This year, being from California and thinking myself superior to people from all other states, I condescended to take a trip to Arkansas and Mississippi. My reasons for this trip were twofold. First, I wanted to explore the area around Hot Springs, Arkansas as a potential retirement location. Second, I wanted to visit Greenville, Mississippi where my father grew up in the 1920s and 30s. Conveniently there were two musical interests attached to this trip; Hot Springs, Arkansas hosts a famous classical music festival each summer and Greenville, Mississippi is in the heart of the Mississippi Delta, birthplace of the blues.

Even though this was my first trip to the South I knew exactly what to expect. After all, I used to watch The Beverly Hillbillies so I already knew how people in the South dress. Not only that, I have seen the movie Deliverance several times so I knew exactly what to expect with respect to behavior and interpersonal relations. My education on the South has been further refined by other movies, cartoons, jokes, and eating a lot of Kentucky Fried Chicken. In short, I was full of assumptions but actually knew nothing.

Arriving in Little Rock I was surprised to find that either everyone was a tourist or that Arkansans don't really dress like Jed Clampett. The people seemed to be pretty normal and friendly, but of course they talked funny. With luggage in hand I proceeded to pick up my rental car, a bright red 2007 Dodge Charger with no license plates. I immediately knew that driving a car with no plates in the South would land me in jail or at least warrant a severe beating by the local officials. Both of these suppositions later proved to be untrue.

I was also very worried about landing in Little Rock at rush hour and having to find my way out of the airport and over to Hot Springs. My detailed Mapquest directions proved unnecessary after the rental car lady pointed into the distance and said, "Go to that sign and turn right. That puts you on the road to Hot Springs." I immediately discovered folks in Little Rock must have different work schedules than we do in Los Angeles. By enlightened California standards there was no traffic at 5 p.m. on a Monday.

Hot Springs is a beautiful resort town in the low mountains. During the 20th century it became famous as a retreat for mobsters, politicians, and other undesirables. Arriving in Hot Springs (The Boyhood Home of President William Jefferson Clinton) I found my hotel and discovered that it not only had electricity but even had computer terminals. Until that time I was convinced that only Californians were qualified to use computers. My first dinner in Hot Springs brought more surprises. There was actually pretty normal food on the menu even though there were more deep-fried offerings than we have at the tofu bar in California. Encouraged by the possibility that southerners were pretty normal people I returned to the hotel and slept well.

Without exception, I found the Arkansans to be endlessly polite, sweet, friendly, and helpful. My different accent frequently brought the question, "You're not from here, are you?" I had to explain that I was just a California boy in search of the true South and might also like to find a piece of bargain real estate.

Here are a couple of important warnings to non-southerners traveling in the South:

First, strangers of all kinds will greet you in passing on the street. It is unnecessary to scream and run the other way. According to local custom you are in fact expected to return the greeting. This is unsavory and takes practice but after a fashion can be tolerated, even if not approved of.

Second, the Arkansans seem to have a quaint notion about real estate compared to us enlightened Californians. Don't laugh, but they think that houses in general should be of quality construction and beyond that should also be affordable. This degree of culture shock took a lot of getting used to.

The annual classical music festival in Hot Springs draws top-level professional musicians from all over the country. I really can't understand why I have never been invited but all professional jealousy aside, after hearing the musicians conversing in restaurants I was reminded too much of faculty life at the university and decided not to partake. Then I was informed that a major motorcycle rally complete with real biker dudes and their dudesses would be taking over the city for the next few days. I took this as a cue to get in the car and head to Mississippi.

Greenville, Mississippi is about 150 miles southeast of Hot Springs and is located on the Mississippi River. Gradually I left the beauty of the low Arkansas mountains and descended into what seemed to be the steam room of Hell, an area known as the Mississippi Delta. Greenville is incredibly hot and humid but is quite pleasant if you just stay in your air-conditioned hotel or your air-conditioned car. All outdoor activity should be completed before 9 in the morning. Sadly, the formerly vibrant downtown area is all but abandoned thanks to the arrival of such institutions as Wal-Mart.

Exploring this old river town was actually a wonderful experience. I just had to visualize it as it probably existed many years ago. Locating the town historian and bookstore owner, I discovered many interesting things about my father's past. A high school graduation picture from 1938, essays written in his senior year, etc. Unfortunately I discovered that my dad's lifelong claim to being mayor of Greenville by the time he was 14 years old was a slight exaggeration. Neither could I find any evidence that he really owned and operated several large riverboats as he has always claimed.

These discoveries didn't really surprise me. I always guessed that Pop was lyin' just a bit about his boyhood accomplishments. Eating at Buck's Café, one of the local soulfood places, it became apparent to me why Mississippi has the highest rate of obesity in the nation. How can food be so great yet so unhealthy at the same time? My light lunch at Buck's consisted of ribs, mashed potatoes, green beans, cooked cabbage, cornbread, and peach cobbler. I inhaled it in about 30 seconds then prayed for forgiveness for my gluttony. After my prayer I asked Buck what time he started serving dinner.

My next impulse was to drive north through the Delta and visit Clarksdale, home of the very fine Delta Blues Museum. Clarksdale is also is where the famous "crossroads" of I believe Robert Johnson lore exists. There is now a long traffic light at the famous crossroads. This gave me ample time to get out of my car and briefly make a deal with the devil. I offered to trade my soul for some cooler weather and a little breeze. It really didn't seem like too much to ask.

The Delta Blues Museum is fascinating. Anyone interested in the history of the blues should visit it. Also, the Alan Lomax documentary film called The Land Where the Blues Began gives a fantastic picture of the Delta region and it's blues history and should be seen by anyone interested in American roots music. After Clarksdale, I drove north, re-crossed the Mississippi River at Helena, Arkansas and headed back to Little Rock for the return trip home.

This surprisingly turned out to be one of the best and most interesting trips of my life. Looking back on it I believe that the reason for this is that I have never met and visited with more honest and kind people in such a short period of time as I did on this trip. The history of the region combined with the extremely healthy food proved to be a winning combination.