Red Stick, LA

Last week, starting at 4:30AM on Wednesday, dad, Isaac and I left town to go to Baton Rouge Louisiana. Dad had an interview there for a potential job that was set for 12:30 that afternoon, and he wanted to take Isaac and I along to travel with him and spend time in Baton Rouge, which could be our next home city.
We left our home in Tyler, Alabama, and took a few county roads to Greenville, where we jumped on the interstate. On the way we talked about politics, Lincoln, the war in Iraq, America in global wars, and other very entertaining subjects. Then I fell asleep, so I can't speak for what happened from that point until the outskirts of Mobile, some time later. Outside of Mobile, Alabama, there are these really large, really cool bridges spanning the Mobile river. I awoke to Isaac saying behind me "are those the bridges?"

From that point on, almost everything was new to Isaac and I. We had seen Mobile before, but when we turned west and crossed into Mississippi, everything was different. For one thing, the instant you cross the border, you are bombarded by something like twenty billboards screaming the evil pleasures of gambling in your faces. Needless to say, this was no incentive for me to want to move to Mississippi (I never had wanted to anyway, but I guess you could say that this was putting the nails in the coffin, as they say). I was pretty irritated, actually. But that irritation was calmed as Dad began to tell stories.


Dad grew up in coastal Mississippi for about ten years of his life, between '75 to '86, including high school. As we crossed bridges and rivers, he told us stories about how he'd gone swimming in that river, attached a rope to that bridge and swung into this river, nearly busted his boat in that river, ecetera. It was incredible. We'd never seen this side of Dad before, the more Tom Sawyerish side of boyhood adventure under the thundering bridges of I-10 west and east. He was calling out the names of rivers we couldn't pronounce to save our lives (Tchoutacabouffa; try that one for size) and remembering things he and friends had done years ago before any of us were even thoughts.

The next event in our travels was a stop in the little town of Covington, Louisiana. Crossing the border into Louisianan was much better than the last border crossing, with no sign of any of that offensive gambling propaganda. Louisianan is without a doubt the most unusual state in the southeast, however. Unlike the other 49 states in the union, Louisianan does not have counties. Instead, they have "parishes", which are basically the same thing, except they are based off the Catholic church's system of division in Church government, as well as the basis of law in the state. Louisiana is the only state in the union who's laws are not based off of the English Common Law (based on Protestantisms). Instead, they're laws are founded on the Napoleonic Code (based on Catholicism).  Because of the French heritage, the Catholic influence is pretty heavy (New Orleans Saints), and there are also these little flower symbol things ALL OVER town that have something to do with Catholicism and the New Orleans Saints also.


Other than this, the atmosphere was pretty much the same, except for the driving habits. I don't know whether I like this or not, but it seems that the good citizens of Louisianan as well as Mississippi actually follow the speed limits. Crazy, I know. I mean, in Alabama, you're not speeding until you're at least ten over the legal limit. Driving 65 in a 65 means that you're being blown past like you're driving in reverse. Not so in Louisiana. Here the people actually obey the limits, which is a bit of a culture shock, to say the least.

Back to our stop. The town of Covington has a population of only 8,483 (according to Wikipedia). With that information in mind, I think we were all expecting a decidedly unpleasant bump in the road, but nothing more. A gas station or two, a few dirty inns and a McDonald's. Major shock again. As it turns out, this little place sports some of the most varied shopping you could ask for. There's a Target, a Lowes, all kinds of inns, a Best Buy, several grocery stores, a Wal-Mart (and we thought the place was perfect, there for a second...) and several other selections. Honestly, we could execute an average shopping trip for the family groceries with no trouble in such a place. And there's only 8k actual city dwellers to dodge while doing it.  Apparently, there's quite a large population outside of the city that come to town to shop. I don't see how else they could support such a selection.


Next on our route was Baton Rouge itself. Baton Rouge is a French name, which comes from the heavy French populous of the state in years gone past. In English, the name means "Red Stick", and I have absolutely no idea why they named it that. One way or the other, if you ask me, Baton Rouge is a pretty awesome name, and really fun to say. Once we got into town, the only peculiar thing we noticed about this place is that many of the on-ramps entering the freeway out of the city have traffic lights on them. You have to stop on the ramp and wait for a green light before it will let you enter the highway, and it will only let two cars enter at a time. It makes sense, I suppose, but it's very odd. I'm used to using an on-ramp for major acceleration and then figuring out whether or not there's room for me on the actual freeway when I get there.


