It’s that time of the year. No, not November-guess again. It’s time to make your airline reservations and then go stand in line at the airport, because by the time you’re done getting cavity searched in the name of airline security and cleared for takeoff, Spring Break 2003 will be nigh upon us. We at the Voice have come up with some destinations well worth visiting this March-all in the continental United States, so you can avoid having to convert your dollars into play money or learning one of those unintelligible “foreign languages” like the one your Spanish teacher is always going on about. Seven exciting locations to choose from, each of which would provide the perfect backdrop for getting freaky with the jiggly-paunched citizens of our fine nation.
Not just an invaluable travel guide for the ecumenical thrill-seeker terrified of spending a week with their family, the Voice’s Spring Break Guide is also an excellent example of why the American heartland hates the liberal media, and vice versa. So if you’re tired of whoring yourself out to Carson Daly for a shot at making it to MTV’s Spring Break (trust us, it doesn’t work) you might want to check out our guide to some of the finest nooks and crannies to be found in America’s own big, beautiful backyard. Just try not to step in any of the dog poop along the way.
Pensacola, Fla. As the crystalline waters gently lap the sugar-white sand, a soft humid breeze will greet you, letting you know you’ve reached paradise. While this isn’t a Spring Break Mecca like Panama City Beach, Fla. or South Padre, Texas, Pensacola is a gem for travelers who are striving to get away from the hustle-and-bustle of more touristy destinations. Stretch out on a beach chair, sip a Corona, and toss your cell phone into the water. With temperatures averaging in the low ‘60s at the beginning of March, strap on your sexiest wetsuit and head to the beach.
If the beach gets too hot and steamy (tattoos, beer and Staind records will do that), head inland to the Brownsville Assembly of God. With a record-breaking ongoing revival, this religious hotspot attracts stringent Christians from all over the world. Pick up a souvenir “Yes Lord, We Will Ride With You” bumper sticker on the way out.
Check out Joe Patti’s Seafood for some world-class shrimp from the Gulf of Mexico and great advice on tax evasion. Local legend Frank Patti (descendant of Joe) “forgot” about a one million dollar check in his desk; people leave those lying around all the time. If you’re in the mood for a sit-down restaurant, try the Fish House, where they serve-gasp!-seafood. You will be seated by a cute hoochied-out 15- or 16-year old girl in revealing clothes, a Fish House staple.
Ever wondered if you are good looking? Well, ladies, get a chance to hear the truth from Pensacola’s finest bartenders at Seville Quarter, a collection of seven different bars in one complex. At Rosie O’Grady’s Goodtime Emporium, a New Orleans-style piano bar, ladies ascend stairs to go to the bathroom, and if the bartenders approve, they ring a giant bell. Holla!
Though the Redneck Riviera lacks any major sports franchises, we do have arena football. In addition, this panhandle city is home and birthplace to several sporting superstars such as Roy Jones, Jr., Emmitt Smith and Florida Marlins reliever Tim Spooneybarger. A Navy town, Pensacola is also home to a world-famous airplane squad, the Blue Angels. Stop by the Naval Museum and check them out in person, and don’t forget to pick up an “I’m a Little Angel” t-shirt while you’re there! Visit once, and you won’t want to leave. On second thought, yes, you will.—Gina Pace
Pittsburgh, Pa. Pittsburgh, the jewel of Southwestern Pennsylvania—home of rusting factories and dirty river water, not to mention one of the stupidest accents yunz’ll ever hear. If your travel plans afford you the opportunity to visit this mecca of rust and urban decay that is the “Grey City,” be sure to bring your sunscreen, because with an average of only 235 cloudy days per year, you’re bound to get a healthy tan.
Where is the best place to stay in Pittsburgh? Philadelphia. Located a scant 320 miles from the downtown Pittsburgh area, Philadelphia is the ideal location from which to enjoy Pittsburgh’s lack of an arts scene and cloying desperation.
Worried about safety? Don’t be—with one of the most viciously racist and excessively violent police forces in the nation, you can be sure to enjoy your stay in comfort. Unless you are a minority, and then don’t be too surprised if you get the crap kicked out of you. With its polluted rivers (we’ve got three, beat that!), declining relevance both on the national and world scene and buxom young skanks aplenty, Pittsburgh is a fun and fresh alternative to more traditional Spring Break locales that stress fun, sun and not living life in a state of spirit-crushing depression. And that’s not to mention a number of sites and attractions to make even the most jaded college student or world-traveler say, “Goddamn, this is boring.”
