Louisiana Part Deux: Lafayette and Cajun Country

BowlingWidow and I said adieux to Baton Rouge and headed west in our rental car to Lafayette, a city of around 120,000 or so an hour-and-a-half away.  Most of the trip seemed to be spent on an elevated freeway, hovering above a rather large swamp.  When locals tell me that Louisiana’s coast line is disappearing I tend to believe them.

You just don't see street names like this in Seattle...

After checking in at our hotel, we gave ourselves a driving tour of the town to get more familiar with the layout.  We got hungry, so found a restaurant that served alligator (very good!) and crawfish etouffee (even better!).  I’ll go into the culinary aspects of Louisiana later, as it’s solidly deserving of its own separate blog post.

Grits:  It's what's for breakfast in Lafayette, Louisiana

Wherever we travel we try to make a point of embedding ourselves in the community and doing things locals would do at least a couple of times at each place we visit.  When it comes to music venues and Cajun music there is no better place in Lafayette than The Blue Moon Saloon and Guesthouse.  It’s a very nondescript, quite large house in a neighborhood near downtown.  The bar only seats a handful of people, with room around the perimeter of the stage and dance floor for the audience to congregate.

We hung around the Blue Moon for a couple of hours.  It was Cajun jam night so locals were dropping in with their instruments to hang out and play some traditional tunes.  The problem for us is that things don’t really get going until around 9:30pm, and not being night owls we only listened to the music for around 45 well-spent minutes.

The Blue Moon Saloon and Guest House:  A Must Visit in Lafayette

Our second and final full day in the area was somewhat of a pilgrimage for me.  Muslims go to Mecca.  Christians will flock to Jerusalem.  Me?  As a spicy food aficionado, I made sure we scheduled a trip to Avery Island:  the birthplace of Tabasco Sauce.  Avery Island is actually a misnomer - it isn't an island at all.

Avery Island Tabasco production isn’t what it once was (Tabasco plants are grown all over the world these days) but the packaging facility is going full steam five days a week.  The tour itself is really simple; we watched a film on Tabasco history followed by a quick glimpse of the factory behind glass.  Then we wrapped things up at the Tabasco Country Store where you can buy your choice of hundreds of Tabasco products.  We just kept it simple and got a couple of shirts and some BBQ sauce.

BowlingJoe used to only dream of giant Tabasco Sauce bottles.

Finally, we wanted to get out into the country a bit and visited a small town northwest of Lafayette called Eunice.  Eunice is one of the hot spots for traditional music according to all of the guidebooks but because it was the middle of the week, we just didn’t see it.  I’d guess that the result would be much different on a Saturday night but when we were there nuthin’ was happenin’ in Eunice.

Next:  New Orleans – The Garden District and French Quarter

Louisiana Part One: Baton Rouge and Bowling

After a long day of flying and connecting through the Houston airport, BowlingWidow and I arrived in New Orleans at 10:00pm and picked up our rental car for the 90 minute drive north on I-10.  It was dark out so we couldn’t see much scenery, but were easily guided into Baton Rouge by the string of tall, brightly lit yellow Waffle House signs that seemed to line the freeway at each milepost.  Obviously waffles are selling like hotcakes in the South.

Other than being the capital of Louisiana, Baton Rouge doesn’t have a whole lot to offer (we did, however, get to stand in the hallway of the capitol building where Huey Long was shot to death).  Its name roughly translates to “Red Stick” which fits it just fine.  Sure, it’s surrounded by swamps and plantations (a good one that we visited is called Nottoway), and is home of the college football powerhouse LSU Tigers, but as far as what’s in the city proper is concerned, all I can say is just pray that your car doesn’t break down at street corner on Florida Street.

Downtown Baton Rouge from the 27th Floor of the Capitol Building

Two out of every three years the US Bowling Congress National Open Tournament is held at a specially-built bowling center in Reno, Nevada.  On that third year, the show travels somewhere else where they literally truck in materials and equipment to construct a fully-functioning bowling complex on the large concrete slab floor of a convention center.  Baton Rouge hosted this event several years ago and it worked out okay so they won it for 2012.

