Out of the mountains, it's a different feeling. First of all, it's hot. Damn hot. Africa hot. No breezes through the treeses, just dense clouds of mosquitoes. So the weather is different.

Also, we can move much faster. The mountains were a serious challenge for the Badunk, now that we're on the piedmont, or coastal plain, or swampy marsh, or whatever it's called, the roads have straightened out, the hills have flattened, and we're cruisin'. The windows go down, the music goes up, and we feel like Forrest Gump. Or Hunter Thompson. Maybe some combination of the two. The innocence and how do you say, joie de vie, of Gump and the drug-addled, completely paranoid freakiness of Thompson. It's a real roller coaster ride.

We're moving through some weird country. Sticking to the small roads we go through towns where we're pretty sure they've never seen anything like us before. Anthony has taken to leaning most of his body out of the window and whooping at people in the distance, arms raised in triumph, which probably hasn't helped our quest to blend in. Mostly, people have been friendly. A guy walking across a parking lot said, "You're a long way from home, ain'tcha?" "Yup," said Anthony, with a chuckle. "Welcome." said the man. We felt genuinely welcomed to that parking lot. Nice man.

It turned out we weren't, as they had not a single Fudgesicle in that church, and that's what we were looking for.

After several hours of cruising we arrived at the ocean. Myrtle Beach is like Ocean City, Maryland, or Ocean City, New Jersey, and strikingly similar to North Myrtle Beach. Besides the ocean, the choices for entertainment range from golf to miniature golf, and everything in between, which of course includes strip clubs. We'll probably stay towards the mini-golf end of the spectrum.

Liz's First Ever Waffle House	Junkiest House Yet	Less Fine, Less Art, but stil nice
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