Crossed! 11/19 (23)

The Great Crossing is complete! Not only did I completely cross Texas, but I hit 6,000 miles. Part of that may have to do with the fact that I used state highways almost exclusively. The interstate is just too much. Two brutal lanes of trucks and passing and speeders and minivans. Yes, you get to go 75, but many of the state highways go 70 or 75, and more importantly they have passing lanes extremely frequently. In Michigan the sign will say next passing lane in 15 minutes, and you think “ok, I can hang out for 15 minutes and then pass the RV.” But in Texas it’s in 1-3 miles, and it’s go time!

I stopped in Opelousas Louisiana on the way through because of a line in a song that I misheard for years. The song is “I love you goodbye” by Thomas Dolby.

The line is

“But I will accept a contribution
To the Opelousas’s Charity Ball”

But I had been hearing

But I will accept a contribution
To the old policeman’s Charity Ball

Which, if you listen, you can’t completely fault me for. The line is at 2:20.

So imagine my surprise when I learned the proper lyric, and then found out that not only does the place exist, but I was about to drive right through it. I tried to find some good photo ops to take a picture, but it was tough. First of all, there is no county. It’s a parish. And there’s a parish seat and pretty building, but none of it says Opelousas. Turns out it’s an awesome old city. The city center is a grid of square blocks and the streets are crazy narrow. All you can do is imagine horses and wagons on those avenues.

It was a very long day of driving, and as I expected I was tired when I got to the New Orleans area, and the traffic was pre-rush hour busy. But I just followed the google and trusted that was sending me on the most efficient path. I think that will have to be my mantra for the whole of the east coast. I will miss the deserts, coasts and mountains when the world gets much more densely populated. But that’s what will make them more interesting. Tradeoffs.

I love my hotel, it’s an old building so close to Jackson Square I can feel it. Car is snugly valet’d away inside their garage, and I won’t see it again until I leave. Tomorrow is walking and sitting and absorbing.

I did know I had to get some food, so off I went. Actually, never mind that. That’s the normal routine. Tonight I wanted to get out and get some amazing food, but also see interesting things. I hung out in Jackson Square (twice!) and sat by the river watching the barges go by. Note to self: I need to figure out which way the river is going.

I looked online for some good restaurant suggestions and picked a popular one. The menu read like a restaurant, not like a New Orleans restaurant. So I threw advice by the wayside and just wandered the French Quarter looking for a restaurant. Found one that had crawfish etouffee on the menu, though I thought I was looking for shrimp etouffee. Turns out they had what I really wanted, I just didn’t know it. I sat and the bar and taught another bartender what a “gunner” is and she made a pretty good one. It’s N/A ginger ale/beer based. Nobody’s ever heard of it, but it’s my mission to preach. And if I find a bartender who knows it (or pretends to) I will tip heavy indeed.

Digression warning!

Near the turn of the century, the family unit (just three of us yet) packed up and took a trip to New Orleans. We had friends down here who let us stay with them, and we spent the days doing tourist things. Our baby was about a year and a half. We spent a lot of time in the sun, sweating and baking. I look back at photo albums and it looked like we had fun. All I can remember are a few moments here and there. We were down there at the time of the Jazz Festival, so we paid crazy money to get in and spend a lot of time trying not to cook our child. I remember getting food at vendor booths and I got Shrimp etouffee. And it was amazing. Best shrimp thing I’ve ever had before or since. We may have tried making it at home but not well. The other moments I remember are being on Bourbon street and finishing my partner’s hurricane after finishing my own and there may have been beer in there somewhere. Also, the next morning when children were running about thumping on ~~my aching head~~ the floor.

That festival shrimp dish has been held in high regard, even though I don’t remember what it tasted like or what was in it. Or if it was soup or stew. Spicy or mild. Honestly, all I know is shrimp and amazing culinary experience. I guess.

So tonight I found crawfish etouffee at some random restaurant on Bourbon street. If you had been sitting near me, you would have seen the rays or sunlight bursting through the roof. The organ playing lofty notes. The angels singing and baby Jesus weeping.

