A Night in New Orleans

Thursday, January 17, 2013
New Orleans, Louisiana, United States
It ain't so easy to get to New Orleans the long way. And yet it was immensely satisfying. Port Arthur, refinery capital of SE Texas, is connected to Louisiana by causeways and a high bridge. From the top of the bridge you can see the ships, the flares, the tugs and barges, the huge tanks of gas and the innumerable stems, pipes and steaming towers of the refineries. The day was extremely cold and the gray of the clouds and the petroleum infrastructure merged in to a frigid tableau.

 Once over the road took went through Cajun seaside resorts alternating with small gas processing and refining stations . It had rained torrentially the night before. The water from the canals which border the road (only 7 ft above sea level) often extended out into flooded fields. Many had cattle of the kind that know how to swim, that Mark breeds. Other fields were flooded on purpose, with some strange system of nets and buoys in place, probably to cultivate crawfish or something. The wetlands extended for ever. Even in the cold, the birds were a delight: pelicans hovering motionless over a stream, ducks, giant egrets, grey herons, a kind of grey hawk, and even spoonbills which rose in a rush of pink and white when I roared by. Once I had to stop to allow a couple of black wild pigs to decide which side of the road they wanted to exit. A local woman on the other side said they were looking for high ground, and that I better be careful not to run over them. Yes ma'am!

Each state has certain structural highway peculiarities. Texas has the "internal loop" system, where you can swing round underneath the freeway from the frontage road and quicky go in the opposite direction unobstructed by stop signs or lights . Louisiana has the "merge on a bridge" feature. Many of the roads in the state are on concrete causeways. And for some reason most of the incoming lane merges take place as one climbs a bridge from the causeway over a canal. Not before, or after, but on the bridge right after the "beware of the ice" sign.   

The little tumble down hotel Villa Convento where I am staying is the total opposite to the cookie cutter places along the road. I love this French Quarter. So quaint and disreputable and tumbledown and French and Spanish. There was no-one on the streets when I went out for dinner. Half the restaurants were deserted, so I picked one that was full. So full I had to eat outside in the courtyard by the open kitchen -- brick walls, rickety wooden tables and a candle. I was alone, because of the cold, but the service (by random staff crossing from the kitchen to the dining room) was great. Only here.

Crossing the wide open expanses of the Southwest makes one especially aware of water, and rivers. Reaching this mother of all American rivers is an event. To have it available a couple blocks from the hotel is very special indeed. Just thinking of the waters of the middle Missouri or the higher Ohio or the preliminary Platte mixing and reaching here in unison is cool. At least the country's geography isn't centered on Washington -- though everything else seems to be.
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Comments

Harry
2013-01-17

The best pictures yet Jim. I didn't tell you about my place there; thought it was too much of a dump for the likes of a BMW pilot.

Gwynn
2013-01-18

Especially noteworthy was the live tree supported by the tankers.

2025-02-14

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