We’re late, late, late. The Greyhound leaves in a hour; I’m still trying to construct a sandwich from the hostel’s breakfast buffet; we don’t actually know how to get to the station; and MY GOD, how has my backpack put on 7 lbs? Somehow we manage to make it with 15 minutes to spare – a damn good feat considering my London-Norwich Megabus track record.
Seven hours rolling down the interstate go by in no time. An obligatory holiday cold seems to make sleeping for four hours straight a doddle. In louisville the bus from the station passes through downtown, into neighbourhoods of clapboard houses and rocking chairs on every porch. We’re welcomed to our Air B&B by a young, hip couple who recommend every vegan restaurant the city has to offer. Pots of wheatgrass line the kitchen counter and there’s the sound of chickens in the yard. First impressions of Louisville are that we’ve hit the South – from here everything’s going to get a helluva lot more hospitable.
To The Table 