Thursday 22 February 2001 - Wednesday 28 February 2001

This was our longest trip to date - 355 miles taking in Florida, Alabama, Mississippi, and ending up at La Place Trailer Park and Campground about 30 miles from New Orleans in Louisiana. Incidentally, the major road surfaces in Louisiana are truly awful: concrete slabs which aren't level with each other and which caused the truck and trailer to oscillate horribly. The traffic on I10 through New Orleans was dreadful due to numerous accidents, but we arrived about an hour before dark and got ourselves settled into the most unpleasant campground it's been our misfortune to encounter.

You've seen films about trailer trash who live in scruffy ageing trailers on unsanitary campgrounds - well, this is the place where they end up when they get kicked out of those. The price must have been hiked up to take advantage of the shortage of accommodation at Mardi Gras - $30 would have been excessive for a week, let alone a night - and to add insult to injury we had to pay $5 a day for a key to the disgusting rest rooms (the ladies had rat droppings in the sink; the gents had shower taps with the hot and cold labeled the wrong way round; both smelt of urine). It is also located on a main road, a short distance away from a huge chemical works whose emissions generate their own microclimate, and we discovered on the first night that a railway line passes right next to the campground, although it sounded as though it went straight through our trailer. What a dump.

Next day we went into the city, after negotiating more accidents on the Interstate, and drove around the city although the crowds made this a bit tricky. In the evening we picked up our friend Stef from New Orleans International Airport. We'd arranged this meeting following a casual remark 18 months previously - 'come over for Mardi Gras - we'll put you up' - and fortunately he arrived at the right time and place. This was just as well, since we'd made no contingency plans for what would happen if we or he weren't at the expected rendezvous, so sighs of relief all round. Stef had a terrific flight over; in fact, we retained him as a special correspondent to describe his experiences ...

It seems I have been graciously given some space on this site to act as Travel Correspondent. 

For those of you who might be considering visiting Dave and Christine in their lavishly appointed trailer, I can offer only one piece of advice. Should your journey necessitate an internal flight within the USA, never, under any circumstances whatsoever, fly with Air Tran. This was my mistake.

 My journey to New Orleans started as uneventfully as one might expect from an Air Miles funded BA Club World flight to Atlanta. A smattering of suits in the comfy seats – most of whom it transpired were middle management of the Coca-Cola company who are headquartered in Atlanta – the real Coke grown ups were sitting in the very pointy bit at the front, otherwise known as “First”. All I managed to spot through the gap in the class-dividing curtains was an astonishingly fat man in dungarees, who probably wouldn’t have fitted in Club anyway. A fine advert for existing on a lifetime diet of carbonated sugary gut rot.

 Nine hours and some food and booze later, arrived in Atlanta. Unsurprisingly, the customary lengthy delay at US immigration and customary grumpy immigration officer were standard in Atlanta as in any other US international airport. 

Found the Air Tran desk and checked in. My first impressions of this quality airline were set by the careful and automated checking in of my cabin baggage using a state of the art system consisting of a biro and a clipboard with a photocopied form on it. That and the handwritten boarding pass for the Boeing 717. Air Tran were cheap – less than a third the price of Delta – and I was beginning to understand why. 

More amusement on the plane, as witnessed from seat 11F, unfolded in front of my eyes as no less than three people turned up clutching a boarding card for 11A. Now, I’m no expert in aviation logistics, but I reckon that’s two more than it should have been. This slight misunderstanding was professionally resolved by the cabin crew (who, even in the most economy of economy airlines still comprised the “woman of a certain age” concealed behind two inches of orange make up and shaped by industrial-strength support hosiery and the “too camp to be serious” young gentleman – it’s nice to see they don’t scrimp on the stereotypes) who suggested that the two would-be occupants of 11A sat “anywhere they could find behind the curtain”.

