The rains of the Gulf Coast

We had some pretty good plans for our time in Louisiana. Our next stop was in Baton Rouge, a short drive from Lafayette, and there was an opportunity to see some of the surrounding sights. We started with a famed local cafe which was closed when we arrived.

With the rain coming down we chose a nearby burger shop and had some chili fries and got back on the road.

Pictured; wet things

We figured that if the rain didn't get any worse we would make a detour along the River Road and see some of the old plantation houses before looping back up to Baton Rouge for the night.

Pictured; very wet things

The driving was pretty intense. At no stage did the rain let up and we learned that Louisiana drivers will maintain their speed regardless of the conditions. The River Road was, we figured, a better bet. It would be off the highway and less hectic.

This was not correct. Across the Mississippi and away to the south, the roads were covered with water. Every corner had us planing through puddles. After just moments we turned around and made for Baton Rouge.

The bridge we used to cross the Mississippi

The town itself was charming. Our hotel had fresh cookies in the lobby and a restaurant around the corner had Creole-style tapas dinner. The Jambalaya balls were a bit of a highlight.

It rained all night.

Trucks and barbecue.

"I like y'all accent," the woman at the window said to Ali. She gave us the ticket for our order and waved us toward the pickup spot.
"I like your earrings," I wanted to say. They were shaped like Longhorns, the mascot of the University of Texas. But there was a long line of people behind us, waiting for their lunch.

You would have lined up too if you could smell it

Lunch in Beaumont was our second stop that day. Austin was behind us before the sun had crested the horizon. Our Nissan Versa struggled and strained to reach the speed limit of the Texan highways (between 60 and 75 mph) but once it got there it ticked over pretty nicely.

Highway photo

Not that you would know it as the constant flow of trucks and SUVs overtook us, hurrying on their way to wherever Texans are always speeding to get to. Pretty soon the houses melted away into fields and we were out in Texas proper.

That big sky they're always talking about is a real thing; with no hills or features to break the view, the horizon runs in a clear line the whole way around. Every way you look there's clear sky.

An extra lane joined the highway, and another. Support roads and on ramps were tributaries which fed more traffic into our flow. Explorers on a great river, we knew all that water had to be going to an ocean somewhere. The ocean was Houston.

Not enough highways in your life? Come to Houston!

Just yesterday we met a couple from Oklahoma who told us they have to drive through Houston once a year to get to Galveston. They said that it doesn't matter when you go through, what day or night, the traffic is always bad in Houston.

We were in town long enough to stop and buy some comfy clothes from a Sports Authority. Then we threw ourselves back into the current of the traffic, looking for away across and toward our next stop in Beaumont.

And lunch. (Watch out for the autoplay on that link)

Our Versa crunched along the gravel and every person in line turned to watch us approach. This was not, we realised, a regular tourist spot.

The looks were not hostile, just curious, and might have been as much about the car as its occupants. It certainly looked out of place between the Rams and F150s, a pony among the destriers.

We ordered ribs and beef combo and a "big ol' baked potato."

That's the potato on the left.

I'm not going to mess around. It might be, to this day, the best thing I have ever eaten.

We sat on the porch and ate with the glee of hungry people who have been given good food and no rules. We ate with our hands and with our fork. We traded dishes and traded again. Little was said.

Once we were done (not finished; no way would could have eaten that potato) we found the source of the smell. The smoke-house was out back, its aroma democratically spread throughout Beaumont, calling the people for links plus ribs cooked in delicious carcinogens.

God bless America.

In retrospect anywhere we went after that was going to be a disappointment. We crossed the border into Louisiana and were struck by the change in scenery. Louisiana is made of swamps and steel. The highway ran through miles of green punctuated by oil refineries.

At Lake Charles

It was cold in Lake Charles when we stopped for photos. We were cold in the photos.

Me being cold in a photo

With little to keep us there we hurried on to Lafayette. Part of the Acadian region and the center of Cajun Louisiana, Lafayette seemed like a good place to stop over on our elongated trip to New Orleans.

Across the intersection from our hotel was a little bar that we figured was worth a shot. We had our first gumbo, drank delicious beers and met some of the nicest people. The hospitality was what really took us by surprise. The staff were nice, people at the bar struck up conversation. A couple sitting next to us had just returned from New Orleans and gave us a list of things to do while we were in the city.

The gumbo and the bar were fantastic but for me the real take away was discovering that Louisiana has a thriving craft-beer industry. I had expected to switch out of beer-tasting mode when we crossed the state border.

Happy to be wrong.

Left my heart with flowers in my hair.

The long delay in Portland cost us an afternoon in San Francisco. There was no sunlight left when we hit Market Street to explore a little and find some dinner.

The next day we went into tourist overdrive. A quick breakfast in North Beach and we hoofed it uphill to Coit Tower for a view of the bay and obligatory photos.

Obligatory view!

Down the stairs and across the park toward the bay we stopped for a shot of the tower. The sun was in just the wrong spot for a lot of the photos we tried to take. Shots from the bottom of the hill worked out a lot better.

Better photo!

Then began a day of buses. The first took us from downtown to the Golden Gate Park; three miles by a half mile of public parks in San Francisco. We covered a fraction of that, taking in the art museum, the tea garden and the arboretum, a bunch of fountains and the amphitheater.

Fountains, yes! Touristing to the max!

Not that we went into any of these attractions, just cruised past at high speed and confirmed they were there, snapping photos as we went. The weather was on side; cool in the shade, warm in the sun, very dry. Across the road from the park we caught another bus straight up to the Golden Gate Bridge, which I had driven across on the last trip but never really set foot on.

