Blog#16, Farewell to Texas, On to Louisiana

Day 18-19 -To Sam Houston Jones State Park, Louisiana

My AirBNB in Beaumont was ideal. It was a separate apartment (above a garage that was used only for storage). The walls were beadboard and had been painted mellow colors. It had a nice deck that overlooked the host’s backyard pool. It even had beer in the frig, Texas micro brew pale ale. I snagged a couple for Brian. Perfect.

View from my AirBNB

There was a washer and dryer there in the garage, just for the AirBNB guests. So now I’m clean and so are my clothes.

Goodbye, Texas Gulf Coast

I left behind the Texas Gulf and moved on to part of the Creole Nature Trail, Louisianna’s All American Road. I crossed over the Intercostal Waterway. I was disappointed to find that the Creole Nature Trail is a scenic highway without many scenic pullouts, because I did want to stop. I spotted many birds of prey, but wasn’t able to identify them at 60 MPH.

I ended up in the Lake Charles area, camped for the night at Sam Houston Jones State Park. The park is absolutely beautiful. Another park, full of families and retirees. The lady ranger at the gate promised me I would see an armadillo last night, “without doubt”. She was right.

Finally

I set up my camp after driving through the park, which sits on part of the lake. My campsite was perfect-electricity to run a fan if it was hot in my car (it was actually cool last night) and to recharge my computer and phone. I saw a couple mosquitoes only, but I sprayed on the bug dope and covered my open window with netting.

Thought maybe these guys were spraying for mosquitoes. They acted like cropdusters, but over water.

Not a clue. He was in a NWR on the Creole Nature Trail, maybe 15 inches long

My camp was on a corner with another site on only one side, the other side being woods.   Behind me was a patch of woods, not

very deep, and then swamp.

Campground art

Being a Clever American Woman, I brought a high powered flashlight with me and last night, I walked the campground with it, creeping on all the campsites. BINGO, there was an armadillo in one, digging in the muddy area under a water faucet. The people in this campsite were out sitting by their campfire and were watching me. I heard a man say, “She’s looking at the armadillo”, to which I replied, “I drove 45 hundred miles for this”. The folks laughed and said too bad I couldn’t get a picture. They have no idea… If I didn’t get a picture, I didn’t see it. The flashlight was bright enough and the armadillo slow enough that I could have gotten a picture, if I had brought the camera. Stupid American Woman.

For cripes sake, as my brother Michael would say.

My campsite

Behind my campsite and through the woods

I went back for the camera, but never saw another armadillo there. The people where the armadillo had been struck up a conversation with me on my second pass. They live not far away and said armadillos dig in their garden frequently. It amused them that I took such delight in spotting one.

Camp prowler

I did spook another vermin, who climbed up a tree (not too high) and watched me. I used my flashlight for the photo below.  I saw many other raccoons that night, and a huge Opossum moving through the trees behind my camp. This morning,  deer came right into my camp.

I was creeped on. This is my cargo bag on the hitch rack.

This park rocks.

Tonight I have moved on to New Orleans and am staying at the AC Marriott on Bourbon Street. Holy Mackerel, I’m right in the heart of Old Nawlins, about 2 blocks from The French Quarter. I pulled up to the hotel, where there is an unloading area and cars double-parked, and asked one of the uniformed young men standing in front of the hotel, “Where do I park?” He told me to “Just leave it there, Ma’am. We have valet parking. Or you can go park it in the lot.”I had no idea where the lot was, and I had no suitcase. Just my plastic chest of

Blue Jay in my camp

drawers and my reusable National Park grocery bags. Plus the cooler. I decided to leave the parking for the valet, figured my car would be safer with the hotel in charge. I left it double-parked,(always wanted to do that in a big city) and the valet came out to help me with my stuff.

I don’t think this guy had ever seen a woman arrive with the luggage that I was packing. I explained that I needed a minute to gather up my stuff— he watched in amazement as I took toothbrush and paste from a plastic bucket, a soda from an ice chest, shoes from under a seat and clothes from plastic drawers, dumping everything into my plastic sack. I checked the ice supply in the cooler—I’m going through a bag a day. Then I gathered camera, binocs, computer and purse. I turned around to see this kid just standing there, his mouth hanging open

Intercoastal waterway reminded me of the Panama Canal

.