 Air Tran is not recommended for those suffering from epilepsy. The overhead strip lighting flickered. A lot. So much so, in fact, that the couple in front of me attempted to shade themselves from it by stuffing newspaper into the gap between the overhead lockers and the side of the plane. This went unnoticed by Orange Woman and Camp Boy, but not by those around them who gently pointed out that putting dry newspaper directly on a hot neon tube might just be a fire risk – and fires on aircraft are generally a Bad Thing.

 Amazingly, the flight got off the ground. Not long after getting off the ground, I thought we might be on – or embedded in – it a little sooner than scheduled, after the ascent to cruising altitude was made more interesting by a large plummet – “This is your First Officer speaking - for those of you on the right hand side of the aircraft, you will see the brightly lit suburbs of Atlanta at an unusual angle and a lot closer than you would probably like”.

 Panic over, I settled back to enjoy the in-flight cuisine. Some might say I’d been spoilt by the earlier BA Club World experience (sample dish: International meze of seafood featuring Prawn Sushi, Salmon and Trout Tartar and marinated seared Scallop), and they’d be right. And, to Air Tran’s credit, they did provide a two course dining experience on a flight of only an hour and twenty minutes. For main course, we enjoyed a premium blend of zesty tastes including pretzels, ranch bagel chips and cheddar corn sticks (Net Weight ½ oz. / 14g). To follow, Air Tran’s chefs suggested Wrigley’s “Eclipse” Polar Ice Sugar Free Gum (Quickly eliminates strong mouth odors) – a further 3 grams of gastronomic pleasure.

 The only other guidance I can give potential Air Tran customers is a piece of information that my neighbour chose to share with me shortly after the plummeting incident – Air Tran were once called Value Jet, but changed their name after Value Jet’s allegedly appalling safety record started losing them market share. Most reassuring. 

Somehow we made it to New Orleans International. An interesting definition of “International” as it refers mainly to the United States, apart from the occasional flight from Canada. Akin to the “World Series” methinks.

 I thought they’d managed to lose my luggage as well – especially after the carousel stopped and just about everyone else on the flight had disappeared with their bags. Somehow – via Louisiana voodoo perhaps – my bag turned up in a separate locked room. But it was there. I had arrived.

 Air Tran? Never again. Well, not until Wednesday at least …

 So now you know. Air Tran - just say no.

For three of the next four days we went into New Orleans and immersed ourselves in the Mardi Gras experience. This takes place over the course of the three or four weeks leading up to Fat Tuesday itself, mainly in the French Quarter which was originally the entire city  before it began to expand - and the general carousing, drunkenness and exhibitionism centre around Bourbon Street as immortalised in numerous songs from the jazz era. The streets are absolutely packed, and there is a pervasive odour comprising food, beer, sweaty bodies and urine which isn't quite as bad as it sounds, although it's never going to compete with Chanel No. 5. A few photographs will give you a far better impression than mere words ...

... note the merrymakers on the balconies, who will throw beads and trinkets down to those people below who are prepared to degrade themselves in the most amusing and  interesting ways ...

... traditional street entertainers ...

... no doubt about his marketing technique ...

... and our favourite mobile evangelist. I should have thought that having his own email address would put him in with the computer freaks, but looking at the front of his banner he doesn't seem to have a problem with hypocrites so in his own eyes I expect he's blameless.

We'd been warned by various people on our travels to avoid Mardi Gras at all costs as we were likely to be mugged, raped or both, but we found it all remarkably peaceful and good humoured. Lots of folk were having plenty to drink, singing, shouting, exposing their genitals etc. but all in a friendly spirit. We saw one person who'd obviously been smoking something other than Benson & Hedges been led away gently into a police car, but other than that we encountered no trouble whatsoever. Mind you, if we'd gone out roaring drunk and insulting people on Bourbon Street at 2.00am it might have been different, but being old fogies we were pretty much partied out by sunset so we went back to our slum to prepare for the next day.

