Leg 8 - Huck Finn and New Orleans

I’m in New Orleans and I drove across the Mississippi river.

These both have been bucket-list items for me.  It feels surreal, like I have gone to the moon or Mars.  To me going to New Orleans has the same impact as going to Mars.  Never thought I would get here.  And seeing the Mississippi river, after having read Huck Finn in my adolescent years, brought up all the fantasies I used to have about cavorting with Huck and Tom Sawyer.

Yesterday I woke up under the boughs of the Tree of Life (I am calling all of these massive trees the Tree of Life).  I got my coffee and laptop and stepped outside to sip coffee and ponder under the magical aura of this magnificent tree.  I sensed strength and calm and wisdom sitting under her.  I call the tree “her” because I…well, because I want to.  I call everything her or she these days, in rebellion against “he” being the default pronoun.  But as I approached her, I felt John.  I felt his strength and his presence.  It was comforting.

After I did my writing, I hopped to it and got ready to head out.  So much to do this day!  I went inside La Maison Creole looking for Erica to thank her, and found a man named Milton.  He was a beautiful black man who apparently is a photographer and has a studio in the non-profit building.  We chatted for a while about traveling, and he was telling me about visiting Montana a few years ago and couldn’t say enough good about it and how he would like to live there one day.  He told me about his mom losing his dad.  He said that eight years later, she still struggles.  Sigh.  Yes, I am starting to understand that the healing will probably never be done.

But in that moment, and in the moments of the show the night before, there was happiness amongst my grief, so I’m learning that happiness inside grief is possible.

Milton was fun to talk to, and had an energy about him that was infectious.  I wanted to offer right then and there to be his apprentice and carry his photography equipment, just so I could share in his energy.  And the non-profit, as well.  I want to work there.  I want to share in their passion for their project.  However…I realize that a middle-aged white woman is probably not the best fit for a non-profit that promotes black history and remedial justice for blacks from the mistreatment by whites. 

But…it tells me a bit about what I want:  I want community of like-minded people, I want energy and passion, and I would like the arts to be involved. 

After I left La Maison Creole, I went to breakfast at a place I found online in a blog about Lafayette, LA.  It was called The French Press.  The coffee (I had to order decaf, as I had already drank my two cups of regular) was just meh.  Had a bitterness that reminded me of Folgers.  I ordered the Cajun Benedict, which was the dish recommended in the blog.  When it came, I was a little nervous.  It had a dark brown sauce over two medium poached eggs over French bread.  It was the dark color of the gravy that made me nervous…it just wasn’t what I had envisioned.  I guess I expected something closer to the regular eggs benedict that I am used to.  The waitress did warn me that it was basically gumbo.  I tentatively took my first bite.   It was sausage and slow-roasted chicken in a rich, dark meat gravy over small kernel rice with the eggs and scallions on top.  It was truly amazing.  The gravy was flavorful, the meat was soft and full of flavor, and the eggs, rice and bread combined to offset the richness of the gravy.  I was SO happy with the selection!  I could only eat half, as it was a large portion, so I got the second half boxed up and off I went to my next adventure.  The waitress did try to steal my credit card upon checking out.  Good thing I had to stop at a store about 5 minutes away, or I wouldn’t have discovered it for an hour and a half.  When I went back to get it, she knew I knew she tried to steal it.  She smiled coyly and apologized for “her mistake”.  Young with lip rings.  Can’t blame a girl for trying…

My next stop was Houmas House Plantation, which was a large sugar plantation that started farming in 1774 and was a major player in the plantations in the day.  I took a guided tour and learned that the Houmas were an Indian tribe who “sold” the land to white settlers in 1774.  I wonder what the true story is of that land transaction…?  It was “purchased” by a wealthy white man who then made it bigger and made huge profits off it.  I am struck again by the wealth gap and how the small people can never make inroads into wealth.  If you have money, you make more money.  If you don’t have money, you work hard just to feed yourself and your family.  Sigh.  I’m going to go back to:  Does all that money make you happy?  Were those wealthy white men happy?  Did they have the one thing that is the sustenance of life – love and connection with another human being?  Maybe.  But I still ask – does money make you happy?  I mean, sure – it allows you to do things that make you happy.  But the more you build, the more you have to take care of and the more responsibility you have.  Just pondering the big questions.

After I left the plantation, I drove along the Mississippi river all the way to New Orleans.  The speed limit was 35, so it took a good couple of hours to go what would have been an hour along the highway.  I wanted to see the river and the surrounding communities. 

It turns out you can’t see the river from the road at all.  They built a levee all along the river.  No doubt to save the communities from flooding, but I was a little disappointed that I couldn’t see the river.  It was still a beautiful drive – green lawns at every house, a college set far back on expansive lawn and more oak trees, and green as far as the eye could see.

I arrived in New Orleans around 6:00 p.m. and was tired of driving.  I had booked a hotel not too far from the city center.  I found a place to park the van and checked into my hotel.  It was a nice room, but I’m nervous about leaving my van.  Everyone tells me that crime and break-ins around there are pretty bad.

I went to dinner at Cochon Restaurant New Orleans right down the street.  I had grilled shrimp and chow-chow.  I wasn’t sure what chow-chow was.  Come to find out it is pickled vegetables, such as cauliflower, red bell pepper, and some other small bits of crunch vegetables, diced and mixed together.  It was a “small plate” dish and I loved it!  I have a growing menu that I make at home of “tapas”.  Basically small amounts of food, but it sounds more exotic when you call it tapas.   Oh, and there were sweet rolls, of which I ate three.  I was famished after all that driving.

Then back to my hotel and crashed.  It was a good day.