I believe we had exhausted the lower part of Mississippi. We had been to the old home of Jefferson Davis, leader of the Confederacy, had seen Mom's relatives and had gone to a real country rodeo in the heart of The Magnolia State, and had been to a Waffle House, a Books a Million, and a WalGreens, along the way. And it had been a good state to visit, a good state indeed. Oh, and I forgot, we also celebrated my sister's birthday there and had had rolls thrown at us, doughnuts too. So MS had been good, I mean the state, not the disease. No diseases are good. But it was decided that Dad was going to spend his upcoming birthday, the 25th, in the city of New Orleans, in the Foot State (informal use, I don't believe anyone calls it that but me, I call it so because Louisiana is shaped like a foot.), Louisiana. So not too late in the day, but not too early either, we got all the stuff in the bays, moved everything so it wasn't in the way, like putting T.V. trays on the bed and moving Dad's computer to the cabinet over the table, and mine to the table, the mouse there and all the cords, and putting a jacket over the chair so it doesn't scrape the wall, and putting my bed in, deflating it first and then taking the blankets off and putting them in my wonderful grandmother's sack she made for us- and thanks by the way- and then when all the air was out putting it under the couch and putting the cushions on. A regular boring moving day. But I can assure you, reader, neither the day I am talking about nor the blog post will be boring, if you read on.
Pulled in the slides, started up the engine, pushed the electric cord in the R.V. and things like that. Then, we said goodbye to Cajun R.V. Park, and goodbye to Mississippi. Then we drove. And drove. I had wanted to see an MS swamp or bog, and on the highway as we drove to New Orleans, I did, all the marshland and green water, and back way far from the road, the trees in the water, and the sickly formations, the dark dark presence. I was satisfied. Then we took a picture at the state sign, which had a french phrase I couldn't translate on it and the symbol of the saints, kind of like a spade. You might of seen it before if your a football fan or catholic. If your neither, Google it or something. But we went across the bay, onto the high bridge, for some time, and then I saw it. New Orleans. Little houses, neighborhoods, and some destroyed homes, roofs and bases destroyed both alike. Further on were hotels, office buildings and some others, and we took an exit down as I saw a billboard and pole connected to it, and a brown and black wall all around R.V.'s and a small building. This was French Quarter R.V. Resort. We came down to it, and then saw the spike tipped tops of the 9 foot wall. We felt scared that the resort needed such a thing, but glad that it had all that, to protect from robbers and bad people. For the rest of the day, we would see a little of the good... and bad parts of New Orleans.
A man let us in, opening the gate. Our R.V. went a little in, and I got on my shoes as we stopped in front of a brick building, that had a balcony over us. We walked on, all except Rebecca, and saw some regular things you'd see, a door to an office on our left, a place where a lot of brochures were, and a counter with columns, and ladies sitting behind. Then there was a coffee table full of coffee, and another french door like the one we came into, diagonally, going to a courtyard, it seemed. We walked up, as a brown/ red haired young lady, with tannish skin, and a smart look, welcomed us in and told us all about it, as we told her our reservation, she told us what site we were in, the wifi (the code was voodoo, which is funny) and some other stuff, like the tours they had in New Orleans, that they picked you up here, "so you don't have to drive" and about the visitors center across the street. She was very kind, and had a weird accent, with a little french accent, and indian and african. It sounded a little bit like a Jersey accent, but not exactly. I would learn about this weird hybrid of people's later on in our stay. She circled a lot of things with her pen, and gave us all the paperwork as she preceded to show us the courtyard. We walked out of the door to it.
When you enter from that door it's like a diagonal line, and there was brown beautiful architecture everywhere. There was a crystal clear pool, with plants of all kinds and a jacuzzi spurting out gushing water into the pool. Farther on was beach leaned back chairs, umbrellas, a table, and a counter with T.V. behind. The Jacuzzi was higher than the pool, to the left. On either sides of us were doors, and a big window. I peeked to the left of me, and saw exercise equipment. The lady told us to the right of us were bathrooms and showers, and I peeked in and saw a framed old white brick sign, that said :When Orleans was under Spanish rule in the Colony of Lou (crack here) sauna, this street bore the name of (French name I don't remember and even if I did I couldn't write it out, too hard spelling.) It was old, had blue and old decorations and a crown. I would see these signs all around New Orleans. I'll tell you more about the bathroom two blogs from now, I think. The lady showed us this area quickly, and I went over to the far left through windows, and saw a T.V. and a flat stiff couch. Looked relaxing. Also a desk. I thought I might go in there later, to get away from the bustling R.V. and have some peace and quiet.
