airport), wouldn’t that be the best of all worlds? The answer: YES.

So you could say my crush on Santa Fe has not be extinguished - it’s only broadened to include the surrounding area, which encompasses desert, forest and mountains. The great joy of a state with only 1.9 million people (making it the sixth most sparsely populated state in the US) is that getting from place to place does not involve any of the pain, frustration and incivility that driving 30 minutes or an hour within LA can invoke. It’s frankly therapeutic for this Angeleno to be able to drive 75 miles per hour without stopping. The difference is that you actually do cover 75 miles in each hour you drive, versus spending 20 minutes stuck in traffic only to move half a mile.

Thus, the conclusion of my trip was that I don’t have to live IN Santa Fe to enjoy it. I just need to be nearby. That way, I can still grab an organic/fair trade coffee at the uber-funky Aztec Café (pictured above), an amazing Ayurvedic stir fry at yoga-centric Annapurna (when you sneeze, they say “Blessings”) or some down-home BBQ and brew at the Cowgirl Bar & Grill. Or I can head to the historic Pink Adobe restaurant’s Dragon Room lounge whenever I'm craving the Rosalita, the best margarita I’ve had in years, which is made with cranberry and gran gala, a triple orange Italian liqueur.

Maybe I’ll even rent a hot tub at the Zen mountain retreat Ten Thousand Waves. Because the relaxing drive just might wear me out.

A Big, Dysfunctional Family in Madrid, New Mexico

Highway 14 (aka Turquoise Trail) is the scenic highway connecting Albuquerque and Santa Fe. You could say this is the route for non-commuters, lollygaggers, dreamers and, on the weekends in high season, tourists. Anyone who’s in a hurry takes Interstate 25 (75 mph), but blissfully, we were not.

Starting in Albuquerque to the south, you begin at the base of the Sandia Mountains, which tower over Albuquerque. (See some amazing photos here.) There is literally no spot that doesn’t have a view of them. You then unsuspectingly climb much higher in route to Santa Fe (7,000-feet high,), which is a fact is of no small significance. Though these cities are less than an hour apart, there is a ten-degree temperature difference due to the altitude. If it’s 70 degrees in Albuquerque, expect it to be 60 in Santa Fe.

The snowy shot above is me at Sandia Peak (at 10, 768 feet, the highest point in the range). You reach this point by car from the east (as we did), or by the world's longest aerial tramway from the west. At the top, altitude stupidity set in for us, producing some very silly photo-taking, as well as an impulse buy of a green turquoise ring at the gift shop. (For the record, I still love it.)

And yes, I said altitude stupidity, not altitude sickness. Although I did experience a few moments of dizziness and dehydration the first few days, what I experienced more intensely was feeling dumb as a rock. For example, I “lost” my cell phone, only to find it in my hand. Twice. Rather embarrassing stuff like that. So when people talk about the effects of altitude here (such as actor Seth Rogen, who said that his difficulty breathing while filming in New Mexico is the reason he had to lose weight), they really need to include a warning about this one!

As you get further from Albuquerque on Highway 14, the terrain changes from evergreen mountains fed by snow to high desert. Then suddenly you find yourself in Madrid, a town so kooky that it makes Santa Fe seem almost staid. The first clue? It’s pronounced “MAD-rid, not “Ma-drid.” The second? It’s almost entirely populated by artists, some 300+ of them. (A fact often quoted is that it has more artists per capita than anywhere else in the US.) “We’re a big, dysfunctional family,” one of them told us cheerfully.

A former mining town deep in a gulch, Madrid is like a Wild West outpost, freethinker’s refuge, art gallery and little bohemia all rolled into one. Every old house facing the road has been converted into a gallery or store selling art, sculpture, snacks and more. In many cases, the wares are out front, and the artist lives in back. Everyone know everyone, and with no more building permits available (due to a lack of water), the town has been saved from modern development.