The Nottoway Plantation Mansion

The makeshift bowling center was cool.  And I mean that literally.  Heat and humidity is not a bowler’s friend as it tends to make our fingers swell to the point that it becomes increasingly difficult to get them into a bowling ball after a few games.  The spectators may have felt like they were in a meat locker but we were loving it on the hardwoods.

This is the sixth straight year I’ve been attending this tournament and it’s always a challenge.  Explaining why that’s so would take too much time here, but the short version is that because of the manner in which the lanes are oiled, being accurate and consistent is a must.  My average scores here are usually around 25 pins per game lower than what I do in regular league bowling, which means typical games of around 170-175 instead of 195-205.

This year was different, however, as I averaged a personal best 190.1 pins per game over nine games.  I attribute it using a couple of different releases effectively as I let go of the ball at the foul line and getting used to bowling in an environment that reminds me of a domed stadium.  I’ve always said that bowling is an easy game to learn and a difficult one to master, so I’ll gladly accept these little successes when they take place.

BowlingJoe (center in maroon shirt) delivers a shot:  must have been a strike!

Next up, we put the bowling balls away and head west to Cajun Country!

A Forty Year Leap

We were famous baseball card collectors back in 1971 and 1972.  Scott Felkner and I became fast friends in fourth or fifth grade in Port Angeles, WA and every dime we could scrape together went for exactly one package of ten genuine Topps brand baseball cards.  They were the only brand available back then.  If we had as much as 50-cents each on us it was a stellar day.

His favorite team was the Detroit Tigers, as he was born in Pontiac, Mich.  And to this day I can still name the entire 1971 starting lineup of the Tigers because of him.  My team was the Baltimore Orioles.  I was attracted by the cartoon bird logo on their hats.  That and the fact that they had larger-than-life first baseman by the funny sounding name of Boog Powell.

Scott and BowlingJoe in 1972

Scott was part of a Coast Guard family, so as quickly as he arrived in Port Angeles his dad was off to a new assignment in Mobile, Alabama.  We wrote to each other a couple of times but lost touch when the teenage years were fast approaching.

Which brings us to 2010.  One of the (some would say few) good things about social media is the ability to reconnect with people you haven't seen in a blue moon.  And because his last name is Felkner and not Jones or Smith, the task became relatively easy on Facebook.  We've been keeping in touch every now and then on the site.

When BowlingWidow and I were planning our trip to Louisiana from which we recently returned (more on that in future blog posts), I had an opportunity to contact Scott and see if he and his wife, Janet, would be interested in making the drive from Mobile to have lunch, a couple of beers and a visit at place called The Bulldog in the Garden District of New Orleans.

Now, when you ask someone you haven’t seen in 40 years to meet up, it can be a risk of sorts.  I’m guessing that may have crossed Scott’s mind as well.  What would he be like in my now 51-year-old eyes?  And would the person I became somehow fall short of any expectations he may have had about the day?  After all, we’re products of our respective environments to at least some degree, and I’d be hard pressed to find two parts of this country that are as different as Western Washington and Alabama. 

Scott and BowlingJoe:  The 2012 Editions

Any concerns either of us may have had were certainly put to rest after a few minutes.  The hours flew by as we talked about old times, our families, jobs, what we like eat, do for fun, and how we got from point A to B to C so far in life.  We’re both still huge sports fans, love our families, and genuinely believe that we each live in the best part of the country.  In fact, I’d say it was a perfect day other than the fact that at one point I dumped an entire barbecued pulled pork sandwich on my lap.  (I guess my grandmother was right about my table manners).

This was our first visit to South.  I’m not sure when we’ll be back.  I’m not sure when or if Scott will ever make it to the Northwest to visit.  But I do know that we’ll be in touch a whole lot more over the next forty years.  This was one chance I’m glad I took.