Begin the Begin

When I first arrived in South Asia I stayed near a Spanish Fort in Cochin, India. The first night of this trip I found myself in Spanish Fort, Alabama. Unfortunately, while both may have been erected by the Spanish (lovers of forts the Spanish), there the similarities end.

Where Fort Cochin India had cantilevered Chinese fishing nets, massive, ancient trees and endless thalis of fish and sauces, Spanish Fort Alabama can only claim corporate chain restaurants and shoddy, overpriced motels.

About the only real upside to the southern Alabama I’ve seen is the plethora of rainbows — double rainbows, single rainbows, rainbows where the beginning and the end are visible, rainbows that came down and ended right in front of my truck. Sadly, not a pot of gold to be found.

We left town on the fourth of July — what better day to start a road trip around the United States?

I’m not an especially patriotic person, but, were I patriotic about anything in the United States, it would be the land. There are few, if any, other places on the earth with the diversity and beauty you’ll find in America. That is, I suppose, what we are all looking for when we travel — beauty. Beauty in places, beauty in people, perhaps even beauty in ourselves.

The first day we drove as far as Spanish Fort, near Mobile on the Alabama coast. The next morning we started out early, cutting off the interstate in favor of the coast road, down to Gulf Shores to have a last look at the beach before BP’s oil spill washes ashore.

Gulf Port already feels like a ghost town. Hardly anyone seemed to have spent their fourth on the coast, hotel parking lots were empty, the roads virtually deserted and we had the white sands of the beach to ourselves. At the actual port the shrimp and fishing boats sat idle, some already being pulled into dry docks, avoiding the coming oil.

Further down the coast we saw the first cluster of what would be turn out to be hundreds of orange-vested people wandering the beaches, some with plastic garbage bags fluttering in the wind, others with rakes thrown over their shoulders, all waiting. There is nothing to do just yet. For now the oil is still at sea. But the weather forecasts put the oil onshore either tomorrow or the next day.

Across the street from the beach are the remnants of another disaster that arrived from the sea — hurricane Katrina.

It’s been nearly five years, but Gulf Port is still littered with empty lots that look like scars amidst houses that remain. Empty foundations are half-obscured in weeds, brick porches lead to nothing, empty swimming pools are cracked, plants growing out their drains. Here and there a tire swing hangs from an Oak tree, still waiting for someone no longer thinking about returning.

And somewhere out at sea the next disaster is getting ready to arrive.

I wander the beach for a while, watching the morning sun stream through the dark, sullen clouds that cover the horizon in every direction. I’ve never seen an oil spill, just pictures and video. It’s hard to imagine all the what this beach will will look like when the oil and dead animals begin to wash up.

For now it is just sugary white sand that squeaks under your bare feet. Small waves lap at the shore, then hiss softly as they retract back to the ocean.

I return to the truck and head off again, west — always west, into the future as it were. The road winds along the shoreline. Buses and volunteers are stationed every few miles. The shoreline will be temporarily destroyed, it is a tragedy, all the moreso because it need not have happened, but there are people here who do their best to right the wrongs.

The land may be beautiful, but it’s always in peril. Fortunately, there are people trying to protect it, to restore it, to preserve it. The light turns green and beach begins to fade in the rearview mirror. It’s a somber, but perhaps not inappropriate, beginning for a trip around the United States.