Witness the beautiful U.S. Steel Tower, intended to be a shining silver beacon dedicated to the wonder metal that transformed Pittsburgh from nothing into something and then back into a soot-stained nothing just as quick. But apparently the steel company didn’t know that steel oxidizes in the air, leaving a brown monolith to tower over the city as a monument to not thinking things through.
Hey sports fans, we’ve got two new state-of-the-art stadiums to house the sub-par Pirates and the competent Steelers. And with more science, art and history museums than you can pretend to care about (including the Andy Warhol Museum, dedicated to all that is the antithesis of artistic creation and evolution), you’re bound to be dragged to some exhibit with dubious educational value that is sure to kill your afternoon (you’ll be glad its gone). Yes, the party never starts in the world’s 160th largest city, but you’ll be too busy praying for death to notice.—Scott Matthews
Enough about golf. If golf is the purpose of your trip to Augusta, realize that you might as well travel to London to have tea with the Queen. That trip would make more sense.
Not that traveling to Augusta for any other reason makes much more sense, but just keep your mouth shut and play along. The only thing Augusta whores out as frequently as the Masters is James Brown, who owns a sick joint downtown called the Soul Bar. The Soul Bar is like Madam’s Organ except the music is more, well, soulful. Brown owns the place, and papa don’t take no mess. The bar is literally covered in posters from the last 40 years of Southern music—R.E.M., Little Richard, Otis Redding, the Black Crowes and plenty of lesser-known ministers of soul. The beer is beautifully cheap ($7 for a pitcher of Guinness, $1 for a bottle of PBR). If you don’t like PBR, then go back to sipping your lame-ass cosmo at Paolo’s with all your other Euro-trash friends. This is the South, so leave your sissy drinks and your tight black pants in Village C. If you’re really up for a cultural experience, the Bar sells 40 ounces of malt liquor for $3.
The only other thing we can suggest you do is go to our favorite fried chicken shack-Wife Saver. That’s right, the place is called Wife Saver: saving the wife from, uh, having to cook dinner, cause if there’s not supper ready when pops comes home … well, clearly the restaurant was named in a by-gone era. Whatever. The point is, this food will save your soul. Fried chicken, collard greens, fried okra, mac and cheese, smashed potatoes and sweet tea (sweet tea is the product of this crazy idea to add sugar to the tea before you make it cold, thus making the tea actually taste sweet instead of decorating the bottom of your glass with white powder). The slogan of the place is, “Put a Little South in Your Mouth,” which is a whole lot less misogynistic than what goes on at your average G’town party between some rich kid from Connecticut and women wearing the aforementioned black pants.–Redding Cates
Warner, N.H. If you are looking for fun this Spring Break, then New Hampshire is for you. Specifically, the small central New Hampshire town of Warner is the undiscovered hot spot, so be the first to tap all its wonders. While March usually isn’t spring weather yet in New England, there are plenty of fun winter activities to keep you occupied during your stay. A favorite is drunken snowmobiling—”bilin’” to those in the know. This entails getting lit with twenty or so of your closest buddies, and then driving around on the back roads that connect all the state liquor stores to keep fueled up on the ride. Then come back to Warner and build a big bonfire on the covered bridge and run over small house pets. Kick ass!
If spectator sports are more your thing, be sure to check out the local lumberjack events. Ladies, this means lots of brawny, bearded, flannel-wearing men competing in various lumberjack events such as tree-felling, log-chopping and log-pulling. Guys, if you are feeling frisky you could try and enter one of these events, but we warn you that most of the contestants have been wielding axes since the womb. Check local listings for the lumberjack contests as well as demolition derbies.