Despite the tiny population, you can get a drink at the Mine Shaft Tavern, a coffee at Java Junction (also a hat shop and B&B) and a gourmet meal at The Hollar. You can buy all manner of art. You can even buy rent movies at the general store (pictured below). But more importantly, you can interact with lots of spirited artists. Some are incredibly friendly, others are wary of newcomers (one artist told us it took him five years to “get into the club”) and many are full of love/hate for the tourists who fuel the town. But it’s safe to say that not a single one of them seems to want to leave.

The same could not be said for the "ghost town" of Cerillos, just three miles north. From the looks of it, everyone has left. But it turns out that’s not really true, and those who do live here enjoy the façade of a deserted place. That way, no one bothers them. It’s spooky driving through a seemingly abandoned town that you know has people in it. (Mary's Bar, pictured below, is still operating, believe it or not, with 91-year-old Mary Mora behind the counter). There are walled compounds that contain hints of life, but not for your prying eyes to see. Compared to colorful, commercial Madrid, Cerrillos is the place to truly hide – not just from people, but from the present day.

Back on Highway 14, it isn’t long before we reach Santa Fe and are assaulted by the unimaginative, copycat nature of the modern world. (That is to say, the southernmost parts of Santa Fe developed in recent decades.). Strip malls. Starbucks. Or our Holiday Inn Express, built self-consciously to look “rustic” and “Southwestern.” Yes, it was perfectly comfortable and not unattractive, but who are they fooling?

Fortunately, downtown Santa Fe remains one of the most distinctive places in the world, with its twinkling artistry and singular architecture. It’s a bright spot in the sea of sameness, with Madrid as its most defiant satellite. But is it still my top geographical crush?

Stay tuned for the answer to that as well as a full report on Austin, Texas. (Sorry that I'm so behind!)

A Lifestyle Choice? Or Simply the Future?

As you may know, I'm a freelancer. I work for myself, and I work from home. I took the leap in 2005 in attempt to create a lifestyle that fulfilled me. I'm still refining exactly what that is - words like "freedom" and "balance" and "travel" often tumble out when I describe it - but I know that what I want does NOT involve commuting, workaholism or rigid schedules. A tall order, yes, but I've avoided all three more weeks out of the year than I ever did previously.

What's interesting, though, is how the traditional workplace has evolved in some parallel ways during this same time period. Three years ago, telecommuting was a novel concept. Today, it's the next cost-cutting frontier. Similarly, freelancing was seen as an alternative career for risk-taking or niche tradespeople. Now, even "full-timers" are turning to freelancing as a stopgap, supplement or entirely new path during uncertain economic times. Freelancing has hit the mainstream, you could say.

After talking to some friends at career crossroads recently, I sense that the workplace is poised for big change, as are traditional gender roles. With men constituting 80% of those laid off since 2007, and more and more women taking on the breadwinner role, something's gotta give, right? How can breadwinning women (especially mothers) work insane hours and still handle 75% of "domestic engineering"?

I don't know how it will all shake out, but I see "flexibility" and "lifestyle" being the key words moving forward. For evidence, I humbly submit a few headlines that caught my eye this week. Take a gander and let me know what you think the future holds.

Freelancing: A Real Option (Miami Herald)
As times get tougher, many are turning to freelancing and contract work, transforming a trend that was once a lifestyle choice into a matter of economic survival.

Telecommuting: Once a Perk, Now a Necessity (Business Week)
To cut costs, companies such as Capital One are pushing more employees, including even top managers, to work from home.

The Increasing Call for Work-Life Balance (Business Week)
Work-life balance is now the second most important driver of employee attraction and commitment, says CEB research.

As Layoffs Surge, Women May Pass Men in Job Force (NY Times)
With the recession on the brink of becoming the longest in the postwar era, a milestone may be at hand: Women are poised to surpass men on the nation’s payrolls, taking the majority for the first time in American history.

Career Women at Midlife: Sadder and Sicker (Business Week)
While women are securing greater power in the workplace, they are also growing less satisfied with their lives as they age.

Baked-in Artistry in Albuquerque, New Mexico

Within hours of landing in Albuquerque, it became clear that almost everyone in New Mexico is an artist. Or has artistic hobbies. Or champions art vigorously. Even the frozen yogurt place is a gallery.


