Civil Rights Trip 2011: Do We Have Enough Kleenex?

So, this is Nashville, huh.  Looking out the window from the fifth floor of the Hyatt, it’s all green tree tops and pink flowers that may or may not be azaleas (they’re probably not).  It looks like Birmingham, but people speak with a different sort of twang.

“Y’all know what cicadas are?”  a man at the baggage claim inquired earlier today.  I shook my head automatically, because he pronounced the word “cicadas” as though it had many more syllables.  “Y’all aren’t from Nashville, are you,” he said with grim satisfaction and picked up a bug off of his luggage bag.  “That’s a cicada.  You can’t go outside without being surrounded by them.”

I backed away a couple of feet.

As soon as we got to the hotel, one of the students (Joey) stepped on a cicada while getting out of the shuttle.

Also, the shuttle driver used the word “y’all” more than 10 times per minute, which beats the record even for an Alabamian.  He was also definitely an immigrant.  Philippines, perhaps?  I can’t wait to get to Selma and see my Russian/Southern accent get out of hand.

Update:  I went outside and a cicada landed on me.  I tried to use a water bottle to get it off me, but apparently beating self with a water bottle earns you strange looks in the parking lot.

Author: Maria


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