Blog #17, Over Louisiana, Through Mississippi and On to Alabama

I can’t remember what day it is. I am monkeying with the layout of this blog–learning as I go. It continues to thwart me. If anyone in Walnut Creek has figured this out, I would be happy to hear from that person.  (Ryan or Amelia).  I don’t know how to fix it so my friends reading this can post comments.  Sorry!

As I was leaving my hotel in New Orleans, I freaked out when I read the price for rooms that they sometimes post inside the motel room doors. It said the price for the room I was in was $1100 a night. I must have misread what expedia charged me, because I thought it was $129, and that was a splurge. Holy crap— the valet charge was $40. I raced to my laptop to look at my receipt. Whew. $129. I don’t know if expedia took a big hit there, but I’m glad I had the receipt. $1100. for 2 double beds. Up to $1599. for 2 queens. That must be when the NBA teams stay there. With call girls 🙂

Western Painted Turtle off the Creole Nature Trail

Osprey off the Intercoastal Waterway

I left Louisiana today. It is a very different place—like going back in time. I was never in the northern part of the state, but the south- so much water.  I drove for hours on highway 10 and never saw any extent of dry land. The highway there is built on cement pillars that rest in the mangrove swamp. There were boats tied up to some of them.  I like the wildlife that comes along with all that water. Loads of wildlife and people who have learned to live here in spite of the difficulties that entails–watching out for snakes and gators in the yard, mosquitoes, etc. Louisiana is not for the whimpy.

I drove through one small town off the highway, just to ease the stress of driving 70 MPH. All the people I saw in this town were black. ( If I am supposed to say African American, please take no offense.  I don’t call myself Irish American, I call myself white).  It was a very poor town— many of the small houses were more like shacks. I did not feel unsafe driving through, but I also didn’t stop. The people looked at me as I passed them, but there were no smiles. It was sad. That whole town seemed sad. Felt a bit like Atticus Finch might step out and shoot a rabid dog.

Rice field with Crawfish traps

Louisiana is beautiful-in addition to all the water, it has deciduous trees and pines. Purple wisteria growing wild. There are rice paddies, and the rice farmers are very ingenious. They use the rice fields to catch crawfish. I kept passing these rice fields in Texas and now in Louisiana, and in them were these little buoy-like things, set in rows and evenly spaced. I finally realized (C.A.W. that I am), those things are crawfish traps. A bumper crop of sorts. And crawfish are here aplenty. I also kept seeing these mud piles off the boardwalks at the refuges, and then in people’s yards. I asked and was told they are crawfish chimneys. They’re as bad as mole hills in the Willamette Valley.

Notice the Crawfish chimneys in the grass

A couple things I noticed in Louisiana: No recycling (in the park, at least), and no reusable grocery bags in the stores. Another thing that was conspicuous by it’s absence: no signs in restaurant or store bathrooms that read “Employees must wash hands before returning to work”. Maybe the people in Louisiana are so aware of hand hygiene that no reminder signs are needed. Yeah, that must be it. As I said, not for the whimpy.

I had a great meal in Louisiana.  Jeanne’s Bourbon Street BBQ in Westlake, where their motto is “We’re smoking the good stuff”. I had a pulled pork sandwich with coleslaw and baked beans. Jeanne put so much meat on the sandwich, she gave me a sandwich bun to take so I could have a second meal with all the leftovers. Delicious. A good place with a friendly atmosphere.

Went through so fast, this was the only way I knew I’d been there

Between the two state signs-reads Jefferson Davis Highway, Alabama-Mississippi, June 3, 1928.  It was a solid piece of stone

Tonight I am in a motel in Spanish Fort, Alabama. Alabama is dry, compared to Louisiana. Lots of trees here, as well.

I like it

The highways are clean and it feels like I’m back in my own century. I went into Mobile (15 minutes away)to see Garrison Keilor at the Saenger Theatre. I was nervous about being in a big city at night and having to find parking, but there was no need. The theatre is in a very quiet little area around a square. I found a parking space across from the front door of the theater. There was a pub there, and a motorcycle parked out front. I backed in to the small space with the aid of my back up camera and verbal cues from a pub customer who was seated outside. It was a very tight space, and I was inches from the motorcycle with my cargo carrier on the hitch. After I parked and got out, people who had been watching me from the sidewalks on both sides of the street applauded and gave me two thumbs up.

Notice the motorcycle behind my car

The theater is intimate and old. Balconies, stone columns. I really liked it. I took a photo with my IPhone, but the lights on Garrison were so bright that he came out solid white. He was hilarious, touching, and humble. He made me laugh, he made me cry. And he had the audience singing. I had forgotten how it sounds when people sing acapella. It gave me chills and made me remember what it feels like to sing with others and be part of that harmony. I truly enjoyed the evening. My sister, Kathleen would really like him. If he comes to Oregon during good weather—so I don’t cross the Cascades in snow or ice-I’m taking her to see him. And maybe my brother, Patrick, too. He likes to sing.

I was seated in the Loge. That’s a new word for me. I had to ask what it meant. There, it meant balcony.

When the performance was over, I had to maneuver out of my parking space the same way I had maneuvered in to it; use of back up camera and verbal cues from yet another pub patron. Again, I received applause and thumbs up from the people on the street. My talents are sometimes unappreciated, but not in Mobile.

I am back to my hotel in Spanish Fort. I heated up my leftover pulled pork and baked beans. Added the sauce that Jeanne had slipped into the bag and built another sandwich, relished with the leftover coleslaw—as good as the first time.

I would be remiss if I did not pass along information I gleaned while here. In the United States, Mardi Gras originated in Mobile, and they’ll tell you that it is a much better one than what happens in New Orleans. Hard to say—no one pedaled by and offered me any beads in Mobile.