The rest of the town was pretty ordinary, as towns go in the south. The people were extra friendly, as a general rule, however. There are 13 libraries (one of those things that I had to find out pronto with the consideration that I might be moving here one day) and the one we visited was very nice and clean. It was a little odd to have to walk through metal detectors to enter the building, and both Isaac and I had second thoughts about our knives, but apparently the systems are designed to detect guns, of which we obviously were clean.

We had a few hours to explore the city and enjoy lunch together at a local restaurant called Burger King before it was time for Dad's interview, and he left us as the Mall of Louisiana for a few hours.
This mall is larger than any mall in Alabama, with the only possible exception of the Galleria in Birmingham. It has two floors, three major department stores, numerous specialty shops, and all the other strange places that malls usually host. Like all malls, however, it is full of selfish people and dominated by females (not to draw a connection between the two, of course). It wasn't long before Isaac and I had had our fill of the atmosphere, and found ourselves bored in a place most people love to spend hours in. We spent a while in a regular bookstore, and then another walk to a Christian bookstore a half mile or so away. Ironically enough, the rudest people in town were the employees in this place, and they weren't even rude. They were actually quite pleasant, but compared to the rest of the people we met (aside from those good citizens who shoved past us in the mall, of course) they almost seemed curt and short. Still nice people, though.

After a while dad got out of the interview and we headed out of town. On our way to some friends of ours with whom we planned to stay the night, we took a wrong turn and ended up on the freeway that swung through New Orleans on the way to Bush, where our friends lived. We didn't really get into the real city. We just crossed through the outskirts, and let me tell you, that was enough for then. The place is simply scary. They've already had over 100 murders this year, and had over 350 last year. It's dark and oppressive and really dirty, and we weren't even in the actual city. As scary as it was, however, I couldn't resist wanting to see more, to get into the city and see what the people were like. I was once accused by a friend of always asking people who have traveled to places I haven't been "what are the people like?" The accusation is true. I always want to know what the people are like, what they like to eat, how they talk, what they do for entertainment, livelihood and government. People really fascinate me, and I wanted to see what the people and their town here in extreme southern Louisiana was like. Of course, a great deal of this is the novelist in me. As a writer, I took hefty advantage of the trip to gauge what kind of place Baton Rouge and New Orleans might be to set a novel. New Orleans, I decided, must be an marvelous place to set a novel, particularly a murder mystery, what with it being so dangerous (yes, I'm strange. Tell me something I don't know). Just think of all the deadly places and situations I could toss my hero into, in a city as big and dangerous as New Orleans!


Okay, so you're bored now. Back on subject.


After we got out of there (alive and well, surprise surprise) we took the highway over lake Pontchartrain to Bush. The lake bridge is something like 26 miles long, and the lake is just huge. The skies were moderately clear, but in the middle you can't see any sign of either bank. The water is brackish, an average of 12 to 14 feet deep, and at first the waves were only about 2'. Later, though, the swells rose to what Dad estimated to be 6', with plenty of whitecaps. Really awesome.

There are crossovers on this bridge every few miles to connect them, and we saw at least two tow trucks sitting on these crossovers, waiting for disaster, as it were. Makes sense. A major wreck on either side during rush hour would really mean trouble if it weren't cleaned up promptly.


We stayed the night with our friends outside of Bush, and had a great time visiting, laughing and enjoying some of Mrs. Moralaes' superb Cajun cooking. Let me tell you, that lady can cook up some amazing food. The family is more or less a local one. The mother is a Cajun, and Mr. Moralaes is Hispanic, but the family has lived in the area for a while. I love the way Mrs. Moralaes says "New Orleans". It's kinda like "New Orluns" or something like that. I told Dad that if we ever ended up living there, I'd want to learn to say it like the locals do. We slept hard that night before we were up again and on our way back to Alabama.

Thanks to our open schedule, we had more time in Mississippi that we had before, and Dad took us into Boloxi, a average sized city on the coast, home of Keesler Air Force Base and the place where he grew up those ten years. There we were able to see the house our grandparents built years ago while Papa was still in the Air Force, and visit the beach and other local locations for a few minutes. Sadly, several things that Dad remembered from when he was a boy were no longer there, compliments of hurricane Katrina, but there was still a lot of cool things (minus the huge casinos that arrived to poison the city after Dad moved away) to drive by, and more interesting stories to hear. We stopped by Beauvior for a few minutes, boyhood home of Jefferson Davis, which was also heavily damaged by Katrina, but has since been repaired.