As one gallery owner put it, “This is the most supportive artistic community you’ll find.” He wasn’t exaggerating. Of course, it doesn’t hurt that Santa Fe (45 minutes away) is the third largest art market in the US. Or that artists can actually make it thanks to the affordable cost of living. ($30,000 is “an abundant salary,” we were told.) But there’s more to it, and I’ve been ruminating on just that.

One visible clue is the state’s film incentive program, which offers rebates, loans and tax breaks. Not surprisingly, it’s made the state a hotbed for film and TV production. “We love filmmaking in New Mexico,” handmade signs read on the roadside. Apparently 28 films were shot in Albuquerque alone in 2008. While some politicians have been critical, the population remains enthralled.


But perhaps the best example of this artistic proclivity is the Golden Crown Panaderia, which we visited the very first day. Located in the Old Town section of Albuquerque, this tiny neighborhood bakery is a single-father-and-son operation that is guaranteed to make an impression – emotionally, olfactorily and gastronomically.


The first thing you notice is the wonderful smell (from the fruit empanadas), which prompts you to inhale deeply and soften a bit. Not that New Mexicans need that. But this overworked urbanite did. Then we were handed a free biscochito, a crispy butter cookie flavored with anise and cardamon. It's the endearing "welcome bite."

The father, Pratt, is a former CPA turned passionate baker. His signature green chile bread, which he’s holding below, has been featured in the New York Times, Gourmet Magazine and the Food Channel. It’s spicy. It’s rich (thanks to the parmesan). And it’s amazing. A loaf is currently sliced and frozen in my freezer, per Pratt’s detailed instructions. Salivating? Order it online here.


Having a famous specialty bread is just the beginning, though. The exuberant, indefatigable, 70-year-young Pratt also makes bread art. What’s that, you ask? Well, it’s making a horse and carriage out of bread for his son’s birthday. (See old photo below.) Or a bread turkey for vegetarians at Thanksgiving. Or bread busts of people’s heads. It was fairly astonishing to see all that one could do with bread.


Pratt mixes various dough to produce color variations (yes, all skin types are possible) and carefully orchestrates how the bread rises in his massive oven. He’s currently working on a bust of Jay Leno, he shares. Listening to this delightful raconteur, I felt my face hurting from smiling so much. I also noticed strangers striking up conversation and the convivial atmosphere infecting everyone. This was truly the “golden crown” that started the trip so auspiciously.


How did I feel around all this warmth and creativity? The word would have to be inspired. We talked to a guy from Ohio who decided to make custom water fountains – because he thought he could. We spent time in a shop specializing in Ukrainian Easter eggs. Nothing is too out there in New Mexico, and perhaps most importantly, there is the feeling that you can try anything because no one will judge you.


Soon my boyfriend was pondering the large-scale mobiles he’d build in the studio/barn, and I was listening to a female poet on New Mexico public radio, thinking, “I bet I could write a lot of poetry in a place like this.” In the dramatic high desert setting, with colossal mountains and endless views, it seemed easier to reflect on life. I guess that happens any time you can see for hundreds of miles and realize your own itsy bitsy role.


Thus, my first and strongest takeaway from New Mexico is that the possibilities seem as wide open as the environment and as optimistic as the people, who (teaser alert) would go on to eclipse Austinites in the battle for “Most Friendly.” Yes. Believe it. Who won “Most Weird”? That one’s going to a tiebreaker round, folks. Stay tuned!

Travel Reading Roundup

Photo credit: Tara Donne, Condé Nast Traveler

The small-town daydreaming just won't let up. Below are three things I really enjoyed reading this week. And surprise, surprise, they all are paeans to rural living.

Fairy Land
An exceptionally good article in this month's Conde Nast Traveler about the rustic charm of Northwestern Connecticut, worlds away and yet only a two-hour drive from NYC. Read about treehouse communities, raw milk aficionados and more.

