Day 4 (39) New Orleans

Going backward, as it has been a while since I tried that…I am writing this on Tuesday morning as I had a good time last night.

I was in my room, 317 @ Le Richelieu, around 11PM and showered to clear the road grime. My feet were wet the whole day when the flash flooding at Zorida’s house overflowed my Air Force ones and filled them with cold Texas water. I need some warm water.

The hotel is in the French Quarter but close to the dividing line. It is an older building remodeled into a more modern hotel. My room has a balcony and a bedroom with a huge closet. The bathroom has a hallway, too. It is all hardwood floors with no rugs to trip a guest. It was all more complicated as I had a few beers, and it was all new.

I opened the door to the balcony to hear the sounds of the city, something I often do when visiting an exotic location. The train was close enough to nearly throw me out of bed, but this happened only once. The office or living room (yes, I have a separate entryway, sitting room, and living room from the bedroom and bath) has a balcony, so the sounds were muted, and I slept well.

Before this, I asked Taylor, the night manager of Le Richelieu, for a place to see some music. He directed me to BMC, which is a few blocks away. The streets are lit by lamps and are a bit dark and maybe spooky looking for someone walking alone, but I kept up my situational awareness and managed it. BMC has just had a band finish; I bought a raspberry beer (the rest sounded uninteresting), found a seat on the side with a table, spilled my beer on it, decided this was usual here, and waited. My phone has a Kindle app; when I wait now, I just sit down and read my books. Soon, the sax player was doing mic checks. He was pretty good. The keyboard, drums, and bass soon showed. The keyboardist led and sat in a comfortable chair he brought in front of his two keyboards set up in a folding rack. A nice setup. The music was excellent. Piano Man “G” is the band’s name, and they soon packed the place, which was empty except for me. I even got a fist bump for sitting and enjoying the music from one of the folks dancing.

Before this, I walked seven blocks to Taylor’s, and again, the night manager for the hotel recommended gumbo. The best places and closer places were all closed on Monday. There is a tradition of having just beans and rice for dinner in a pot while you clean and do your laundry here in New Orleans, and many places still practice closing on Monday. Kingfish advertised a duck and sausage gumbo. Taylor is a no-seafood gumbo person (this is a thing), and I agreed to align with his outlook for now.

I walked the blocks, and small groups of tourists were here and there. One mentally disturbed person was having a heated argument with themselves. The person sounded like there were two people, one with a cross of Gollem and a demon procession movie voice and the other an angry woman who just wanted to be left alone. We crossed the streets, and later, I saw the person more recovered.

Jackson Square was closed, but homeless people were setting up for the night in the various entranceways near the park. The air was damp and misty. A guy was singing in the dark. I did not see him again when I returned.

The gumbo at Kingfish was good. I got a window seat in the near-empty place. Taylor told me that New Orleans is dead on weekdays now. They are busy on the weekends. I was hoping for some time to write, and I have chosen well. I am less interested in tourist trappings. Excellent Food, music, and a comfortable chair and table to write are perfect for me. I ordered, not wanting a lot of food or dessert. The chef came by and agreed it was a good day, damp and cold, from gumbo. It is Monday, and somebody forgot to put out the desserts to defrost. My light chocolate mousse cake was more like ice cream. My waiter, Catalina, and I agreed to put it in a box, and I would save it for the morning. I was not in the mood to send it back. I also had a signature cocktail, and while it was excellent, I am not sophisticated enough in my drinking to appreciate it.

I found the Crescent City Brewhouse with live music on my way back and stopped in. I had a giant Red Horse Ale, cracklings, and pinto cheese while listening to a sax, keyboard, and bass perform some soft jazz. It was an excellent follow-up and an excellent distraction.

Returning further into the day, I drove from San Antonio today, about ten hours with stops and lousy traffic in a few places, and enjoyed the drive once I was no longer in flash floods and water pounding the car so that the windshield wipers could barely clear the water. The terrible rains did not stop until I was four hours into the trip and on the other side of Houston. I took Highway 10 in various forms of disrepair or construction in Texas.

Texas was flat and brown with desert plants. Louisiana was green and filled with plants and swamps. Highway 10 is often on a causeway over the Bayous. I will need to learn more about Louisiana and the center area that was a causeway for miles and miles. I was fascinated and enjoyed the western Louisiana drive.

At the end of the ten hours of traveling, I was getting tired, and the traffic jams in Baton Rouge and New Orleans were trying. The traffic and driving were kinder than in Texas and moved better than in Portland. Most waits were just eight minutes.

I used the map app on my phone. It also lets me know when to slow down for “speed checks,” also known as police. I found it quite helpful, and it guided me well through the narrow, obviously not-made-for-cars streets of New Orleans.

I started my day at 6AM, which is hard as the time difference of two hours makes it feel much earlier. I showered and dressed and splashed my way to Air Honda. The streets were full of three inches of water running fast and overflowing my shoes. I could have moved Air Honda, but my shoes were already soaked, so I just splashed on. I thanked Zorida for a wonderful stay at her house, had some coffee, and then took on my eight-hour (no-stops) trip to New Orleans, according to the Maps app.

San Antonio roads were flooded, and I had to be careful. The police were out blocking flooded lanes. I saw an angry officer with a stick punching a drain to work. Once an hour from San Antonio, I could drive the high-speed limits of Texas, 70 mph (112kmh). As it happened, I got used to it again and was often ten or more over just going with the traffic. The car slipped as the water does not always flow off Texas roads. So I spent the first hours watching and driving with care at insane speeds–typical American driving.

I stopped somewhere in Texas at noon and called my doctors in Oregon. I need a cardiac clearance for brain surgery. I spoke to scheduling, and they told me they had the wrong forms from the heart doctor. I suggested that they contact the surgery doctor and have the doctor do what is needed–they implied I should contact a doctor to tell the doctor to call the doctor!? After a moment of reflection, they agreed that they would take care of it–I told them I was calling from the road in Texas.

I found that the old chain Stuckey’s was alive in Texas. Most of the East and Midwest places are gone. I got some pecans. A pleasant surprise on the road trip.

I saw little of Houston as the city was shrouded in mist. Once an hour away, the rains stopped, and the temperatures climbed into the sixties. The land changed to a swamp, and the road signs changed from steaks and Tex-Mex to crawfish, pork, and Cajan. A bridge took me out of Texas, and I stopped at the travel center for Louisiana and enjoyed the little park as a break.

After a break, I returned to my drive across the state. It was a tremendous grey day for a drive, with no sun glare.

I think that is full circle.