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 Down on the Bayou Still thinking about that scratch, I left Austin and headed east towards Houston. Along the way, the skies clouded up, then a nasty thunderstorm rolled in and started dappling my windshield with raindrops. Houston traffic can be horrific even on a good day, and an intense thunderstorm at rush hour made the drive that much more "exciting." I was planning to camp that evening near one of my favorite Texas cities, Galveston, but the clouds were even darker off in that direction, so after surviving Houston, I continued on Interstate 10 and drove into southern Louisiana, a land of endless swamps, marshes, and armadillo road kill.
Other than the fascinating road kill, one of the things I love about Louisiana is the music here. Many of the radio stations in southern Louisiana play Cajun/zydeco music with its infectious and fast-paced accordion, fiddle, and washboard. You don't hear this unique style of music anywhere else in the country, unfortunately. Some of the radio stations in Louisiana even have Cajun D.J.'s ("All Cajun, All the Time"), so unless you know French, you can't understand a single word they're saying. Even if you can't understand the D.J.'s or the advertisements, though, the toe-tapping zydeco music blaring out of your car speakers is fun to listen to, especially if you're cruising down a highway like I was.
Around 4 p.m. that afternoon, I pulled into Sam Houston Jones State Park, north of Lake Charles, Louisiana. I'd never been to this park and discovered a beautiful, swampy bayou filled with turtles, egrets – and probably some alligators if I looked long enough. The deafening cacophony of chirping crickets and bellowing bullfrogs cracked me up that steamy evening as I cooked up a tasty dinner of brats and beans, and I almost couldn't stop laughing. As I sat at my picnic table and ate dinner, I watched a wall of lightning bugs dance around the Spanish moss, like something out of the "Pirates of the Caribbean" at Disneyland but without the long lines.
Camping on the bayou was a phenomenal experience, so much that I decided to put Sam Houston Jones on my list of 10 Favorite State Parks in America. This definitely wasn't Oregon.
Above left: I have a daily ritual of loading my cooler with one bag of ice, this time in Giddings, Texas. Above right: Highway 290 east of Austin.
Above left: I crossed paths with a thunderstorm in Houston and could barely see out the windshield, even with the wipers on "High." Driving 60 miles per hour through Houston at rush hour in a construction zone during a heavy downpour and unable to see... Gee, it just doesn't get any better than this! Above right: My campsite at Sam Houston Jones State Park in southern Louisiana.
Above left: While I was eating breakfast the next morning at my campsite, I watched this egret looking for his (or her) breakfast. This is a backwater of the sluggish Calcasieu( pronounced"CAL-ka-shoe") River. Above right: A sweltering bayou, a cooler full of ice, and thou.
Above left: Replacing my headlights at my campsite. Above right: Then giving my truck a bath. This is in Lake Charles, Louisiana. Bon Temps in Soggy Louziana I got doused by one torrential downpour after another as I drove across Louisiana the next day, and I had to pull off the highway several times to seek higher ground and let the floodwaters recede so my Toyota wouldn't float away. People make jokes about how flat the Midwest is, but I think Louisiana is the flattest state in the U.S. However, it's also one of the most interesting, with all the bayous, bald cypress trees, incredible wildlife, and Spanish moss – not to mention those indecipherable Cajun DJ's.
I've driven through Louisiana several times but usually take the coastal route on my way to, or from, the Atlantic coast. Instead of doing the Atlantic coastal drive this time, I decided to head north and visit Appalachia, a place that I've never really seen. I always try to take different routes whenever I drive across America to see places I've never been, and Appalachia was one of those places. Therefore, instead of driving through New Orleans on this trip, I headed northeast across Louisiana towards Natchez, Mississippi.
In terms of culture and atmosphere, Louisiana is about as far from Oregon as you can get in the U.S. Many of my friends out west or in the Midwest think Louisiana is bizarre and backwards. Whenever I've talked about traveling through Louisiana to my friends, their facial expressions always say, "Why would you ever want to go there?" Well, no, I don't think I'd want to live in Louisiana – steamy summers aren't really my thing. But with its unique culture, I think Louisiana is one of the most fascinating places in America.
After a few hours of trending northeast, I left Louisiana, crossed the muddy Mississippi River, and drove into the stately old city of Natchez, Mississippi. Due entirely to cotton, the river port city of Natchez became one of the richest towns in the U.S. in the early 1800s and many stately mansions were built here. But Natchez fell on hard times after the Civil War thanks to soil erosion and a critter called the boll weevil that decimated cotton crops. However, visitors still come to Natchez from all parts of the country during "pilgrimages," when many of the spectacular antebellum (that's Latin for "Before Bellum") mansions are open for touring.
Most of these impressive mansions have elegant names, usually referencing either women or trees. That includes "Lady Victoria" and "Secret Oak" – and my favorite, "Victoria's Secret." The rest of the city really isn't that great, to be honest. In fact, it's pretty run-down, and it's obvious that most of Natchez has seen better days. However, the elegant mansions of Natchez have an alluring charm.
After poking around town for an hour, I drove onto the Natchez Trace Parkway, a beautiful two-lane highway that starts here in Natchez, and camped a few miles away at a free National Park campground. I like campgrounds partly because they're cheap. And free campgrounds, I think, are the best kind.
Above left: It poured a LOT in Louisiana. Each time a deluge started, I pulled off the highway and waited it out. That was wiser, I decided, than driving through a river that was formerly the highway. The torrential downpours in the South were spectacular, very much unlike our drizzly weather in the Pacific Northwest. Above right: Looking back into my truck's bed while waiting for another Louisiana thunderstorm to pass by.
Above left: Natchez is a city of stark contrasts, with a dingy downtown area ringed by graceful antebellum mansions, including this one named "Rosalie." Above right: Entering the southern terminus of the Natchez Trace Parkway near Natchez.
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