Reaching Nirvana in Louisiana – Road Trip from New Orleans to Beaumont, Texas via Baton Rouge

New Orleans was, from since I started planning this trip, the place I was probably looking forward to more than anything else. I had no idea what to expect, except somewhere very different from anywhere else. This assumption was not incorrect. Our first night's experience probably doesn't quite do the place justice. Following the five-to-six hour journey from Gulf Shores to New Orleans, Ben, Morgan and I felt more like sleeping than anything else. As a result, our first evening in New Orleans was spent watching Skyfall in the car park of a Wal-Mart.

Our second day was a major improvement! We drove to a KOA in the morning, situated in the city itself. It was probably the best KOA so far. Busy, pretty, well located, and the woman on the desk gave me a free toffee apple. 

We made our way to Bourbon Street as soon as possible. It seemed almost too cliche, but there was no way I could go to New Orleans and not go to Bourbon Street. It was like another world. Every building was either a bar or a souvenir shop, filled to the top with Venetian masks, beads, and things shaped like penises.

   

Every bar had something going on. The first had an outgoing woman forcing people into karaoke; the second a dad-rock covers band; the third a jazz-rock band; the fourth a soft jazz fivesome (Louis Armstrong cover inc.); the fifth a blues/RnB band…. the list goes on.

The atmosphere on Bourbon Street is one of a chilled out, joy-seeking carnage, spurred on by the 'Buy 1, Get 2 free' drinks deal nearly all the bars employ in the area (and the fact you can take your drink from one bar, onto the street, and into another). 

One of the best moments was when we were sat in the Funky Pirate enjoying a performance of Hey Joe, as the USA vs Mexico game was on one TV, and Batman Returns was being played on a big screen on the opposite wall.

   

That day, we wandered around Bourbon street taking in all we could. One bar after the next, we worked our way around. We stopped for something to eat in a seafood restaurant (although Morgan had chicken, in a seafood restaurant, I mean seriously…), and tried not to stick around in one place too long. 

Should you ever venture to Bourbon Street, be sure to try the signature cocktail of several bars there: the Hand Grenade. For the life of me, I cannot tell you what was in it. But, like normal hand-grenades, it was both fruity as well as deadly. Don't have one and expect to achieve much afterward. It was this that signalled the end of our evening, and an incredibly uncomfortable following morning.

   

Morgan left the next day, embarking, impressively, on her 11-hour drive back to Charlotte in probably not the best of states. (It's here I'll say cheers for being great company, Morgan, and I'll see you in the UK… right?). While Morgan's day may not have achieved too much, ours can only have achieved less. The one memory I have was having a shower. 

28th March 
Back to Wal-Mart, we spent the day in Starbucks. Ben wasn't too keen on leaving the RV as his sunburn was peeling more than a Prisoner-of-War on kitchen duty. However, I eventually managed to persuade him to man up and come out to see what Frenchmen Street was like. 

Every local we met on Bourbon Street told us we had to go to Frenchmen Street, and I wanted to know what all the fuss was about. It was basically the local hang-out (although, as a result of its reputation, is increasingly being invaded by pesky tourists, us not included). It's where we were told the 'reeeeeal' jazz was, and this was something I just had to see. 

We hopped out the cab around 9pm and the place was just as alive as Bourbon Street. A mobile, brass band played bombastic tunes from the curb, as market stalls continued to sell their crafts late into the night, illuminated by the surrounding fairy lights.

We mooched into the Spotted Cat (the first bar we came across), and were met by a smooth jazz trio who serenaded us calmly the whole time we were in there. We enjoyed a good mix of beer here, including me finally getting to try a Pabst Blue Ribbon (the notoriously Hipster beer, which, accordingly, got me laughed at from the girl on the bar). 

As seems the norm with bartenders in America, we became quite friendly with the girl serving us, Lady Robin. She finished her shift at 10 and offered to show us around Frenchmen St. (although not before stopping off at her place first to walk the dog). She, and several of her friends, made us very welcome in the many bars we visited that evening. Every one of them with live music, and every act we saw being pretty damn good at worst. There really is nowhere quite like it in England. Scrap that, there's nowhere quite like it in the World (from my limited experience). 

The evening ended at about 3.30am with me and Ben buying a steak sandwich from a guy called Joe who'd set up a BBQ on the street, then collapsing into a cab to go back to the RV. New Orleans, I will come back to you. 

Having listened to the bore-fest that was the Norwich v Wigan game, we jumped straight into the RV to drive to Baton Rouge in search of a way to forget the result. The answer came as we pulled up at a Wal-Mart and were greeted by Derek, the car park security officer, who turned out to be most accommodating ("you gotta go Twin Peaks, puts Hooters to shame").

We met some great people in Baton Rouge (shout out to Karen, Ben and Broc), including one I'd already met: a friend of a friend, Sonia. She showed us a decent bar and took us to a gathering at her uni friends' flat. 

Thanks Sonia for being a great host. Not only do I appreciate the introduction to Mike the Tiger (an ACTUAL TIGER), but also you really introducing us to the concept of 24hr America. At about 4.30am we went into a diner, were seated, handed a menu, and promptly served up a full meal. I hate to say it, but it really makes the early morning kebabs and fried chicken in the UK seem a tiny bit less sophisticated. (£5 pizza deal at Kebab-U-Like, Bristol, not included). 

So little happened the next day, I shall leave it at this.

1st April 

1st April marked one month since Ben and I set out on this trip, and it was awesome. We drove out of Louisiana towards Texas down Interstate 10 and across the Atchafalaya Swamp, which was ah-maaaaaaaaay-zing. A beautifully sunny day, bombing it down the Interstate on an 18-mile bridge over miles of green, salubrious, otherwise untouched undergrowth, was an unforgettable experience. We pulled off at the visitor centre and wandered through a tiny, empty museum about the area. It was kitted out in the sort of terrible, but hilarious, moving exhibits you see in The Simpsons.

   

An excursion to Lake Martin wasn't in the original plan, but the nice lady at the visitor centre said we had to go, so we did (old nice ladies know best). It was essentially just more swamp, but with loads of wildlife (or should I say "critters"), and one of the best places for us to see an alligator ("gator").

We jumped out the RV and walked along the boardwalk appreciating nature's attempt to be pretty. Our enjoyment of the boardwalk was maybe slightly scuppered by a massive bee that appeared halfway along (everything IS bigger in America!). Ashamedly to say, the bee proved too much to handle and we turned back. 

 

We spent the night in what has been called the "Second Saddest Place to Live in America." I feel this was a bit mean as we had a great time. A rack of ribs, a couple Buds in an Applebee's, and some casual racism from the waiter warning about the dangers of "the black people in Houston..." what more could you want from a day?

Louisiana proved itself to, probably, be my favourite state so far on this trip. It's a shame to be leaving it behind, but there are other Wal-Mart employees to befriend! As per, there's a video re-enactment of this text below. David Attenborough impression included.