La Belle Louisiane

Entering the state of Louisiana, the scenery began to take a dramatic turn. The state is flatter and wetter than Arkansas and the foliage becomes more tropical here. It reminded me of the best parts I have seen of verdant Florida only without the scrub pines. As we came in to the state, we were treated to the sight of swamps with actual flamingos hanging out in the reeds! I was excited to be in the tropics of the Southland. This was a place I have always wanted to see and I was finally here!

Louisiana is also very different from the rest of the South in a few significant ways. Louisianans are descendents of the Acadian peoples who essentially were French-Canadians deported from Quebec for various and complicated reasons. Acadians (originally Arcadians) evolved to become the “Cajuns” and their descendents are of African, Spanish, German, and French descent as the Acadians didn’t find the mixing of people to be problematic. This makes them the richest cultural phenomenon in Louisiana.

With this mixing also came the most dynamic blending of tastes and cuisine. Cajun cooking uses every scrap of the local wildlife in their cooking including frogs, alligators, crawfish, and snails. This is French cooking with a dynamic twist of spicy hot sauces as all hot climates utilize spice to sweat and cool off. Cajun cooking is definitely cooling!

Some Cajuns also call themselves Creoles which is distinct blending of Cajuns with the Natives or African-Americans. Creole is also a language that is a southern styled way of speaking French essentially. Louisiana’s architecture reminds me of Victorian era French influences that the locals shine up and care for with meticulous dedication. Louisiana is definitely French in this regard.

Nachitoches (pronounced Nack-i-tish oddly enough) was our first stop and after being here a few hours I learned that this is the setting of the saccharine movie 'Steel Magnolias'. One woman asked me if I am visiting the town because of the movie and I wasn't sure that she wanted to hear that would never happen in my case, I hadn't realized that it was even filmed here, and the reason I was there was because it fit my 4 hours of driving criterion from Hot Springs, Arkansas! As I walked around this gorgeous town with flowers gushing forth everywhere, I felt a sense that the spirit of the South could be defined here perhaps although I wasn’t sure. In places like Utah and New Mexico, it’s easy to define the spirit of the west and southwest, but here I am left flummoxed. The South is always so elusive to me and I never seem to understand Southern society.

I went to buy a coffee mug at a shop and the woman proprietor told me all about her French ancestry. She was super proud to be Cajun. She also told me with great bitterness how the United States government wouldn’t allow her to speak French in school and how she had to learn English. She said that she hardly remembers how to speak French and it made her sad. She then (and get ready for this one…because this is the kind of interaction I usually have with Southerners) said that it upsets her greatly when “Mexicans” come in to this country, speak "Mexican", and keep their “Mexican” ways. This was all in the same breath of remembering speaking French with great romanticism and pining away for the “way it used to be” (and then wishing the same fate on Spanish speaking people). Cajuns were poor people who also came here illegally from Canada and settled in the pinelands of the Louisiana Purchase because they were being persecuted in Quebec. History is conveniently disregarded when it doesn't fit prejudices.

I said, “It’s really strange to me that there aren’t MORE languages spoken in a country as large as ours.” She paused, “Well, maybe. The school districts did bring Cajun French into the classrooms and are teaching it all over Louisiana…” I replied, “Good for Louisiana! I hope they continue that important work!”, and I deeply meant that.

We had our first Cajun dinner at 'Mama’s and Papa’s' on Front Street on the Cane River. It was DE-LICIOUS!!! The local mushrooms and crawfish were smothered all over the blackened tuna with a myriad of spices and flavors. It was such a unique taste. Afterwards we walked along the Cane River and searched for the local “Cane River Mud Pie” but the shop was closed. We did get to see some of the grand houses and the gardens of the town's homes however. It was just a lovely evening.

The next day we drove to Breaux Bridge. Arriving around 3 in the afternoon, I asked Marley and Cole if they wanted to go to see the Gulf of Mexico. I had fond memories of seeing the Gulf when I was Marley’s age. I haven’t seen it since! I remembered it as being warm and clear. We drove an hour south of Breaux Bridge and got ready to swim. We had some snacks by the shore and then went down to the edge where our feet sunk into the fine sawdust that was sprinkled along the shore to collect the oil from the BP spill. It was so deep that we sank to mid-calf only to discover that it is impossible to wash off the blackness of the oil residue without serious scrubbing.

