New Orleans

Many years ago, before Hurricane Katrina raked the Keys and wrecked New Orleans, Layne and I wondered if we might enjoy earning a pension in the Crescent City. One of my stipulations was then that anywhere we lived must have secure off street parking as vandalism and stupid driving leave their marks on cars parked in the streets. Our antenna was torn off a car we parked in New Orleans years ago and our Ford Fusion was an irritating reminder of the frustration of daily life in the city. When we decided to rent an apartment for three days GANNET2 got somewhere safe to park.

I am not a timorous traveler by nature but New Orleans does not inspire confidence, a city too edgy to be serene, too trashed to feel like anyone cares about this historic city yet there are many people who, even if they don’t live here feel passionately attached much as repeat visitors feel about Key West. In that sense there is a badge of honor to be earned if you can thrive in this mass of contradictions. 

For me New Orleans is as it is for most people: music and food. Acme Oyster House on Iberville greeted us with roasted oysters off the grill, crab bisque and for me a plate of tiny meat empanadas. 

We found a department store converted to a garage (!) three blocks away and the ceiling was twelve feet high so Rusty had his cool spot to wait for us in the baking afternoon humidity. I walked him first and left him to chill with the rooftop air conditioning set and ready should he heat the van up. 

It’s all tourism, color and noise in this part of the city. I met a group of young people in an informal parade who welcomed Rusty and told me they were watching to raise awareness of veteran suicides, a somber note on a sidewalk crowded with sybarites seeking pleasure. Contradictions abound. 

Small scooters require no license plates to identify them in Louisiana but in New Orleans two locks seem like a minimum reminding me why I like off street parking. 

Heat and hard work on a Saturday afternoon. 

Sidewalk life requires the ability to step over and around drunks sleeping and the absence of public toilets on a ninety degree day give the air the unmistakable miasma of an unflushed open air loo. But the food was delicious. 

I have no idea how I feel about it all. The law and order jerk in me wonders why you have to have wreckage to raise up art in bohemia but it seems cleanliness equates to boredom and sterility produces no expression worthy of the name so I have to learn to live with the contradictions within me, at least for three days. 

We reside on Poland Avenue for now, $200 a night with Kathy from Arizona and formerly Big Pine Key who will be on a jet plane Tuesdsy when we take off for Texas. 

It’s called “the Bywater” a neighborhood journalists  would describe as gritty, not tourist centric like the neighboring Marigny district but a slowly decaying, or reviving depending on your point of view, collection of streets abd graffiti. 

Rusty wanted a walk in the cool of the pre-dawn darkness so we wandered crossing paths with a couple of joggers and a cyclist early on a Sunday. 

We have tourist duties later filed by beignets in the park and some World War Two activity this afternoon. 

Not van life temporarily but not exactly moochdocking either as we head toward the open road again, slowly but surely. 

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Webb Chiles, the first American to sail alone around Cape Horn, the man who sailed most of the way around the world in an open boat has been immortalized in a film released last week. It’s worth finding a quiet moment to yourself to contemplate this all too brief mediation. 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mYTwmVzCJh4

Sunset Cruise

I met a family from Kentucky on the Fort Pickens ferry doing double duty as Pensacola’s sunset cruise boat ($25 a person, full bar and snacks on board for the 90 minute trip).

They were oohing and aahing as a pod of dolphin cruised by and excused themselves for their excess enthusiasm. I smiled and told them no problem in Spanish which opened the floodgates. 

They were from the port city of La Union in El Salvador, a town I have sailed to so we got to chatting. They were taken aback at the thought of driving to El Salvador when I explained our forthcoming trip. They of course identified my Italian accent so everything was normal. 

Thick black clouds were forming over the city but I didn’t see any lightning which made me happy as Rusty was aboard GANNET2 snoozing in the air conditioning. Even had he been permitted I’d have left him ashore as he isn’t much of a sailor. I’m surprised Webb likes him anyway. 

The ninety minute cruise takes you to Fort Pickens at the mouth of the bay and gets you back at the dock by 7:30 pm in the dark.

Hanging out chatting on the foredeck. 

The Salvadoran kid slept through it all and the wind picked up when we turned back toward downtown Pensacola. The bay waters stayed smooth all the way. It would have made for lovely sailing. 

Closing up the books on another successful cruise. 

Moochdocking Pensacola

“Ok” Layne said, “you’ve sold me. We should probably visit Padre Island.” We were alone in the waters off St George Island State Park at eight o’clock in the morning and it was glorious swimming. Rusty was tucked up in the van with the rooftop air conditioning on as pets aren’t allowed on the beach. 

I had suggested that after we spend a few days in New Orleans we might want to check out the beaches of south Texas and there is in fact a dog friendly state park sharing Padre Island with the not dog friendly National Seashore. We don’t plan to be swimming again till we get to southern Mexico’s Guerrero State so I had been pushing for a Texas bathe before we plunge inland and cross the Rio Grande. 

Spending the night at St George Island near Appalachicola seems to have turned the tide and reminded Layne of The pleasures of salt water. As if she needed reminding! We stood outside GANNET2 and turned the kitchen water faucet on ourselves to rinse off. Then we got on US Highway 98 towards Pensacola. The sandy flatlands surrounding the state park: 

It’s a pleasant winding coastal drive along the Panhandle if you aren’t in a hurry and don’t need to take I-10. We wound through Port St Joe and switched to Central Time at Mexico Beach which was in the news a few years ago for the usual hurricane devastation. No hurricane wreckage visible anymore and it’s just another beach town now. 

Therèse lives on a cliff top in Pensacola’s wooded East Hill neighborhood and the bluff puts her fifty feet above sea level, out of reach of any hurricane created waves. This was where Layne and Rusty used to take refuge when an impending hurricane closed the schools in the Keys. The next day they would be gone before official evacuations clogged the roads and I would be home alone making preparations to be locked down at work. Rusty likes hanging out at the house. 

We leave Saturday to spend a few days in New Orleans in an AirBnb but while in Pensacola we had some van chores to do, an oil change and a wheel alignment in particular and Baughn’s Tire did a brilliant job of sorting out a persistent minor alignment problem which no one else ever figured out. He told me the engine cradle was slightly out when they checked it by hand. Brilliant! I knew the slight misalignment was there all these miles but I believe they may have fixed it. $261 is the most I’ve ever paid for an alignment but it was worth every penny. 

It’s been raining every afternoon, huge thunderstorms freaking Rusty out until I dose him with the miracle CBD oil on his gums. To every problem there is a solution. We solved the hunger issue one night with a fish dinner at John Seafood. 

You choose the seafood, the sauce and the level of spiciness and they bring you a ballon to the table. 

Potatoes, boiled eggs, sausage slices, crawfish, king crab, mussels, shrimp and do forth. All steamed in a bag, weird but delicious and we ate a mound of it. 

Deliciously messy with bibs, endless paper towels and even latex gloves if you want them. 

Pensacola has dozens of unusual authentic delicious and unexpected ethnic food choices. This town is a foodie’s unexpected paradise. We try to take advantage every visit. Look up “Pensacola Nassau grits” if you like to surprised by a simple diner. 

I’m reading several novels at once to pass the time while we are relaxing off the travel route. This stop has been a great opportunity to do a lot of a very little as we wait for summer’s heat to dissipate a bit and for dry season in Central America to assert itself. You can do worse than hang a few days in Pensacola.