"Homestead" ~ Near Pecan Island, Louisiana © 2011 Skip Hunt
It was certainly going to rain, but I was now on a mission. My sights were trained on a tin warehouse supermarket called "Joyce's" in St. Martinville, Louisiana.
The night before I had been told there was not much of anything there at all, but instead discovered a great little town with a giant tree along the river marking a place Acadians gathered in the 1800's and a dedicated plaque under the tree in honor of the Longfellow poem "Evangeline". This town definitely had more to offer than I was led to believe. If I ever pass through again, I will certainly find a way to spend more time there.
Joyce's had a deli area but no seating. Most of the food available for plate lunches in styrofoam containers were pans of gurgling dirty spices and all sorts of cajun delicacies. My evangelical partner doesn't eat pork or any shellfish, but he said he'd make due with chicken. I could tell this place wasn't his cup of tea so I told him I wouldn't be offended if he wanted to find something else more to his liking and that I'd stay here and catch him later. He seemed pretty relieved by his and said he'd much rather find a place where he could sit down instead of eating in a parking lot. I told him this looked exactly like what I was looking for and I was rather looking forward to eating my styrofoam container full of steamin' po-folk food in no other place than with a plastic spoon in a dingy parking lot. :-)
When the hair-netted woman with cat-eye glasses and almost a delicate mustache just beginning to come in nicely, asked if I preferred my crawfish étouffée over white or dirty rice I knew I'd found what I was looking for.
As I scooped the cajun culinary bounty into my gaping pie-hole in the parking lot between alternate scoops of butter beans and spiced on, a local chap passed by and said with that delightful cajun accent, "Bet you feelin' like a real cham-pi-yone 'bout now!" I nodded back in the affirmative.
The storm clouds were looming dark now and although I knew my travel buddy figured he'd made a better decision to find a proper restaurant. One out of the rain and serving food that his God might find more favorable, but because of how that crawfish tasted over dirty rice followed by butter beans and corn... ouuuuuuie!
A young cajun grocery bagger asked where I was riding to. Between bites of boudin sausage I told him "Just around here and there." He said, "Dat rain... she's a comin'!" I told him I knew it, but this food was too delicious to not finish and that I wasn't worried. Told him, "That's ok, I float." He laughed and said out loud, "Dats right! We ALL float!"
The rain fell for a short while as I looked for the cafe on the plaza where h evangelical dined and I did get a little wet, but you know what? I wouldn't have had it any other way. And, it stopped long enough for me to wonder around the back streets a bit and find some of the best images I'd found in Louisiana to date!
It wasn't much further to Abbeyville and the Palmetto State Park. I'd say only about an hour, but I had to stop and get an image of all these white horses gathered in a pasture of yellow flowers munching on pile of fresh hay.
At the park, my travel buddy was getting annoyed with all the time I was spending trying to get a nice close-up of this amazing moth with details that really made me wonder if that in reality, it's really God who is in the details and not necessarily his darker nemesis. Didn't matter to the evangelical chap, he wanted to get a campsite assigned and food before sunset and the beginning of the sabbath. How taking time to fully appreciate and document the glory of all creation is somehow a violation of the sabbath is lost on me.
After we had a campsite and we'd found a cajun cafe that was run by some Asian folks with automotive calendars decorating the walls, we parted ways for the evening and pretty much for the rest of the sabbath.
Before I headed back to the camp that night, I stopped off at a local gas station for a snack. They had covered hot pans of various sausages so I grabbed a boudin, a fig pastry (a local snack) and a Yoohoo chocolate drink. When the woman at the register was ringing me out, she said, "Dat all?" I said, "Oh, this boo-deen" sausage as well. She snapped back, "Boo-deen?! Dat ain't how ya say it. Say boo-deh." I tried with something that sounded like "Buddha" and she said I was close but she wouldn't sell it to me until I said it right. I finally got it right and she asked, "Where you from?". I told her Austin, Texas and she then replied, "Well then no wondah you ain't saying it righ!" At that point a very crazy looking woman waiting behind me in line with wild, wiry hair and her eyes held permanently wide open in this meth-amphetamine stare, yelled out loud, "Don't say it! EAT IT!" And then she started laughing manically.
