Englishman Down South

The land of the boll weevil
Where the laws are medieval
Is callin' me to come and never more roam

- Tom Lehrer, I wanna go back to Dixie

That's right, y'all - time to head down below that Mason-Dixon line, where the word "well" has three syllables and where you can almost hear the banjo in the more rural areas. Yes, for the first time I headed to the South of the US, Georgia to be precise, to the city of Atlanta. Now, Atlanta's kind of a bubble when it comes to the South, as is the case with many large cities relative to their surrounding areas, but it was still an interesting and at times an eye-opening experience.

The occasion was the JETAA USA National Conference, to which I, as President of the New York chapter, was required to attend along with CJ, our treasurer. I flew out of La Guardia for the first time, getting into Atlanta around midday and eventually making my way to Buckhead in the north-east of the city where our hotel was located. As you'd expect of the South at this time of year, it was perishingly hot, well over 100° outdoors especially from noon til 3 or so. Thankfully, I wouldn't have to deal with this much as almost the entire time was spent in rooms with air-conditioning. One hates to think what the South was like before it was invented.

First day was basically about getting oriented, including an evening trip to a jazz bar round the corner from the hotel by the name of Sambuca. I'd been told by all and sundry how cheap Atlanta would seem compared to New York; unfortunately, this didn't really prove to be the case, though I still managed to find the wherewithal to sink far more alcohol than was really good for me over the four days. By about 9:00 the JETAA delegation were pretty much the only white people in there, which is not altogether unfamiliar for anyone who's ever been a JET. The $20 cover charge imposed, though, was enough to persuade us to leave for other parts.

The conference was much as you'd expect - two-thirds boring bureacratic and procedural stuff, one-third useful information. It did highlight how much better organised New York is than many of the other chapters; Florida, for example, hadn't known how to even apply for their funding last year, and Alaska were on the verge of being de-listed and hadn't sent any delegates. I get bored fairly easily by bureaucratic stuff, and wished we could have spent more time bouncing ideas for events, activities, or other programs off each other. A JETAA chapter is about what it does, not how it applies for its grant-in-aid, after all. For some reason, as you can see on the right, the photographers at the conference seemed to display a bizarre fascination with photographing me while I was eating.

And with CJ when he was eating too, as it happens. What's up with that?






My active involvement was limited to holding what Americans call a breakout session, which basically involves getting together in small groups to talk about issues of concern to chapters. I talked about "Membership Retention", dispensing nuggets of wisdom (no, really) to those who wanted to know how to get their numbers up. Not, of course, that we have to try that hard in New York - we're New York. We're cool. People come to us, we don't chase them.

Naturally, as I always do, I lit up the room with my sparkling wit and effervescent charm. Much hilarity ensued.






This was followed by a reception at the Consulate General in Atlanta, at which the gin and conversation flowed in equal measure. I think the foundations for near-disaster were laid at this point, really. I didn't eat as much as I really should have, and, well, as generations of Englishmen in India before me discovered, gin and tonic goes down really, really well when it's swelteringly hot outside.

You can probably guess what happened after we got back. I also seem to remember unloading a cartload of good-natured invective on Western country rep Shannon, who's in the middle of the photo right at the very top, and who was giggling away the whole time, being already three sheets to the wind by this point. I remember we went to a couple of bars after this, but my recollections lack detail for some reason. I do know that shots were done at one point, and I also recall walking past a shop called John's Firearms, which I'm fairly sure is the first gun shop I've ever seen in the States.

Yes, for paradise the southland is my nominee
Jes' give me a hamhock and a grit of hominy.
I wanna go back to Dixie, be a real ol' Dixie pixie
And eat corn pone til it's comin' outta my ears - Tom Lehrer

Anyway, feeling a little delicate the following morning, we had a talk from a rep from the Atlanta returned Peace Corps volunteer group (just like JET only you don't get paid). Much of the rest can be safely skipped over til the evening session, which featured some good ol' southern cooking at a semi-legendary place in Atlanta by the name of Mary Mac's. Everyone in Atlanta knows this place, apparently, and no doubt, the food was great. Chicken and dumplin's, fried okra, fried green tomatoes, corn bread, roast turkey, candied yams, meat loaf, gravy, all the fixin's. It was wonderfully tasty (though incredibly heavy, especially on the carbs), not dissimilar to a Thanksgiving dinner, especially in the food coma it induced, which wasn't helped by the lack of sleep the previous night. Let the record also state that the lady delegates looked resplendent in their yukatas; a few of the guys were even wearing theirs, though I had left mine in England. There then followed a salsa lesson at a club back in the bar district; a distinctly ill-advised choice, considering the quantities of carbs sloshing around in our stomachs. I trod on quite a few toes - literally, not metaphorically, but I think I managed to make at least a start. As those of you who have seen me try to dance know, I am not a natural.

That was more or less it for the conference itself, really - all that remained was to have the Eastern conference the following day, at a very swanky Japanese restaurant out in the middle of a load of pawn shops, gentleman's clubs and porn shops. Not too surprised at this, really - I've always felt that parts of the South had a somewhat schizophrenic attitude to sex. On the one hand, naturally, there's the Bible belt influence and all it stands for...on the other, there's the old Southern Colonel asking his guest "Well, sir, shall we have a mint julep, or shall we retire to the hoahhouse?" If you know what I mean.

Anyway, it only remained for me to come back to New York, and in doing so I fulfilled a minor long-held aspiration of mine, namely to fly in something other than economy class for once in my life. American Airlines offered me an upgrade for the princely sum of $90, and not only did I take it, I charged it to JETAA, too. Happy Days. OK, it's not First Class on BA, but at least I got some legroom for once.