After a short while we'd all managed to accumulate and wear more beads than we would ever have thought possible or necessary ...

The parades and floats are all put on by organisations called 'Krewes' - the term dates from the mid 19th century when for some unknown reason it was deemed to be more 'Olde English' than crews. These are non-profit groups who spend large amounts on it each year just for the pleasure and prestige of taking part. Apart from beads, various other 'throws' are hurled to the crowds - beakers, soft toys, edible items in Mardi Gras wrappers, frisbees, 'doubloons' (specially minted aluminium coins), medallions etc. etc. including such potentially lethal items as the spear held by Stef in the picture above. Each parade has a theme on which all the floats are based - this one was children's authors ...

The most desirable throws are the golden coconuts distributed by the Zulu Krewe. Stef managed to go home with one of these, thanks to the guy we were standing next to in the crowd who accumulated about six. He did this by jumping over the barrier, avoiding the police, running up to the float and shouting 'Hey, give me a coconut for my kids, man' which seemed to work nearly every time.  After he had one for each child he let Stef have a spare - a very noble gesture, we all thought.

Food is another highlight of the Mardi Gras experience. We ate in a different restaurant every day - not too difficult, as New Orleans is full of them, many providing live music ...

... including the famous House of Blues. Cajun food is really good, probably the best we've found anywhere, and we tried to sample all the main dishes - po' boys, crawfish étouffé, jambalaya, filé gumbo etc. (well, you know the song). We decided that the name of the po' boy - a huge roll filled with shrimps, oysters, chicken or anything else that you can think of - came about because after eating it all you can do is sit back and moan 'oh, my po' stomach'.

Our favourite sight was one of the many evangelists who preach to the enormous crowds of sinners in the streets - they certainly have a well-qualified audience. This one was on his way into town in the evening, dressed as Jesus including the robes and long flowing hair. He also had a huge wooden cross, and we were very impressed at his dedication and suffering in dragging this along with him until we noticed that it was equipped with a small pair of casters to make it easier to pull. Not quite in the spirit of the Road to Calvary, we thought.

One evening we took a paddle boat ride down the Mississippi, with food and a great jazz band thrown in. On a day off, we visited two plantations, including Laura where the Brer Rabbit stories originated, and had yet more great food in a little country restaurant. There were still a number of the slave quarters and other buildings in the plantation grounds, including the owner's house and adjoining kitchen ...

... but not exactly maintained to the highest standards ...

The day after Mardi Gras we went to New Orleans Art Museum to see a special exhibition by Judy Chicago, famous feminist. Afterwards, wandered round the streets looking at the huge piles of beads, beer glasses, dead bodies and other assorted debris at the side of the road; they'd cleared a few of the main streets overnight, but most of the smaller ones were still pretty sordid. Had another great meal with music in Mulate's restaurant. 

All in all, Mardi Gras is a great experience which we can recommend to anyone, especially if they like beads.

Thursday 1 March 2001 - Friday 2 March 2001

Packed up in the rain, and drove in the rain to Bayou Wilderness RV Resort at Carencro near Lafayette as we thought we ought to see some of Louisiana other than New Orleans. It gives the impression of being a poor state, which is possibly more due to the style of architecture than to economic factors: all houses look like shacks, even those which on close inspection are nearly new and in good condition. There's oil in the west, and lots of other natural resources, so perhaps it's not so bad as it appears.

We just stayed for a couple of nights as it was raining almost continually, sometimes torrentially, and the weather map indicated that west was the direction to go. Visited the Museum of Acadian Life, where in an old drawer Christine discovered the long-lost Holy Casters of Christ (see reference in the previous week's entry) ...

After we'd been there for ten minutes I realised the camera was still in the car; when I went to get it, I found that the car park was now under six inches of water and had to wade out. However, by this time I was so wet it didn't make much difference. More good food in the evenings, and we bought some crab cakes and andouille to freeze and take with us.

Westward to Texas now.