We ended up in the Sam Houston National Forest at Double Lake Campground. We read magazines (bought in Florida, 5 for $1). We drank a few beers. We watched the sun set across the water. We went to bed early. The next day we were headed to Austin.

A lizard enjoys the Coke machine in our campground.

Man, I really don’t like Texas all that much. I don’t know what it is. But before we bought our second motel room, before we were entirely broken, we had some crawfish. The best thing I can say about Texas so far is that the crawfish were pretty good. Lonestar beer? Meh. Focus on the crawfish, Paul. The crawfish were good at Floyd’s.

Lisa driving along the Gulf Coast of Louisiana.

Um, is that a minivan sinking into the salt marsh? Yes.

Houses on stilts.

No drive is complete without a ferry ride.

Crawfish: Good.

Five minutes ago, Paul emerged from the hotel office. I ask how it went. He said, “Well, the guy offered me a free hot dog, so that was cool. He said the church had just dropped them off a few minutes ago. I didn’t have one, though, I told him I had just eaten. He also had  cell phone chargers for sale and some bootleg DVDs. He had whole boxes of ‘em.”

An hour ago, we were sitting at Floyd’s Cajun Seafood and Texas Steakhouse in Beaumont, TX. Paul had been wanting crawfish, and we kept missing our opportunity in Louisiana. This seemed like a good omen. Fifteen minutes before, we had been standing in the lobby of the Red Roof Inn & Suites. Paul had found it on Priceline, $45/night. It was new and looked great. Our reservation hadn’t come through yet. We went next door to wait with a snack and a beer.

An hour later, our reservation still hadn’t come through. Paul checks his phone, and I notice that the reservation is for the Red CARPET Inn and Suites. I mention this and the receptionist at the Red Roof says, emphatically, “Nuh-UH! That’s on 11th Street, that’s a bad area. I tell you what you’re gonna do. You’re gonna cancel that reservation and check in here.” We say thanks, we’ll check on that, but we know we can’t cancel the reservation and get a refund. We decide to check out the Red Carpet Inn, just to see what it’s like.

The carpet at the Red Carpet Inn.

Two hours earlier, we were at the end of Texas Route 87 on the Gulf coast. Route 87 was wiped off the map by a series of hurricanes and was abandoned in the 90s. It used to go through to Galveston (with a short ferry ride) but now it ends at Sea Rim State Park. Sea Rim State Park was also wiped off the map, most recently by Hurricanes Rita in 2005 and Ike in 2008. When I looked at the official website, the park sounded amazing. It sounded like another Jalama Beach or St. Joseph Peninsula — camping on a picturesque, remote beach at the end of a dead-end road. Sure, it said that camping was primitive, but usually that means just a pit toilet, big deal.

The drive to Sea Rim was pretty wild. We cut through the marshes and swamps of southern Louisiana — miles and miles of low-lying salt marshes with limited human habitation. There was a short ferry over a river that cost a dollar to ride. We saw alligators as road kill — first just a baby, then a full-sized alligator. Houses and trailers are perched precariously on stilts. The closer you get to Texas, the more oil and gas plants you begin to see. If natural areas are marked on maps with shades of green, industrial areas should be shaded as well. Some places you want to go out of you way to see, some to avoid.

I knew that we were hemming ourselves in by heading to Sea Rim and that we wouldn’t have an easy plan B, something we usually try to avoid. There were no other campground or large towns nearby. If Sea Rim was full or didn’t work out, we’d have to head towards Houston or Beaumont, about an hour away.

Well, Sea Rim didn’t work out. I should have looked at Wikipedia for the true picture, notably: “currently there are no facilities of any kind in the park. Guests of the park are encouraged to be prepared.” Beach camping is permitted, but the beach has eroded away to a thin strip of sand. I wasn’t comfortable sleeping in a tent on a ten foot wide strip of land between the Gulf and the alligator infested salt marshes. The only toilet was an old porta-john about a mile hike through the alligator swamp.

We decided to head towards Claiborne West Park, the nearest public park, an hour away. We got there at 7:05. The park closed at 7, locked its gate. In Texas, the parks close early. They lock the gates and that’s it. Some places have late arrival camping, some don’t. This one didn’t. Then we checked Priceline and make that fateful Red Roof Inn (I mean, Red Carpet Inn) reservation.

Sitting in the Red Carpet Inn, I tell Paul that I can’t stay here. I’m going to sleep in the van. Sure, it’s a bargain at $45/night, but something more expensive is going to happen to us…we’re going to get bedbugs, or murdered, or some part of our van is going to get stolen (our dirty, slightly dented and four-year old Sienna is by far the nicest car in the parking lot and I’m paranoid about people stealing parts from it, after I heard that that actually happens). Paul agrees, and we do something unprecedented…we get a different hotel room. We can’t be mad at each other, because we both messed up today; we both failed to do our full due diligence. The EconoLodge in Beaumont feels like the ultimate in luxury at just $10 more/night than the Red Carpet Inn. But we both have troubling dreams of the Red Carpet Inn.