Vespa Vagabond
A friend sent me this blog about a Bay Area photographer who drove cross-country on her Vespa as part of a planned move to NYC. One slight hitch - she fell in love with a small town in Wyoming and decided to live there instead.

Daily Coyote
This is the continuation of Vespa Vagabond. Wondering what a 31-year-old city slicker does after moving to a town of 300 people in Wyoming? Adopt an orphaned coyote and take amazing pictures of him, naturally.

Vote on the Coolest Small Towns in America

Every year, Budget Travel surveys readers to gain ideas for their "Coolest Small Towns" fall issue. Then they filter the candidates using the following definition:

A Coolest Small Town is a town of under 10,000 residents that's beginning to draw attention—and new residents—because of the quality of life, arts, and restaurant scene, or proximity to nature. We want towns with an edge, so think avant-garde galleries, not country stores.

As you can see, I'm not alone in hankering for small town life with a slice of sophistication. Nor am I the only one who believes it exists!

We are now at the next step in selection process, where readers get to vote on the finalists. There are currently 22 towns in the running for 2009's Top Ten Coolest Small Towns, and I've only been to one: the wily, mountaintop bohemia that is Eureka Springs, Arkansas.

So my vote is no surprise. But yours is. Check out the finalists - from Silverton, Oregon, to Owego, New York - and place your vote here.

p.s. Anyone been to Onancock, Virginia? I feel sheepish that I'm not familiar with the lone candidate from my home state!

Promiscuous Girl: My Back-to-Back Upcoming Dates

Time to stop fawning over certain cities - and actually go on some real dates!

I am positively giddy to announce that I will be visiting my top geographical crush - Santa Fe, New Mexico - in just a week and a half. This will mark our second date, the first being more than a decade ago when I was young and naive and had no idea what I wanted in a place to live. Now, we will meet as consenting adults.

Will there still be an attraction? TBD. In the interest of full disclosure, I will also be flirting with Albuquerque and smaller enclaves in the Northern New Mexico area. My yearning for wide open spaces needs to be put through a reality check.

Immediately after, I will be heading to Austin, Texas, for a first date. Comparison shopping at its finest. Both cities are known for being progressive, artsy and eccentric, as you can tell from the slogans ("Keep Austin Weird" and "The City Different", respectively.) Both cities are a cheap, non-stop flight from LA. And of course, because they are located in neighboring states that border Mexico, there are some cultural and regional similarities. Let's just say my new cowgirl boots go with either place.

But one major difference is that Austin is more than 10 times larger than Santa Fe - 1.5 million people versus 75,000. I'm hoping the contrast will (pardon the pun) help me nail down my size requirements.

Yes, it may seem a little loose to go straight from one date to another. But life is busy. I can only take one week off work, and that means it's time for a little speed dating.

Will lightning strike in either place? Stay tuned!

Final Impressions of Jax

I am heading back to California this weekend, so it's time to review my date with Jacksonville. Here are some observations...

Abbreviated – Locals don't say Jacksonville. They say Jax. Strangely, using the nickname immediately boosted my fondness for the place.

Populated – I find it puzzling that I couldn’t get a direct flight to Jax when it’s the most populous city in Florida (1.4 million) and the 12th largest in the US. What gives? Perhaps Orlando, two hours away and home to a certain mouse house, has stolen its thunder?

Spread Out – I thought LA was a sprawl, but Jax eclipses it. An oft-cited factoid is that it’s largest city in the US by land mass. Fortunately, you can take a major interstate highway (95 runs N/S; 10 runs E/W) to nearly every corner, though, so getting around is easy.

Multifaceted – Jax has many different sides. A sleek, riverfront downtown with high-rise towers. Older neighborhoods with live oaks and Spanish moss. Vanilla suburbs. Beach towns both tattered and upscale. Backcountry creeks and swamps. Very hard to generalize.

Large Middle Class – From what I’ve seen, the low cost of living, diversified economy and abundance of affordable, decent housing makes for a thriving middle class here.

Militarized – With a Naval Air Station, a Naval Ship Base and a Marine Base, Jax has the third largest military presence after Norfolk, Virginia, and San Diego, California. The military is the largest employer and contributes $6.1 billion to the economy here.