I checked in and brushed my teeth, then headed out for dinner. The folks at the front desk printed out a map for me and I left on foot. I ran into my valet as I left, and asked if he could recommend a good Gumbo place. He seemed surprised that I was asking him, but he gave me a recommendation and a discount coupon for a place in the French Quarter. Probably figured I needed that coupon. I told him I wished I had my sweater, but had forgotten it in my haste to leave the car with them. He smiled and grabbed my keys. “It’s still here”, and there was my car, off to the right a few spaces, easy to spot with all the PVC pipe mounted on the top. Funny that it hadn’t made it to the garage yet…perhaps he wanted to be sure I was really registered at this hotel.

The French Quarter is a very happening place, especially during spring break. The streets are filled with people on foot, in horse drawn carriages, in bicycle taxis. Restaurants, shops, bars with live jazz wafting out— I’m glad I overcame my fear of going there alone. I stuck to the busy areas and noticed in the quieter areas there was a very large police presence—probably beefed up for the spring breakers. I met only one person begging- a white guy asking if I could spare 60 cents. There were a bunch of little black boys playing drums on 5 gallon buckets, some of them were pretty good. Some of these boys were very small— maybe 7 or 8 years old. They played, but never asked for anything. At least not when I was there.

A view into the kitchen from the bar at Oceana

I found Oceana, the restaurant my valet has suggested. The line went out the door and down the street. I’d say at least 30 people waiting. I found the end of the line and joined the queue. I met a younger couple there—maybe on a date, maybe associates, I didn’t ask. But I think a date.

Tiffany and Deon at Oceana. Tiffany is wearing my very chic beads

They were from Texas and like myself, thought a long line indicated good food. There weren’t lines at any other restaurants. We chatted as we waited. A very intoxicated woman in a bicycle taxi came past, yelled at her driver “Beads!” and then tossed me a string of beads as the taxi driver wheeled her close to me. I didn’t even have to flash her my boobs. I gave the beads to Tiffany, the lady I had been chatting with. I told her they would look much better on a beautiful black woman than a pale Irish woman. She and Deon, her date, were fun. They felt a bit sorry for me, I think, because they invited me to eat with them. Nothing like a third wheel. I assured them that I am not lonely, but was grateful for the offer. I ended up 2 seats down from them at the bar.

Roll em, cut em, twist em and backhand toss em into the grease

My bartender/waitress told me I can get gumbo or jambalaya anywhere, but if I wanted real Nawlins food, get the special. So I did. Blackened redfish over jalapeño cornbread stuffing, all with a 3 cheese parmesan cream sauce poured over it. I substituted the mustard greens for a cup of gumbo. (Had to have it) The gumbo was disappointing—not much in it. A blue crab section, and the rest soup. But the blackened redfish was to die for. I could only eat 1/2 of the food, there was so much. And I had to leave room for beignets.
My waitress said to go the the Cafe du Monde, the original creator. I had to walk quite a ways, and I was questioning my need for these beignet things. I don’t like elephant ears or churros, because I don’t like the grease. I figured I’d have one beignet, just so I could say I had one.
A woman back at Oceana, who shall remain nameless, had told me a secret that the locals know. Walk in and sit down at an empty table. Don’t get in the long line. There is flat out chaos at the cafe, with a huge open air seating area with about 6 ways in and out. No one is keeping track—no one possibly could. She said “some people may think that’s wrong, but we do it. There are alway empty tables, and nobody filling them.”
I didn’t have to poach a table, because when I was scouting out my entry point to do so, I found a short line at the take out window. It’s way in the back and you would never even see it if you weren’t trolling the area.
I was able to watch the guys making the beignets— about 1 per second. They would need to be that quick, just to keep up. The minimum order is 3 beignets for $3 (with tax). I bought mine and hit the street. I decided to eat mine while walking back to my hotel. They were warm. They were crunchy on the outside, soft in the middle. They were covered with powdered sugar. I ate all three, and would have eaten three dozen more if I’d had them.

I woke up in the night with a very unhappy stomach. Should have known… those French 🙂