Before leaving we had a taste of local seafood selection in the form of an delicious sandwich that the the locals call a "Po Boy". No idea where that name came from, but the food was really good. On the whole, Boloxi has a heavy feel of the sea and fishing, which are major industries and have been for years. The water is very dirty because the barrier reefs block the surf from cleaning it out, but the ocean is still pretty from a distance and people still do a lot of fishing there.

After we left Boloxi we headed back through Mobile and on home, armed with a load of my personal photography (which isn't much to look at, but I love snapping pictures by the dozens) and some really heavy eyelids. It was a great time spent with Dad on the road, and I guess the best part of it was hearing his stories and seeing the places he had told us about for so many years. To actually look at a spot where he could point and say "we used to play soccer there" or "I used to park my truck there, and Aunt Tinya used to accuse me of 'circling for a landing', because I would go around here and..." or "there's Buddy's barbershop!"...that was really cool.



I'll stop there and post a few pictures. We were really tired when we got back, and we since have been out of town some more, so this post is rather late. But We is always late, remember?


Eli for the Kings.

These are those bridges in Mobile. Horrid picture, I know. But the windshield was all splattered with bugs and I could hardly get out on the interstate.

 SEE? See that gold symbol on the sign? THAT is the flower thing that is all over Louisiana.

 Gas station we stopped at in Covington.

 Covington from the gas station.

 

This is the New Orleans newspaper. At the gas station again.

In Baton Rouge, now; The Mall of Louisiana. Looks a lot like the old Montgomery Mall, what with the domes and everything. In MUCH better shape, though.

Pretty obvious.

They had palm trees all over the place in Baton Rouge. Funny thing. The palm trees at the mall were almost always propped up like this with 2x4s. Quite laughable, really.

This was taken as proof for mom that our bank has at least one branch in Baton Rouge.

Isaac at lunch.

 Now I don't know about you, but if you ask me, that's a pretty handsome looking guy! :)

Bookstore next to the mall that Isaac and I hung out at. It's pretty much just like Books-a-Million, except, in my opinion, it's nicer.

Here's this really annoying guy that was following me around all over the mall. No idea what he wanted.

 If I were to ride a motorcycle (which I ain't...Dad's made that one really clear) I'd ride one like that. Is it cool or what?

Even had palm trees INSIDE the mall.

On the outskirts of New Orleans.

The same.

Leaving the outskirts...heading north over lake Pontchartrain. 

 

Boloxi, the next day. This is the house that our grandparents built in 1979. Bad picture, I know, but we didn't get out of the car, so it was tricky.

 This is the field that dad played in as a boy, to the right of the house facing it, across the road.

Boloxi, with the beach beyond.

 Isaac, with the (dirty) water beyond.

 Here's that handsome guy again!

This sand is not natural. They import it to boost tourism (which seems to be in vain to me, considering how dirty the water is). Papa was telling us that every time a storm comes in the sand gets washed away, and they have to import it again.

Some building north of the beach a few hundred yards.

 See that wall of brown sticks to the left? That's pure trash and sticks. Really nasty.

 Like I said. From a distance, it's really pretty. You can still kinda tell that it's dirty water, though.

 What would a beach be without seagulls? PEACEFUL.

 Here's they guy again. He left Baton Rouge, but apparently he followed me here.

The ENTIRE trip, mom's camera didn't want to open. When I hit the "on" button, the shutter would open up just a slit, and then stop, and I had to flick it with my fingernail to get it to open on up. Took this picture without flicking it just for fun.

 There he is again!

The funny thing about the parts of the sand that were wet is that if you pressed on them with your foot, they changed shimmer, and went from shiny to dull (or maybe it was the other way around...). Must have been a layer of oil on it or something.

There was this local guy fishing here, and he took our picture. Really funny guy, smoking a cigar that had to be six inches long. Behind us there used to be a major marina where all the big shots docked their boats. Dad used to come and play with his friends on a grassy spot to the left, and there was a restaurant beyond the marina bay. All that got wiped out in Katrina.

 Still here. This time in my own seat.

Here's the little shack place where we ate lunch on Thursday. It was a combination of a seafood market and a restaurant, and stunk horribly of seafood. But the food was great.

 There's the seafood market part.

 I don't think he liked having his picture made.

 What do you know? There he is once more. :)

A really strange place some where in Boloxi.

This was a funny looking house. Kinda cool, too though. Aside from the pink paint.