Marley was taking pictures by the shore and said, “Mom, what’s that out there? Is that a log?” I looked and the log had a snout, eyes, and a reptilian tail. It was an ALLIGATOR (!!!!) and it was about 8 feet away! So much for deciding to go into the Gulf for a swim! The toll collector came over to us and we showed her the swimming dinosaur. She was creole and said, “No, I don’ trust ‘dem things. I wuddn’t go in ‘dere if I was you. No way, I don’ trust ‘dem things.” (And neither do I! Who trusts alligators???) We packed up and were off but I couldn’t help thinking, "What IF the alligator was submerged when we got in to the water and we didn’t see him until it was too late to do anything to prevent being bitten or killed? Bear spray does not work in the water!" Louisiana is far too alligator infested with the bayous being connected to all lakes and the Gulf…we will never attempt this again in Louisiana!

We dressed up at the beach and drove to Mulate’s Original Cajun that is a live performance venue in the bayou. It was fabulously honky tonk and the Cajun-French music there was just beginning as we walked in. Some Cajuns were two-steppin' and hollerin’ all over the dance floor. It was great! We had a chatty waitress (why are all waitresses in the South so personal with their customers while they're trying to eat?) who asked us all sorts of questions about where we were from. I told her we were on our way to New Orleans and she said, “Well, I don’t like New Orleans because those blacks think they OWN THE PLACE.” Wha’ the??? My chin dropped into my gumbo!!! Was she kidding??? Nope. She went on with a scowl, “You know how you seen ‘em during Hurricane Katrina? Well, they think they own the place now. I don't go there because of them blacks.” I busted out laughing. I couldn’t help it. I have NEVER heard someone be so blatantly RACIST and to a complete stranger! "There it is!" I thought, "This is the South; Sweet as pie and racist as hell."

Perhaps it is common practice to share racist epithets as if they were chicklets in the South, but in the North it would be considered something to rebuke unless you were somewhere it might be expected, like say a Ku Klux Klan Rally! After she left the table I thought to complain to the manager but I thought my complaint might fall on 'Good Ol' Boy' ears. This town has a Baptist Church on every corner. I wondered how Southern people like my waitress balance a “mind that loves Jesus” and a “heart of racist hate” (one would think both organs couldn't exist in the same body!) My friends all warned me that they experienced things like this all the time in the South. I have a few who live here and some who left because of the ignorance and intolerance. Northerners have a really hard time adjusting to the little towns of the South and I think that's a good thing. I don't know if I could have any self-respect if I ever agreed with this kind of perverse thinking.

The next morning we headed out for the Tabasco Factory on Avery Island. Tabasco is a Native American word for "place that is hot and humid". Tabasco is one of the only pepper spices that people ask for by name like a Band-Aid or a Kleenex. I love Tabasco so when we were driving past Avery Island I made an unplanned visit to see the plant. The drive was lovely through the swamplands to the island. We arrived a bit early so we stopped by the Tabasco Wagon for lunch. There were a few people milling about and they were all local types I have seen since being here.

Now, this is no exaggeration, they gave us the FILTHIEST looks I have ever gotten from another human being. There were about 6 of them, mostly middle aged people, and they were so white they were almost translucent. They were obese, wore typical extra large clothing with flowers and such printed on them, were definitely not wealthy types, and were so self-righteous and ignorant that it almost made me want to sue the Louisiana School system. They got quiet as we walked past, whispered to each other, and then looked at us as though they smelled hog poo in their backyards (which they probably have in abundance). I was immediately angered…who were these people to look down on us? Was it our olive skin? The black hair? That the North won the Civil War? What the heck was their problem already?

And I will admit that I immediately engendered an instant hate right back at these people being so hateful to us. I had no cause to hate them apart from their loathing. I left feeling like I should have done something like faced their hate with blatant sweetness, given them a “Howdy y’all” in a sarcastic tone, or perhaps talked like a little girl (like they all do) to minimize myself. I was just completely confused what the best response would have been to their blatant hostility. (Again, I completely do not understand Southern societal rules). My mother told me on the cell phone after I told her what had happened, “You’re in the SOUTH! Did you expect something different? Haven't you ever seen them on TV?” Good ol’ Massachusetts Yankee sensibility. What she said has some truth as there are plenty of ignorant people everywhere but I think the fact that some Southerners wear theirs like a badge of honor is most alarming to me. At least my mother made me feel better.