Of course, one can’t drink and snowmobile the whole time, so when you’re ready to crash, head for Warner’s only bed and breakfast. Otherwise, your best bet is the EconoLodge 20 minutes away in Concord. Dining options are a wide array of fast food restaurants, as well as chain offerings like The Olive Garden. My favorite Concord dining spot is The Beefside. Don’t let its shady location on the strip of pawn shops fool you. So put on your flannel, rev up the snowmobile and prepare to enjoy Spring Break the New Hampsha way.—Nina LaBelle Cicero
Richmond, Va. Richmond assaults the senses, demanding to be tasted, explored and heard. A dynamic city of abandoned factories, measured urban sprawl and dirtball rednecks, this former capital of the Confederacy boasts some of the most racist and conservative citizens of this great country. Explore downtown, full of failed economic development initiatives and home to one of this highest murder rates in the nation. Racial tension here isn’t just a phrase—it’s a way of life. Attractions abound in the city, including the Museum of the Confederacy, several monuments to Confederate generals and almost weekly Civil War reenactments. On the outskirts of the downtown area lies Cary Town, where sophomoric hipsters demand your attention and trendy boutiques demand your money. Visit Plan 9 records, where young Strokes-impersonators will reluctantly buy back your Big Willie Style CD for two or three dollars. Afterwards, try one of the several ice cream shops along Cary Street, but watch out for those bums.
Sports fans will want to check out the Richmond Braves, former home to such stars as John Rocker, Otis Nixon and Larry Wayne “Chipper” Jones, Jr. If you tire of baseball and tank tops, travel a short distance and take in some minor league hockey courtesy of the Richmond Renegades. They might get in a fight, but probably not.
Having taken in the stab wounds and urban squalor, leave the downtown area and travel just a short distance to the suburbs of the West End, home of large brick houses and the Country Club of Virginia. There wealthy and established Richmonders wine, dine and golf without the nagging influence of the middle-class or racial minorities. For those less privileged, the best places to eat and drink are probably 7-Eleven or Applebee’s, both affordable and casual for the sweatsuit-wearing patron. Sample the Pina Colada Slurpee or a bag of Ranch Doritos.
A short drive over the majestic and brown James River will take you to Chesterfield County, where most of the locals enjoy pubic mustaches and underage pregnancy. If you enjoy the wilds of Southern nightlife, gentlemen’s clubs like the Paper Moon should hold your attention, even if you’re traveling on a budget. Just don’t throw dimes at the strippers. If crimped hair and nudity aren’t your thing, then get ready for a fun-filled night of driving around with your friends and talking about playing laser-tag.
Tourists beware: Do you demand respect for you Harvard education? Sorry! Never heard of ya! Unless you went to “The University” (UVA), you may as well give up all hope for any respect. But if you enjoy the condescension of Southern aristocracy and the distasteful body odor of pickup-driving yokels, then Richmond is for you!—Peter Hamby
Gary, Ind. It’s Pittsburgh without the museums, competent sports teams and ridiculous accent. It’s a place so utterly bereft of identity, it’s known to its denizens simply as “the Region.” It’s the ultimate post-industrial hell—the perfect alternative Spring Break destination.
Actually, post-industrial is a misnomer: Years of massive layoffs, merciless cost-cutting and heavy protective tariffs have kept the industrial base of Gary and its neighbors in Northwest Indiana somewhat intact. While Pittsburgh, Cleveland and the rest shuttered their factories long ago, the Region’s smokestacks keep belching smoke, flame and lots of sulfur dioxide. While the rest of the country may now make money off things like “consulting” and “systems analysis,” we actually still make stuff here. But don’t assume that has stopped an unprecedented and still-unmatched degree of urban poverty.
This means the attractions are various, if not varied. I recommend the “old economy tour:” Pack a bag lunch and check out the five steel mills that dot the Lake Michigan shoreline (but act fast: two are currently under Chapter 11 bankruptcy). And if steel’s not your thing, there are also oil refineries, chemical plants, power stations, railroad yards, sand pits, warehouses, scrap heaps and plenty of befouled waterways.
People live here, too. At least they used to, which makes this a great opportunity for “urban adventure” or ”’vading”—the art of breaking into abandoned buildings. For those whose architectural tastes run toward the “bombed-out shell” school, the long-abandoned Gary Union Station and First Methodist Church offer scenes straight out of Coventry, 1941. Government majors will enjoy neighboring East Chicago, featuring the last stronghold of machine politics in America.
But if you go for the scenery, stay for the despair. Pittsburghers think their locale is spirit-breaking, but they have Iron City Beer. Clevelanders have major-league baseball. Detroit has a still-vibrant musical heritage. Flint, Mich. has Michael Moore. But even with such tenacious competition across the Rust Belt, the Region is downright soul-crushing. Bad beer, bad sports and bad journalists are something to rally around. Endemic segregation and crumbling infrastructure only go so far. We can’t even hitch a ride on our neighbors’ identities: To Chicago, just across the state line, we’re like a smelly uncle. To the people in the rest of Indiana (imagine 5 million people approximately as attractive as Larry Bird), we should just secede already. That hurts.