Damn Cold – Jax is supposed to have a humid subtropical climate. Ha! It’s been in the 30s, 40s and 50s the last month due to the cold front sweeping the East Coast. Everyone says this is highly unusual, but it shows North Florida is affected by continental weather.

Waterfront – As I mentioned in my last post, you’re not in Jax if you don’t see water. Thus, driving over countless bridges is a daily experience. One of the city’s nicknames is “Home of Seven Bridges,” as there are seven iconic bridges crossing the wide St. Johns River.

As for our chemistry, I'd have to rate it as purely platonic. No sparks. No signs of a future together. But that's okay. I have more dates lined up. Next up is Austin, Texas, the first weekend of March, and I'll admit - I already have butterflies.

Where the Wild Things Are in Jacksonville, Florida

For the past month, I’ve been based in Orange Park, a suburb of Jacksonville that the locals call “the OP.” But truth be told, I could be in any newish suburb of any mid-sized city. Everything around me is a franchise, from the hotels (Holiday Inn, Ramada) to the restaurants (Outback, Red Lobster) to the stores (Target, Walmart).

Sadly, this is the story of modern real estate development. A nationwide homogenization is in process, with every city following an identical formula. The sameness can be both familiar (“I know I can find it at Walgreens”) and disorienting (“Do I turn after the third or fourth strip mall?”). At times, you really could be anywhere.

I think this is why I’m so drawn to historic towns and neighborhoods – places with a look and feel that can’t be found anywhere else. Here in Jacksonville, closer to downtown, there are charming old neighborhoods like Riverside/Avondale, with its beautiful mansions along the St. Johns River, and San Marco, with its Italianate central square (pictured below) lined with unique, individually-owned shops and restaurants. (Incidentally, Bistro Aix in San Marco was hands down the best meal we’ve had in Jacksonville.)

But even out here in the burbs there are reminders of the way things used to be. A particularly colorful example is the fish camp restaurant genre. Apparently they’re common in the South, and usually situated in the location of a former bait shop or marina, but I had never encountered one before. Perhaps it’s because I didn’t grow up in a fishing paradise. But with the massive St. Johns River dividing the city in half, and creeks and offshoots all over the place, Jacksonville is a town full of water. It’s a small miracle if you drive 10 minutes without crossing a bridge.

So to get a deep-fried taste of the fish camp concept, we visited the two best-known ones: Clark’s Fish Camp (established 1974; pictured above) and Whitey’s Fish Camp (established 1963). Both are rustic waterfront shacks that have been expanded and adorned with dead critters, although Clark’s takes the latter to another level. It’s like a taxidermy shop meets Alice in Wonderland. Or a National Zoo of the dead. It’s hard to describe how over-the-top the embalmed scenery is, so I’ll let the photos speak for themselves. Suffice to say there are hundreds of once-living animals “roaming” the place, and there was even an angry bear leaping over my head as I ate.

The extensive menus are basically a list of fried __________ (fill in the blank with any seafood.) But fish camps are also famous for frying up exotic things like gator tail, frog legs, ostrich, turtle (“cooter”), antelope, rabbit, swamp onion and more. Having just watched Bear Grylls kill and eat a snake on “Man Versus Wild” – without breaking a sweat, of course – we gamely ordered two of Clark’s “Call of the Wild Appetizers”: fried kangaroo and boa constrictor.

The verdict? All weird meats do not “taste like chicken,” as the waiter described. The kangaroo tasted more like steak or venison, and if I didn’t feel so guilty, I’d have it again. The snake (pictured below) just plain sucked. It was flavorless and incredibly tough. We’re talking five minutes to chew one bite. I do NOT recommend it unless you’re really and truly starving in the Amazon.

My conclusion is that fish camps are a delightful holdout of the Old South. They’re lively, they’re down home, and they’re filled with locals, which is always a good sign. The adventurous menus may get your eyes bulging, and the taxidermied herd might make your hairs stand, but the trick is to just stay calm and order the catfish, people.