I decided that if I was going to like the South I needed to separate myself from the people (seriously). We went to the Jungle Gardens of Avery Island and it was there that a gentleness of the land, the bayous, and the wildlife reached out and melted my heart. I even started to feel sentimental about the alligators. This was the most beautiful tropical place of Virginia Live Oaks, swamps, and bamboo forests. Here are some pictures from the island.

We hustled up to Vacherie, Louisiana to see a famous plantation that would become forever immortalized in the film ‘Gone With The Wind’. The opening scene of Scarlett sitting on the veranda of ‘Tara’ is really Oak Alley Plantation which was owned by a Cajun family. I learned that all the plantations had access to the Mississippi River. Standing in the front of the plantation I saw a riverboat pass below a crest just outside the gate. It abutted the river and I didn’t know it was just over the levee on the road. I rushed up the levee to see it and it was magnificent! It was wide and swift. It was another milestone! The last time I saw the Mississippi was in Minnesota and it was like a disorganized puddle compared to here!

We went back to the plantation and took our tour. The house is so grandly kept and the grounds are lovely. The tour takes such care to name all the slaves who lived there and what their talents were as people. The plantation owner's widow and son would take over the plantation after he died (only sugar cane grows in the hot and wet climate here) and would run it into the ground financially which I considered a poetic justice for ever having enslaved human beings. Many plantation owners died penniless and in a great amount of debt after the Civil War. The mansion was purchased by a wealthy family for $50,000 in 1925 and the mistress would live there until 1972 when she died. It is a museum now.

We drove along the levee to the east to finally pick up my husband, Larry, at the Louis Armstrong Airport in New Orleans. I was so happy to see him after our long separation. He felt it more acutely than I did these past weeks at home without us whereas I was galavanting around the country like a gypsy! I was so busy every day and he was just waiting to see us. I was thrilled to see him and we caught up on all the excitement at the Voodoo BBQ. We drove to New Orleans to St. Charles Street where we would find a pretty hotel with all kinds of mysteries around every courtyard and fountain. It was like a New Orleans Dream at our hotel and it was a Quality Inn (picture below on left)! Being with Larry made me feel like I was “home”.

New Orleans is a distinctively French city. Like Martinique and other French owned islands in the Caribbean, New Orleans is the tropical version of France. This is really an amazing phenomenon of French colonization. I love the sound of the language, the architecture, and the non-English-Puritan legacy. New Orleans is a Catholic town with a reverence for tradition (and hidden hedonism). This city is also a swamp however and the mosquitoes were more than thrilled to have more dinner opportunities! We went to the French Quarter and walked around. It was unforgettably old and lovely. It’s hard to remember what year it was! So many authors and artists have stayed in New Orleans longer than a few weeks to be inspired. I was immediately in love with the city. Unlike any place I have ever been in America, New Orleans seems almost foreign and “Old World”.

The best part is how incredibly multicultural and artistic the neighborhoods are! This is a decidedly creative place and very bohemian. I loved the openness and the friendliness. One thing I enjoyed was saying, “Hey there…” and they replied with a smile, “How y’all doin’?” I could do this all day! We also happen to be here during the Gay Pride weekend! It occurred to all of us that we haven't seen openly gay people since Chicago. The town was dressed up in rainbow flags for the occasion and had specific merchandize for their weekend clients. It was great to see them all having such a great time and feeling comfortable enough to be themselves. This place fits my philosophical rule from the beginning of observing northern places: Progressive People + Open Minds = Happy Towns!

I think I also had another important personal discovery and it's somthing I hadn't thought of while in rural Louisiana; if my waitress from Mulate's was here looking at gay men holding hands, wealthy black women owning restaurants, black men as head waiters in expensive places, bi-racial couples, people of many faiths, Asians, Arabs, and Europeans all blending, mixing, touching and enjoying the sights and sounds of culture...well, she just wouldn't fit in. This is another conundrum of the South;

Learning to abandon their antiquated world-view without being angry that the world is more progressive and enlightened than they remembered it.