And that’s how one of our most expensive days of the trip (so far) went. Two failed attempts at camping, two motel rooms, and about 300 miles of driving. At least there were crawfish. And no murders.

Clean and sanitary toilet.

Shower drain. Beware of rats, probably.

Oh, good to know.

The French Quarter is not big (about 1/2 a square mile, you can walk through it fairly quickly), many of these are on the same block. I wonder if they’re just different fronts to the same stage in back. How do all these places stay in business?

Well, the hawkers on the street, maybe. “Ladies with yellow shirts get in free,” one of them calls to us as we walk past. Lisa is wearing a yellow shirt. What are the chances? We keep walking. “Their friends in blue polos get in free too!” he calls after us. We hear another ask a pair of tourists: “Let me ask you a simple question — would you like to see some boobs?” It’s 2:00 in the afternoon. My goodness gracious.

We try to retreat to a bar, but the bars on Bourbon Street aren’t much better. They’re pretty sleazy and skeevy and sketchy. Sit on the wrong stool and you just may end up with syphilis. Or you may upset one of the drunks and get a broken bottle in the gut. We retreat farther.

We end up at Lafitte’s Blacksmith Shop Bar, the oldest bar in America, a place named afterJean Lafitte, a pirate (thanks for the tip, Marie!). The bar is about 2/3 of the way down Bourbon Street in what seems to be the Boystown of New Orleans. It is busy with people drinking Hurricanes (a 7-second pour of white rum, some sweet juice mix, a floater of 151 on top). We opt for beers. The Hurricane is a serious drink.

We find some stools inside the beer garden and out of the sun. We discuss how odd it is here, how much we want to live here in spite of it. Because despite its underbelly of sleaze, New Orleans is very much a cool town.

Henry Miller writes in The Air-Conditioned Nightmare: “In the ten thousand miles I have travelled thus far I have come across two cities which have each of them a little section worth a second look — I mean Charleston and New Orleans. As for the other cities, towns and villages through which I passed I hope never to see them again.”

Bourbon Street: Classy!

New Orleans is a pretty straightforward place. Here be drugs.

Lafitte's Blacksmith Shop Bar, the oldest bar in America.

Perfect Tin Amber Ale

Lisa’s favorite brew, Fat Tire Amber, is also an amber ale, and Tin Roof’s went down just as deliciously. Comes in cans, so it’s boat-friendly. Brewed in Baton Rouge.

Abita Amber

Abita is one of the better-distributed Louisiana brews (I’m pretty sure I had their Purple Haze in Chicago). We had their amber ale in New Orleans and it was great. And we heard it pronounced Uh-Beet-Ah. Brewed north of New Orleans.

Dixie Lager

Dixie’s facility got battered by Katrina, then looted, which means the beer’s currently getting brewed in Wisconsin and shipped south while they get things back in order. We saw the Dixie building and figured it had been abandoned for ages — but Katrina hit in 2005. The regular lager is good, but get the Voodoo Lager if you see it instead.

Dixie Blackened Voodoo Lager

I like dark lagers and Dixie Blackened Voodoo Lager is very good. If you can’t find it, try Guinness’s Black Lager for a close approximation.

Blackened Voodoo Lager at Lafitte's Blacksmith Shop Bar.

Lazy Magnolia Southern Pecan

Lazy Magnolia’s Southern Pecan is a brown ale brewed with pecans instead of whatever most nut browns are brewed with. It was my favorite — a great nut brown. Brewed to the east in Mississippi. Which means the best beer in New Orleans is from Mississippi.

Southern Pecan brown ale and Dixie regular lager.

The Original Café Du Monde Coffee Stand was established in 1862 in the New Orleans French Market. The Café is open 24 hours a day, seven days a week. It closes only on Christmas Day and on the day an occasional Hurricane [note the capital H] passes too close to New Orleans.

The Original Café Du Monde is a traditional coffee shop. Its menu consists of dark roasted Coffee and Chicory, Beignets, White and Chocolate Milk, and fresh squeezed Orange Juice. The coffee is served Black or Au Lait. Au Lait means that it is mixed half and half with hot milk. Beignets are square French-style doughnuts, lavishly covered with powdered sugar. In 1988 Iced Coffee was introduced to the café. Soft drinks also made their debut that year.

Great story, great menu.