Dad said we'd come back, as we all got back in the R.V. and started up the engine again as we went around. There were a few sites with a screened in pavilion, at the back of the R.V. site. On the front of every site were lightposts, black and kind of bare. There was cobblestone roads and sites. It looked kind of like old Victorian Period London, England. Mom got out of the jeep, which was parked at the office, and helped Dad park into a site kind of over the big billboard. It was weird with that tower of a thing over us the whole time, but Dad assured me it was stable and would never fall unless a robot came around and shot a laser into the base of it. If this did in fact happen, though, then anyone in the path of this rectangular flat board, would be instantly killed or injured, or at least the roof would be broken and our dish for T.V. would be damaged. No satellite! Oh no bring in the S.W.A.T team! But sir, what about your injured family, sir? Well they'll get better, our number one priority is to get a new dish and install it; the Grammy's are on tonight! Actually right now, in fact. Listening to some guy named Bruce Springston, whoever that guy is. Anyway, as Mom and I, plus Rebecca stayed outside helping her, we talked about why there was little diagonal spikes, that went right and left and formed a triangle. Mom said she was glad they had that, but she didn't feel good that we NEEDED it. Get what I'm saying?
There were three african american kids with white t shirts and gym shorts, on bikes. One was on the handrails of the other, and one had tattoos. That one was older looking, but I could have told him 16 or around that age. He was short. They kept circling around, and they totally weren't from the R.V. park, and they looked as if they would jump us or rob us at any moment. In the back pocket of my jeans, I clutched my Leatherman stainless steel knife, and was ready for anything. By the back by the office and the little trash can, with an entrance to the pool and pathway with shubbery on the side, a man on a golf cart, the guy who let us in at the gate, stopped the people and told them they needed to leave, to go home. And they did. Supposedly. After parking and setting up quickly, we went to the bar place, and Mom and Dad sat at the counter to watch a football game, getting a guy to come and turn on the game. I touched the hot water of the jukusi, not wanting to go in it because Dad told me not to go into more than 15 minutes, and he told me a story about an old guy who didn't go with his friends to the showers, and died in the hot tub. And it was warm, and had all the bubbles in it. The water was freezing cold. A lady leaning back in a pool chair told me she thought it was cold, but maybe kids would be fine with it. So Rebecca and I decided to have a little pool time, maybe the last time on the trip as winter approached and we headed to the R.V. to get some bathing suits and towels.
I got them from under Rebecca's couch, and the towel over the sink, and goggles too. Then, with dry clothes shed in the back away from the view of pedestrians, we put on our flip-flops and Rebecca took a few toys to use as torpedoes. We locked the R.V., and walked over, through a gate as Dad was talking to a lady at the beach chair. She had clothes going in the laundry room, by the restrooms on the right too. I put the table and my book Mockingjay both on the table. As Mom and Dad were either talking to the lady or watching the football game, Rebecca and I dipped our feet in the ice cold chilly water, and also then put our shins in. I ventured further in, wanting to not get so cold but to also go in the water. I ended up jumping in after going around the sides, getting in the hot tub for only seconds at a time, just checking it out and getting warmer after going up and down. Rebecca was just as cautious. Until, of course, I just jumped in and felt the cool water cleansing my body like a muddy kid getting in a bath tub, urged by an aunt who really wants to clean her nephew who is as dirty as a pig. Man it felt so cold as Pluto, and it was so refreshing too though. My goggles went up, and I swam around before coming up quickly, and dog paddling out as I got into the hot tub. Yep, I can't stand the cold for too long.