And for the first time in an extremely long time, I annihilated a complete entree. Ate the whole thing, chasing the last morsels around with the spoon. I didn’t have any flashbacks to the Jazz Festival, but the flavor and texture and perfectly proportioned rice and sweet sweet chunks of crawfish glowed hotly with the embers of flavor. I wasn’t sure if it was my hayfever or the spicy level of the dish, but it didn’t matter. Both the temperature and the spiciness were hot enough to be great but not so hot that it couldn’t be shoveled down like coal into a fiery train engine. When I was done I was wholly satisfied, properly full, and honestly a bit exhausted from the effort.

It was a good dinner.

I followed that up with some strolling about on Bourbon Street. It was great people watching, and I liked listening to the music coming from the bars. Pat O’Briens has the hurricane, a traditional quarter drink. We made it for mardi gras parties. You basically take every kind of rum you can buy, mix it up, throw in a bunch of fruit juice, orange slices and cherries and you end up with something that may kill you with alcohol poisoning, but you certainly won’t die of scurvy. So consider a virgin hurricane. They make them. I ordered one. Yes, it tasted like a fruit cocktail, no alcohol burn. Bummer. Walked right out of the bar with it and proceeded to use it as my “drunk camouflage” like all the other people stumbling around with drinks. With my vertigo and inability to walk on anything but a completely flat surface, I was out there stumbling around and grabbing things to keep me upright on the hundreds of years old sidewalks. I might have sloshed my drink at some point. It’s all in the details.

But I felt right at home and had a good time as it got busier and busier. I was happy to be up late enough to be able to witness yet another adult Disneyland, without having to participate fully.

Checking my phone the time was still just past 6pm. Wild partier, this one.

I strolled the French Quarter some more and looked in some of the shops – because they were still open at this hour – and ended up back at Jackson Square. I think it draws me in. I walked past the psychics, one called out to the couple in front of me “Eric, come here.” His name wasn’t Eric. But the guys behind me? “Hey Eric, come here.” It has to work eventually, right? Imagine how Eric’s mind is going to be blown. Sitting on a bench among the bored psychics on their phones, a musician with a sampling box started up a tune and improvised it over time. It was very cool at first, atmospheric. I recorded a bit, it’s at the bottom of this post. Imagine the sparse tourists, the street performers and psychics taking a break between the daylight and the drunks. And a lone electronica craftsman pushing his buttons.

Deets

License Plates: MS
States: TX, LA
Departed: 7:34 am CST, 72 degrees
Original ETA 1:49 pm CST
Arrival: 4:00 pm CST
Warmest/Coldest: Death Valley CA 90°, Wallace ID 22°
Weather: Started rainy, cleared up, ended up 85° and sunny
Music: Thomas Dolby – the entire catalog, Prince – Sign of the Times, Prince – Purple Rain. I think Sign of the Times might be the most played non-playlist of the trip.

Observations

Given the way people seem to be driving the speed limit, I could do this whole trip without speeding. I won’t. But I could.
Left the dry heat of West Texas behind for the humid heat of the South
Sign: “Hitchhikers may be escaped convicts”
I had no idea there was so much logging in Louisiana. And it looks like pine.
I’ve seen drive through liquor and drive through seafood. They’re large warehouses with giant doors so cars can literally drive through them.
The hotter it gets the cooler it feels. Weird.
Saw a “Great Egret” (after consultation) and it looked like a Great Blue Heron, but white. Pretty.
Everyone is buttoned up in their air conditioned cars and I’m just cranking my music because nobody can hear it. (It’s not that loud, and it’s at speed so I can barely hear it.)
Opaloosa has cool little historic blocks. Narrow streets in a square grid.
My allergies are not appreciating being behind a truck full of hay
Cranking through Texas at 75 mph or more makes Louisiana’s 55 mph feel like I’m trundling along in a model T in the 1900’s. Being in Louisiana, it looks like it, too.
Saw a truck that did not have a license plate. It did, however, have a printed picture of the back of a truck with a license plate. I’m sure that’s legal somewhere.
In Huntsville, TX that are not speed bumps or speed humps but speed cushions.
I will not miss the Texas Stop Turn. Rather than just slow down a bit and make a right turn, they often will come almost to a complete stop and then float slowly around the turn. After making sure they’re as far left in the right lane as possible.
Stop and go traffic on I-10 and we’re on a giant high bridge, and the bridge is bouncing up and down. Unsettling.