Sequel to Cross Country (part 2)
The beat-up old car was packed to the gills. The tent, camping gear, cooler filled with food, hiking boots, guitar, frisbee, ball and gloves were loaded, among other things. Our backpacks doubled as suitcases. We said our goodbyes. As we pulled out of the driveway on June 14, a wave of reserved anticipation washed over me. I didn’t think to imagine what washed over our mom at the same time.
We drove southwest toward our first scheduled stop. The closer we got, the flatter the landscape and the thicker the air. We drove through swamps, bayous, waterways and over long bridges. Cypress trees were draped with Spanish Moss and long-legged cranes walking lazily through water black as steeped tea. That seemed to set the mood for the laid-back atmosphere reflected in the locals, matching their thick Cajun accents and the humidity that hung heavy in the air. The smell of stagnant swamps that teemed with life mingled with the smell of salt water from the Gulf.
We arrived in New Orleans and checked into the campground. The lady that managed the campground invited us to have supper with her family. I suspect that she was watching out for us, imagining her own children traveling across the country without parental supervision. After all, we looked younger than our 18 and 20 years. We accepted her invitation and were rewarded with fresh crawfish and other Cajun delicacies. It was delicious and gave us a taste of a culture completely foreign to us. Our two-night stay gave us plenty of time to explore the area. We drove down Bourbon Street at night with doors locked only stopping at red lights. The street looked like a human swamp teeming with life. A sea of people strolled along the sidewalks and gathered in front of bars and restaurants. They were quite colorful in their garments as diverse as the people themselves. Jazz bands and one-man bands performed along the street. During the daytime, we visited the French Quarter. We people-watched, browsed through little eclectic shops, stopped at various street venders, and ate at a restaurant complete with peanut hulls on the floor. On the way back to our campsite, we got on the wrong bus and had to get off and walk back to the campground in the drizzling rain. That night, it poured. It’s a good thing we waterproofed our waterproof tent! When we crawled out the next morning, water was almost to the top of the lip above the floor of the tent. It was miserable packing up the tent and gear in the pouring rain. I can honestly say I was glad to leave New Orleans. I was a bit antsy to be on our way and truthfully felt much safer in the wilderness than the wild city!
We left all that behind and drove away from the land of water, bridges and swamps to the waterless plains of Texas. It felt like we were finally on our way.