After eventually staying in and warming up, we swam on our backs, used our goggles and I went through the water and all the dark blue rock formation floor. Rebecca and I tossed her ball back and forth, in the water, or outside, on either side of the pool. A couple of times they went away from us, down to the laundry room and a kid on the other side picked it up, and I thanked him and asked his name. Matthew. Other times they went behind to the shrubbery down the little path, and I had to go find it in the plants. And I couldn't so I asked Mom to help Dad was talking to a male employee who turned the T.V. on. On top of her having to find it, later as we swam around, throwing uneasily because we were in the water, Rebecca threw a ball in Mom's direction as she was talking to the reading lady, who was waiting for her washed clothes, relaxing. THUMP! The ball hit Mom's head and then came off. Mom said it was fine, and told Rebecca it was okay. The husband of this lady had seen it thrown, and jokingly asked if it was me. I said I never threw it, no, and he said he didn't know about that. On the sudden defensive, I said as he walked away through the exit, in the laundry room, "NO SIR I NEVER THREW IT! IT WAS MY SISTER!" He didn't hear me or just didn't answer, and Mom told me to be quiet, some things you just had to let go.
We had a lot of fights in those waters, hitting, splashing, crying, scraping on the hard concrete and other things. We had a dog, a little man who's arms were right by his sides and the same with his leg, and we used these as torpedoes with our flip flops as boats and everything. We played in the hot tub that it was a contest, and all the bubbles messed him up. It was fun, but we fought about this too. We do argue a lot. As I went out of the cold for some time, a blonde haired lady sat at the counter with Mom and Dad and a fit in shape man of my Mom's age perhaps got in the hot tub, showing his chest hairs. He and Mom got to talking, and same thing with Dad and the lady, and guess what: the lady had worked in the cafe at Cherry Hill, the R.V. park in Washington that I have talked so much about. I do remember after we dodged the hurricane and went over the mountain chain into Virgina, we returned and came back at lunch time to D.C. again, at Cherry Hill, because we still had to do some things there. I had a BLT and I remember that lady serving me. Funny how you see somebody like that for only a few minutes and then you spot and meet them in a totally different part of the country. Like the lady on the chair doing the laundry, these people went to D.C. in the summer and spring and down here in the fall and winter, and she does all the kitchen stuff and he does sitting at home and doing nothing. Unfair, really.
Mom and the guy got into a interesting debate about the Congress, and since it was a Sunday discussed how someone Mom knew didn't let her children do laundry on the Sabbath, and made them get grounded or something. Her husband made the argument that if the toilet was clogged, would she allow him to go up and put a plunger in it or would he have to wait 'til Monday to do so? It was interesting to listen to the two talk, a lot more interesting than reading my book, well, a little more. Since Dad wanted to have dinner in the city, we dried up and Dad took me over to the R.V., and I took off my damp suit at the door, and quickly ran into the shower, and turned on the hot water. Then Rebecca also took a shower as I put on clothes. We prepared to go into the French Quarter in New Orleans, the Big Easy.
We were going to walk, because we were so close to everything, but that didn't end up happening as we pulled out of the R.V. park in the jeep, and saw the field for a school across the street. Going right, on our right we had the grey building, the Visitors Center and on our left was a parking lot, completely filled with trailers, and tents, and one of them said Base Station. We would be wondering what this would be for, and what it was for. As we came up into the French Quarter, I noticed that there were all these brick and metal homes right off the street, two floored, with a small balcony overlooking us. So these were what French homes looked like, I supposed. We drove right up through all these streets, and I looked around at my first real sight of the cultural city of New Orleans. We all wanted to do and see something here, Rebecca wanted to go on a carriage tour and see all the art, Mom wanted to do the tour bus, and see all the devastation of Katrina, and Dad was the same way. I, in fact, wanted to see a real Louisiana bog and listen to some jazz and stuff, also see the Cathedral and the museums. So we all had something personal we wanted to see and do, and we would try to do them all throughout our stay.