She continued laughing even out in the parking lot as I bit into the boudin sausage's rubbery intestine encasing. Again, I can't imagine a better place and scene to have enjoyed some authentic cajun cuisine.
The next day we did ride back into Abbeyville for breakfast. The evangelical wanted to find a place with wifi so he could sit and watch his church service on his laptop. The breakfast cafe we settled on closed before lunch on Saturdays so he had to go find a McDonald's with wifi so he could remember the sabbath and keep it holy. Before he left he asked about the powdered sugar on the breakfast buffet. The waitress confirmed that it had been for beignets, but that the buffet was over 5 minutes ago. He looked upset because he'd been there before it was over and they said the cook would make some extra just for us. He seemed pretty happy about that as he gobbled up a fair amount before jetting off to find a McDonalds.
I spent the day checking out neighboring New Iberia and Avery Island where they have alligators roaming around wild and the Tabasco hot sauce factory.
The island was beautiful and I did the tourist thing at the Tabasco grounds. During what basically amounted to an infomercial for the Tabasco products, I noticed that none of the field workers toiling in the hot sun while picking peppers were white-skinned. Only one pasty-white, doughy man from the family who owns the company was sweating from little movement and giving his seal of approval for the best pepper plants as he was followed by a servant wiping the sweat from his brow. This man was easily over 300lbs and the way they showed only white folks doing the management tasks and hundreds of black folks sweating in the fields made me wonder if this was an old film from the plantation days. Until the present-day spokeswoman walked into the frame wearing a Tabasco-branded scarf and white linen pants did I realize things obviously haven't changed much in this part of the world.
When I saw the evangelical later, I told him that I didn't want to be the "sabbath police" or anything, but that I wondered how letting that cook in the cafe do extra work by making beignets just for his obvious desire was still honoring the sabbath, but that buying gasoline while he was in town was not? He never could answer me in a way that made any sense, but he basically said that he'd been chosen to have his eyes opened by God and that it was all perfectly clear to him. He apologized that I had not been chosen for such clarity.
Needless to say, I was beginning to look forward to traveling on my own again soon. ;-)
The long rides through the bayous of Southern, Louisiana are so peaceful. Though, the last highways along the coastal byways and ferries gave me this strange foreboding vibe. Not entirely a negative feeling, but more of an exposed and vulnerable haunting ride. The only folks I'd see were in beat up old cars and the occasional family wielding fishing rods or swimming in the narrow reed-lined trenches along the coastal highway.
I stopped for a few images of this old homestead amidst some flowers near Pecan Island and my travel companion said he too was feeling some foreboding dread in the air. Could have been the grey clouds, or it might have been some remnant spirits of past hurricane and oil-spill devastation still lingering in the air and landscape.
Just after crossing the bridge back into Texas, we agreed to part ways because I wanted to hear the ocean's heartbeat for a night or two in Galveston, Texas and I think the evangelical had had just about enough from this heathen with his incessant questions and such.
Suited me just fine as I took my first bite of one of the best shrimp po-boy sandwiches I'd had, even in Louisiana and right on the beach seawall. The sea's steady chant dreamily carried my thoughts away to remembered journeys past and rocked back and forth to imagined ones to come.
I'm back in Austin now and already beginning to get the travel itch again. It's Spring now in Austin, one of my favorite times of the year with so much busting new growth and perfect temperatures. Perhaps I'll stay put for a spell and take my time while I try to figure out how I might fund another adventure.
Stay tuned!
The images embedded into this blog were were made and edited with an iPhone 4 because it's easier to upload them from the road.
However, I do make images with a regular camera as well. And, I've created a gallery of images from this trip made with a compact camera HERE
Skip Hunt
Austin, Texas