Of course, every other tourist in town also wants to go to the original Café du Monde. So they all line up, patiently waiting to be seated in the café. But there’s a secret at the Café du Monde. It’s called the to-go line. You might not see the to-go line at first because you’re overwhelmed by the powered sugar haze in the air and the length of the café seating line. But walk around the café, to the back of the building, and there’s a to-go window. There are tables, separated from the café tables by a metal fence. The tables practically touch. There’s a slate wall to perch upon. When the to-go line gets longer than ten people long, a guy comes out to take your order. He tells you to sit down on the wall and he’ll bring your order right out. And he does that. You’re sitting five feet away from the people who waited in line for an hour and then waited longer for their order, chowing on your beignets and slurping your coffee and trying not to gloat. And, bonus, you get a half pound of powered sugar to take home with you in your to-go bag.

The cafe. The to-go line is to the right...

Some exhausted staff on break.

Yes, I'd like extra powered sugar, please. And one of those hats.

The order.

Yummmm....

Powered sugar is everywhere...

Walk around the back of the shop and you can see the beignets being made.

If you ask any New Orleanian where to get the best po’ boy in the city, chances are that you will get a different answer from each person. Po’ boy restaurants are a part of a person’s identity just like the neighborhood they grew up in. Once a person finds their preference, there is no changing their mind. They refuse to admit that any other po’ boy shop makes as good of a sandwich. The passion for this famous sandwich is made obvious by the battle between po’ boy shops. Each shop owner is continuously trying to come up with inventive recipes to out do the other shops.

It’s with this disclaimer in mind that we walked a few miles over to Mahony’s Po-Boy Shop in the Garden District. Even the small po’ boys are large, so Paul and I split one filled with grilled local shrimp, fried green tomatoes, green onions, and remoulade. This place is popular — we waited about 20 minutes to order and then 30 minutes for our food. It was good, but certainly not life-changing. It was too skimpy on the fillings to justify its $14.95 price tag. Perhaps we visited the wrong po’ boy shop…

Mahoney's local shrimp po' boy.

We made the mistake of driving into the French Quarter the first day. Don’t ever drive into the French Quarter! Not only are the streets confusing (try figuring out who needs to stop at each intersection) but they’re just too narrow to handle the mix of pedestrian, delivery, carriage, construction, and private vehicle traffic. Parking downtown means you’re either parking on the street for 2 hours at a go or paying at least $12/day in a garage. There are really only two good ways to get into New Orleans if you’re staying outside the city: if you’re coming from the north, park in one of the many lots in the warehouse district ($6/day); if you’re coming from the south, park in the little village of Algiers (free to $10/day) and take the free Algiers Ferry across the river to downtown.

Now that I’ve visited much of the south, I understand why people risk hurricanes, flooding, and disaster to live here. It’s like no other place, and that’s what makes it so amazing. Cities like Charleston, Savannah, and New Orleans are as important to our national cultural history as cities like Boston and Washington, DC. The surrounding areas, from the white sand beaches in Florida to the mysterious bayous in Louisiana, are completely unique and wild.

I was definitely tempted by New Orleans. The French Quarter is great, reminding me of actual France, but I couldn’t handle living there. There are too many tourists on Vomit Street, I mean, Bourbon Street, tottering down the lane and leaving their HUGE ASS BEERS cups on your stoop. I’d want every night to be party night, and I couldn’t live like that. Maybe that’s why so many houses keep their shutters tightly closed — they shut out temptation and drunk visitors. It’s hard to tell which houses are occupied and which are vacation homes, hermit’s nests, or residences that haven’t been restored since Katrina. It’s even harder to tell what is natural decay in this humid, moldy atmosphere and what was inflicted by a few monster storms. What has been restored since 2005 and what was already destroyed at that point? The Garden District felt more like an area where real New Orleanians live. It’s where they go to escape the tourists, even though a few tourists still insist on infiltrating this area too.

When you’re overloaded, a great place to withdraw nearby is Bayou Segnette State Park. We’re getting spoiled by southern camping with all its amenities. This park has a nature trail-like boardwalk through the bayou to the restrooms, which had nice, hot showers and FREE laundry. I found and ate a bunch of wild blackberries. We had WiFi, electricity, and water at our campsite. All this for $1 less/night than a hike-in campground in CA.

I could see myself living in New Orleans for a year or two, but I’d pack out well in advance of any approaching hurricane or Mardi Gras parade…

This may or may not be related, but I also finally feel like I have a clear head. Things still annoy me (bad drivers, bugs, being ripped off) but I am feeling overall content. I am getting excited about settling down eventually (thanks to the B-53 house from Tumbleweed). The prospect of working at an actual job doesn’t seem so bad anymore. We’re still planning to pack in (practically) a year’s worth of activity in our next five months on the road, but in the fall, I’m starting to feel like I’ll be ready to establish a little homestead.

The road goes ever on and on...