We parked in a kind of steep parking lot, a little ways from the bay or the Mississippi River, I don't remember which, but also by the street and a restaurant. We parked there, and there was a gate around and a pedestrian entrance and exit that we walked out of, with my book. I also took my French Dictionary, because earlier when putting up the trash can, I asked a lady where it was and she talked in French, but pointed me "right way." I said "Merci" after blunderly saying gracias, which is a Spanish term. I had this little dictionary I had got in Maine at a place with a giant globe was, and had used it when talking to people from Quebec. It was quite useful. I thought since the French founded New Orleans, and since there was a part called the French Quarter, I would totally need it. So I placed it in my jacket inside pocket, and I left my Mockingjay book in the car, for I wanted to see this enchanting and beautiful city of New Orleans! We walked down a few blocks, among all the storefronts and bars, as we went among the wet cobblestone streets and the sidewalks. There wasn't many cars. We were really hungry, and had many choices, but then decided on a little restaurant seafood place across the parking lot, so when we were done we could just get in the jeep and go home. We walked in, and were given an open air table right by the sidewalk. The restaurant was on a corner, so it had a pointed feel at the entrance, so to speak.
We searched the menu as I got off my jacket and placed my dictionary on the window sill. There was some old guys with white hair, some of them in 50's and 60's, talking about Mardi Gras and girls, and some other things like sports. I didn't really inspect any of the restaurant, just looked at the bar table and some of the patrons and such. A lady came to us, young, and took our drinks. Mom had some elaborate beer, and Dad had Miller Light or something of the sort. Water for both Rebecca and I. I looked over the menu. While in New Orleans, I wanted to have something that New Orleans specilized in, in other words, something they make or is famous from here. On the menu it said that Red Beans and Rice happened to be a New Orleans favorite. So I decided to try that. Mom wanted that too, and I offered if could we share it if it was too big. She said it would be okay and that we should both order one. And so we did. Dad got some shrimp, thinking there would be like five or six and some french fries. Rebecca ordered salami and cheese, and a special plate, organized only for her. Very nice that they did that. Our waitress was on her feet all the time, and I would see her go in the kitchen at one point and then come out and serve someone a second later. She had to be getting a lot of tips for all this going around. I kind of was crept out that she was like two places in one time, I saw her like all the time, going around. It got me to thinking...
She also had some kind of accent. While waiting and talking a little about what we were going to do in New Orleans, I heard our brown/ red headed waitress saying the words "New Zealand" and "Austrailia" and "I'm from", talking to those men. She must be an Aussie, I thought! When she served our food out, we got her to talking and she told about the Superbowl rush they had and what it will be like for Mardi Gras, also about her coming here and her having a twin! So that now explained why I had seen her really in two places at once. Her name was Jo and her sister's name was Bo. Funny. But she went away after talking for a while, and we looked at our stuff. Rebecca liked hers, but mine looked huge and had red stuff over the beans. Dad's shrimp was jumbo size (I know what your thinking, that's an oxy-moron, but it was) and there was more than 20 there. I tried out mine, and the beans were fine, but it was such a huge plate, I mean I couldn't do it all. Neither could Mom. We should have shared. Oh well. We later talked to Jo about how everything was in huge helpings and that all the unused food was put into the dumpster. Kind of a waste, but there are a lot of wastes around the world. Take beer. All the unused beer is thrown away, and then in the morning trucks... well, I'll you about that later.
I didn't really like it, it wasn't my cup of tea, too spicy and big and fattening. After paying and saying goodbye to Jo, I said hi to her sister Jo and took my dictionary and we stepped outside. We got to talking to some people, outside under the balcony on the sidewalk. The guy Dad talked to was bearded and they talked up against a pillar, and I met a guy who was named Steve and we talked about fishing, even though I'm not a fisherman. I started up that conversation saying my name was Andrew but I'm no fisherman, like the Bible dude. But we talked about it and he told me about some trout as I related the tale of Rebecca and I catching some salmon in Michigan. If you haven't already read it, you got to, it's very exciting. (Rebecca being sick, going to stores, eating breakfast at diner, catching salmon, intervied for magazine,tunneloftrees, glassshardhunters, indiandinner is the blog post.)