Blue skies, red steel.

The bridge was very popular with families and visitors for the holidays; it was the last Saturday before Christmas. That was important, though I didn't realise it at the time.

A change of buses at Fort Mason and we began the long crawl back to Union Square. The bus took us through Chinatown and the funky tunnel which goes under the hills of San Francisco. To be honest we could have walked faster than the bus was moving. The traffic was so heavy we began to question what was happening ahead.

The last Saturday before Christmas is, as it happens, the second-busiest shopping day of the year in the USA. There were so many people in Union Square, and on Market Street, and in the stores, and on the street corners, and just... everywhere, that I do not believe there were any people anywhere else in San Francisco.

Though I hate to exaggerate.

Ali handled the crowds better than I did, and even steered me to do a little shopping (good news Rob I got you some undies).

That night we decided to cross into SoMa and try the food and beers at the Thirsty Bear. Tapas and a tasting board was a great combination, and in particular Ali really enjoyed the Panda Bear, flavoured with vanilla beans and cocoa nibs.

Mmm beers

The next day was street-car day. All destinations we visited were on the street-car route. Inside the Ferry Building we grabbed some coffee from Blue Bottle (good) and an Italian doughnut from a woman who was the definition of San Francisco attitude (not great).

Mum I didn't get this for you. Sorry.

The street-car took us all the way up to Fisherman's Wharf and the weather was wonderful again.

More blue skies...

We braved the tourists to get more photos on the bay and a little of the vitamin D we had missed so much in Portland.

Ali gettin' some sun.

The restaurants and duck tours and other shouted invitations did nothing for us. In fact there was only one must-see for us at Fisherman's Wharf - the Sea Lions. And they were putting on a show. Hundreds of them lay across Pier 39, sunning themselves, climbing onto boats and yelling at each other. While we watched a couple chased one another in the water and leaped onto the back of a yacht.

Sea lions do not respect personal property

The streetcar went all the way down to The Castro, where we joined the line outside Ike's Place for what we were told was the best sandwich we would ever eat. Thirty minutes in line but we were not disappointed. The food was so good we completely forgot to take a photo of it. Instead we sat in a park around the corner and enjoyed our lunch. The only mistake we had made was ordering a sandwich each. One was more than enough for two people. As it was, we wound up finishing them for dinner.

View from the Castro all the way to the Ferry Building

A coffee (or hot-chocolate) in the Castro and we were done. Ali stopped on Market Street for a few final goes through the shops and we were all San Franciscoed out. The next day the crowds would turn out for the last ever regular-season game at Candlestick Park, but we would already be in Texas.

Photos from the bus

The Coast Bus goes hourly from Bergen to Stavanger and back again. It uses two ferries to cross the fjords, goes over, under and around mountains and offers very few opportunities to get out and take photos. Except, obviously, on the ferry.

Very easy from the ferry

It was a good opportunity to see some parts of the country I haven't seen, with all its beauty and its danger.

Fair warning.

The weather out of Bergen was fantastic, bright and warm until we hit the second ferry.

The sky was almost blue.

After that, though, it started raining. It's been raining since then.

Brisbane, when it gushes

Good morning, Brisbane

I woke up at sunrise and, with no work to go to, decided to do some hill sprints up a the cliffs.  I figured I would take my camera with me, in case the river was doing anything cool.

This is where i usually run.

When I got up there, curiosity got the better of me and I instead ran from place to place, taking photos of the river.  I wasn't alone.  Every morning person in the city had come down to see how high the water had come overnight.  A crowd of us stood under the Captain Cook bridge and listened to the constant rush of water, punctuated by the hard crack of jetties slamming against pylons.

The Goodwill Bridge has become a debris collection point.

As I came down from the cliffs, the first thing I noticed was the smell; not foul or rotten, as the mangroves sometimes are, but silty.  Very silty, like snorting mud, until you get used to it.

These pelicans normally stand about a meter and a half out of the water.

Another crowd had gathered on the Goodwill Bridge, snapping photos.  Parents had brought their kids along.  They pointed and squealed at the jetties racing towards them, dashing to the other side to see them go, the world's biggest game of Poohsticks.

There is no Southbank.

In the city we could hear evacuation sirens competing for attention.  I had received multiple messages from work telling me not to go in today, and I am not alone.  Power was turned off at 7am.  I'm desperate to see photos from the CBD; I imagine it's a ghost town.

Photo speaks for itself.

A lot of people were simply going about their daily routine.  While I was taking photos, a half-dozen lycra-clad cyclists were turned back from bikeways several feet under water.

Why?

Oh.

The reappearance of the sun has brought with it the muggy air we associate with Brisbane summer.  I can only imagine what the mosquito population is going to be like once the waters go down.

The best game of Poohsticks ev- wait, does that jetty still have a boat on it?

I wonder how far it will get?

Around the corner, at Southbank, the promenade has disappeared. Shortly afterward the upper walkway also vanished under water.

I had no intention of crossing.

The closest I could get to the river at Southbank.

The Performing Arts carpark was a touch damp.

...probably not

I didn't try to get any further than the Cultural Center. I've seen a lot of photos from West End in the last few hours, and I think I did the right thing in turning back.

Water lapping against the Art Gallery and Museum.

Water levels are expected to peak at 3 this afternoon, so assuming I can still get in and out of my street I'll head back up to the cliffs then and see what I can see.  If you're reading this from outside the city, I hope this gives you an idea of what we're facing.  If you're in Brisbane, please stay safe and for the love of all things decent, stay off the roads if they're flooded.

High enough that the walkway has broken the sign.