That must be very hard to accept after being raised with so many limited ideologies. America WILL move on without them or drag them kicking and screaming into the future. Either way, it will be hard for deeply cultured Southerners to adjust (hence the hatred of our current President who also happens to be black - that must have been a HUGE paradigm shift for them to accept as many of them remember blacks having to sit "at the back of the bus"). I do feel some compassion for their "way of life" which they take such melancholy pride in upholding as it is slowly slipping away from them forever. Here are some pictures from the French Quarter of New Orleans:

The following day we went to see the Lower 9th Ward which is where the worst of Hurricane Katrina's destruction took place. The ward is very flat and larger than I thought it would be. New Orleans has so many very traditional people that it was still mostly uninhabited. Only one in four homes were rehabilitated but the new homes looked nothing like the above craft home that is near the Garden District. These wooden craft homes are everywhere in New Orleans and they were being replaced with ugly aluminum siding and stucco. The charm that was once in the 9th Ward is completely gone and it looks more like Levittown, Pennsylvania. So many homes were just abandoned and there was such destruction and death everywhere. Most importantly, homes where people died were labeled, where pets suffered and died, and where the homes were due for destruction were marked. It was so sad. There was such poverty in the ward and a kind of hopelessness. I was glad that we saw it firsthand.

We next decided to see Tom Hanks' new museum in New Orleans called 'The National World War II Museum'. It was so impressive and it was good of Tom Hanks to give this treasure to New Orleans. I expected it to be a bit dry like war museums can be only this was so superiorly interesting that we were there for almost 5 hours which is unheard of for my children (and husband!). This was the best academic and comprehensive museum that I have ever seen. It is very visual and interactive. The museum also is personal and there are accounts of the war from many survivors. We were all so happy that we went. There was an Army band playing World War II music that we all loved listening to. I was touched by the little picture of a Japanese soldier shown below and his sword and money that were taken off of his corpse by an American soldier as a momento of the war. The last picture below shows how there are lots of visual devices that portray aspects of the war in short explanations that hold your interest. There were lots of veterans there from all over the United States who were so interested in all the exhibits. They were so old and I told the kids, "Remember them...soon all World War II Veterans will be gone during your young lives."

Of course, I couldn't go unscathed from a non-local Southern tourist. (This is hard to relate in some ways because I am tired of it honestly and it is really aggravating). An obese, blond, flowery shirt wearing, angry, rural woman (I am starting to see a pattern here) insisted that I was blocking her mother's view of a preview film. I was standing just to the left of her but I was off to the side with a crowd and no where near her mother. She started being very aggressive toward me saying, "EXCUSE YEW! EXCUSE YEW! YER BLOCKING MY MUTH'A'S VIEW!!! MUTH'A, IS SHE BLOCKING YEW?" (perhaps not realizing that I was with my husband and children). I had enough! I moved closer to her and stared her in the face as she sat in front of me saying nothing but gave my best 'teacher's glare'. She then wouldn't look me in the eye and her large, blond, flowery shirt wearing, less-angry, rural sister whispered, "Stop it, it's alright...Muth'a is fine" while looking at me a bit frightened. Her rather sheepish brother-in-law kept looking at me apologetically. I was tired of letting these country "folk" be so incredibly rude to me. It's one thing to say, "Excuse me, my mother may not be able to see the film" and I would be most gracious I assure you. But this kind of nonsense won't be tolerated anymore even if I get slapped for being "uppity". I have never been treated with so much unwarranted aggression. I can only imagine what African-Americans, Arabs, Mexicans, and anyone else not Southern-White must go through living in the South. It's just deplorable and it made me grateful that I can leave it behind in a week's time.

On our final night in New Orleans we walked around the Garden District. This is a residential neighborhood and lots of people walked passed us and said hello and my favorite New Orleans phrase, "How y'all doing t'nite? Fine?" We came across a very old man who was asking for money for food. This may or may not have been what he needed money for but there was something about him that touched me deeply. He was so old, tired looking, and dirty. He seemed so desperately sad and worn out. I thought about his life and all that must have happened to bring him to that moment on St. Charles Street on that very hot and humid night begging for money. He even had to experience Hurricane Katrina in his old age. I thought about the people I had met who had been simply vicious during my stay in Louisiana against the contrast of the warmth and kindness of the people of New Orleans. I gave him some money, not much, but enough to buy some food. I asked Marley to put it in his hat and to be sure to make eye contact with him and to say something nice to him. I watched her be compassionate and to give something useful to someone so desperate. It didn't matter really what he wanted the money for, but that we were kind to someone who probably hadn't had much kindness thrown his way. I was going to miss New Orleans and I hoped that in some way, I left having done something good as this is a city that has suffered so much, and yet, it is still the best thing about Louisiana.