The ladies that Mom and Rebecca talked to were named Sue and Ann, and they told us if we were going to walk around the French Quarter, to not go to Bourbon Street, as Ann remarked, " 'Cause there's a lot of drunkards there, it's no place for children." This is a foreshadowing, readers. So, instead of going to the parking lot and leaving, we simply walked down one street. There we saw some laughing people in bars, and some jewerly stores, all of which were bared up and closed. I had never seen all the high quality stores, like these clothes and such. I mean I had seen it, but not this whole part of town. We went down one street which said St. Peter's, and I saw a lot of streets named after saints, and later this would be explained to me why. This had a few smelly bars and things like that, but it wasn't too bad. As we walked in the street, which had no cars passing by, and then got on the sidewalk, Rebecca was a little scared of all the weird music and sights. Well, a scruffy looking man, with a ski hat and a scarf, and also a brown coat with his hands sticking out of a glove, came to us and said, with a whiskey bottle in his hand, " Don't take your children on Bourbon Street! Don't do it." He passed by us, and burped, as he stumbled away, yelling as he went, "DON'T TAKE YOUR CHILDREN ON BOURBON STREET!"
That, was the start of it. We supposed we were on this infamous street, but both the street signs and Dad's iPad said otherwise. Mom and Dad thought that we shouldn't go on this street, and would go circle around and go back to our parking lot, through going through other streets. I wanted to go back the way we came, but our parents felt better if we should go the other way. They thought that this Bourbon Street would be like the Beale Street of Memphis, TN, where there was a few bars, a lot of lights and neon, and we would be fine if we didn't trouble with anyone. But, as we unsuspectingly turned onto a corner into another street, this theory would prove otherwise.
Then, it happened. We turned. The smell came first. The smell of beer, of smoke, and of sweat and dirty rats, all mixed into one terrible odor. Then, the noises. Broken glass, yelling, jazz music and rock. After that, the feel of wind and of hot condensed air. Finally, the sights. The sights of balconies with people making out, of an african american group yelling at each other and pushing her down, and oh the scary sights! Rebecca felt we needed to go back, and tugged and held Mom's hand tight. I stayed by Dad, who was the one with the gun. In the middle of the street, a person on a box, dressed up as a skeleton that we passed, blinking it's eyes. We got back on the sidewalk, to see in a back alley a few tall ladies only in bikinis. I turned away. We continued on. My heart beat like a Sioux Indian drum, before they eat the white settlers. I tried to not look at everything, as we silently talked, praying to God of our deliverance from this evil place. Mom and Dad joked and tried to lighten the burden from us, saying kind of funny things and comforting us two. Dad looked at his iPad, saying that we only had to go two more blocks and then turn. And those two blocks were the scariest of the world, I believe. There were bars, people drinking, and weirdos and smokers on either side, puffing their lungs into the little cylinder things, like a dragon. A guy with a silver chest plate on his chest, with two spoons, making music. Mom thought that that was cool. Pictures of ladies... I can't speak it, I'm sorry. It's too gross and weird. And we have kids reading this.
We got off immediately. And that was the scariest and weirdest part of the trip,by far. It gave me a bad reputation for New Orleans now, all the drunkards, weirdos, voodoo, smoke, odor, and the Stripper clubs. We got on to a street called Poppi, with a Judial building on our left that we looked up too, as we circled back around to the parking lot and got in the car, watching for car jackers. Rebecca cried a little, so scared and so mad at Mom and Dad. In their defense, they didn't know it would be like that, and didn't even realize we were going over there. Now, Rebecca might call or have called some of you, or texted even, that we stayed on the street for "like 45 minutes" that Mom and Dad took us on there to "show us about the world and give us a teaching lesson" or something of the matter. Neither of those statements are true. We stayed on for 15 minutes tops, probably less, and I have already stated that they were oblivious to the fact that we were going on the street. We went home, got in the R.V., locked the jeep, locked the R.V. with us in it, and Dad put his Judge, a gun, on one of my books, and slept with the bed in on my couch, as I slept in the back with Mom. Rebecca was in the front also. I had the hardest time going to sleep but eventually dosed off. I had nightmares that night.
The drive to New Orleans was boring, but I liked the R.V. resort we were at, and also loved relaxing and swimming in the pool. The dinner wasn't that great, but I liked talking to Jo and also Sue, Ann, and Steve. I didn't, however, at all enjoy Bourbon Street. I don't think those images will ever be etched out of my brain. The world has some pretty weird and scary things, I can infer. I guess this trip is a learning experience, but I wish I didn't ever learn about any of that. I just don't. Goodbye for now. --
The Blogger.
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| RV Park in The French Quarter |
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| The Spikes along the block wall around the RV Park |
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