Even similarly-landscaped North Jersey was recently blessed with The Sopranos, immediately making organized crime an unbeatable source of civic pride. About the same time, someone in the Reg got the idea legalized gambling was the quickest route to revitalization.
Get the message? Please move to Indiana, Tony. You’re our only hope. That is, if this Spring Break thing doesn’t work out.—Mike DeBonis
Seneca, S.C. Welcome to beautiful Seneca, S.C. Located only two hours from the nearest airport, it is the proud home of Duke Power, a nuclear power plant that serenades Seneca on a bimonthly basis with a screeching siren to warn residents of a nuclear meltdown. The catch—you never know if they’re for real. What more excitement do you want out of Spring Break?
What else can be said about this practical rural village nestled at the foot of the poverty stricken Appalachian Mountains? Seneca will also wine (but not after midnight on Saturday) and dine you with its prom-worthy Italian cuisine that carries the aroma of Kraft Parmesan and the captivating crunch of microwave-burnt marinara sauce. Also, one of Seneca’s five-star yet rustic accommodations-a tent set up in Seneca’s proudly named White Pines trailer park or a spot alongside grandpa in the Perpetual Care Cemetery-will provide a sensible and back-to-nature quality to bring out the transcendentalist in you.
Seneca’s Saturday nights are a swinging shindig at the Seneca Cinemas, where you can not only watch a movie but also observe the 13-year old tobacco-chewing Seneconians on a first date. Approach with caution—They spit! Opting for classes like “Hunter’s Education” in the local schools does that to the youth.
For those of you who are up for a wilder ride, local sources tell us that pushing over the sleeping cows in the pasture behind Seneca High School is a muddy barrel of laughs. Finally, after a wild night of carousing, Sunday morning in the Bible Belt always provides ample opportunities to redeem yourself, if you are Baptist. And for those of you who find yourselves accused of “worshipping Mary” or “having killed Jesus,” the marquee boards in front of the churches should offer you insights to reaching eternal life. Remember, “forbidden fruit makes a tart jam.” ‘Nuff said.—Sarah Trice
Rochester, N.Y. Blanketed in snow and nestled between Buffalo and Syracuse lies a mid-sized metropolis: Rochester, N.Y. (also known as “Rachacha,” “The Crotch” or “Crapchester”). Originally referred to as “The Flour City” because of some old flour mills, Rochester is now known by the official tourist-friendly nickname “The Flower City.” This clever switch was pulled off when Rochesterians became America’s first urbanites to grow and nurture flora. While planting bulbs and weeding are primarily fair weather activities, in winter months of western New York can be just as thrilling. Spring Breakers from around the country have flocked to Rochester for years to enjoy its wide selection of suburban malls and shopping plazas. After a fulfilling morning spent browsing classic boutiques such as The Gap and Old Navy, be sure to visit Eastview Mall’s food court for a spin on the double-decker merry-go-round. You might just get the whole ride to yourself!
For some light fare, head to dinner at Mark’s Texas Hots, Empire Hots, Webster Hots, Fairport Hots, Pittsford Hots, Perinton Hots or Penfield Hots. Despite similarity in name, these establishments are not part of a chain. The distinctive characteristic that makes each unique is the hot sauce used on their famous “trash plates,” a staple for drunken Rochesterians. It’s a plate of two hamburger patties under a pile of beans, macaroni salad, and french fries. Add world-famous Rochester hot sauce, and voila—tradition! This dish continues to be a crowd-pleaser with the bums on Monroe Avenue and the boozed-up youth of suburbia. You’ll love it!
Don’t forget that despite the perpetual gray that hides the sun for every godforsaken moment of the day, you can return from your Spring Break with the same sunkissed complexion that your roommate will have when she takes her father’s private jet back from Bali. Rochester’s tanning bed industry is turning the city’s economy around. While the failure of Eastman Kodak and Xerox has given us two decades of innumerable layoffs and skyrocketing unemployment, Rochester’s “company-town” attitude has transformed into a focus on the small, independently-owned tanning salons that will assuredly give local oncologists a lot to look forward to.—Carlie Danielson
