The Big Queasy

She owns the back of the car.

The Louisiana welcome center had some great information for us and the staff was quite friendly and helpful. Dan lived in New Orleans for a while and was the tour guide, so instead of our usual state park type camping with natural scenes to enjoy, we chose Jude Travel Park since it was a five-minute drive from downtown. Upon arrival I was a bit taken aback at the place. 

It was basically a fenced gravel parking lot with a bathhouse, a laundry, and a small pool. Initially after seeing it we drove up and down the road looking at other rv parks, but this was the best of them. I then realized that of course the campground was a parking lot; it’s in the middle of a city. Thirty bucks a night wasn’t too steep of a price, and the place was actually very accommodating and pleasant. 

Rosie kept crawling under the camper and getting stuck. Apparently that's where the "good grass" is.

We had a little tree and a picnic table, some grass for Rosie to munch on, wi-fi included, access to a laundry, real showers and bathrooms, and the lady who owned the park is an intense animal lover as well. There were some large and expensive RV’s there and the gate had a passcode, so we felt perfectly safe even though that may not have been the best part of town. Then again there doesn’t seem to be a particularly good part of town in New Orleans anymore besides the multi-million dollar housing communities. The facilities were very clean, the pool was a perfect solution for the midday heat, and our animals were able to have air conditioning.

I believe the air conditioner in the camper was installed sometime in the eighties, and it was put under the table for some reason. If the table is in the down position it cools the three feet on the top of the table quite wonderfully, but the canvas nature of the camper will not hold any air and as such the majority of the camper is over 100 degrees while the area right by the A/C is a cool 60 degrees or so. Our answer to this was to line up all of the animal cages on the table (one large wire crate for Rosie, one medium plastic crate for Oscar and Bartleby, one small wire crate for Frankenstein, and one X-large tent-like collapsible crate for Piper and Juno since they’re the only ones that won’t rip it up) and then cover the crates with cushions and blankets to funnel all the cold air in to the animals. The only problem with this setup is that if for whatever reason our air conditioner failed, the animals would overheat much more quickly. Luckily the wonderful lady who owned Jude Travel Park agreed to keep an ear out for our air conditioner and give us a call if it began to behave strangely. We had no problems, but still hung around most of the day scrunched between the cages and the wall to steal some air for ourselves.

Night fell, and Dan and I left the animals to form an escape plan amongst themselves while we were otherwise occupied. Of course I wanted to experience Bourbon Street and the French Quarter, and Dan willingly obliged. I’m not much of a drinker and went only to observe the baser facets of the human experience. The number one remark that I have about New Orleans is that it reeks. It smells of any manner of bodily fluids and expulsions mixed with rotting garbage, mold-infested buildings, and fermenting discarded rancid booze. Mixed with passing whiffs of overstated perfume and Jersey-boy Axe hair gel, the combination is gut-wrenching and head-spinning. The walk down Bourbon Street was quite an experience, though I can’t say I enjoyed it terribly much. I did, however, appreciate the wonderful architecture of the houses in the area. 

A few short blocks after all the madness the scene was dark and quiet, lit only with a few gas lamps to showcase the brilliant porticos and towering live oaks lining the street. Next Dan took me to one of his favorite bars called The Spotted Cat, and as we entered the finishing verse of one of my favorite songs, “Honeysuckle Rose,” was lingering over the crowd. The live jazz band was brilliant, and even though they couldn’t fulfill my request to play “Birdsong” I enjoyed them nonetheless.

Enjoying the live jazz at The Spotted Cat

To end the night we walked to the banks for the Mississippi River and regarded the lights of the city and the bridge reflecting along the waterway. The Big Muddy has always been an inspiration to me since devouring the Little House on the Prairie books in second grade and in later years reading the escapades of Bloody Jack and her raft trip down the big river. I hear there is still a raft race that occurs on the river and wish to one day take part. Apart from the bodies of sleeping people resting under benches and on sidewalks (as they do every twenty feet or so it seems, in New Orleans), it was a quite romantic moment sitting under the stars and moonlight watching the great calm river churn on by. There was a refreshing breeze rolling in that even swept away the smells of the city.

View across the Big Muddy

Reflecting on my opinion of NOLA

What a lovely breeze

I had intended the next night to take Rosie out to Bourbon Street and see what havoc we could cause there, but as I often do I just fell asleep instead after a day of running errands in the sweltering city, satisfying my craving for green Thai curry, and consuming a drive-thru daiquiri that NOLA is remembered for. 

The service at SukhoThai was awful, and the food was mediocre at best, but it was air conditioned!

Drive thru daiquiris; actually just a window in the wall of a bar.

Apparently in New Orleans the open container law it that you can have a to-go cup of alcohol in your car while driving so long as you have not out a straw into the hole. Go figure. Luckily Dan and I both value naps very much and aren’t terribly regretful about sleeping through experiences that might cause us to have to interact with other people. I woke up at three in the morning and wrote some blog posts, which you read last week, and napped again until it was time for us to pack up in the morning. At the campsite we met a couple in a large RV who also run a blog (I'll have to find the address later) who generously gave us a box of dog treats and a couple extra steel dogs bowls which have been very helpful.

This photo accidentally turned out quite well!

I figured that I would be remiss on the blog if I didn’t include at least one picture of Rosie on Bourbon Street, so Dan drove the camper and cats around the block a few times while I walked Rosie and the dogs. Bourbon Street during the day is nearly deserted as everyone is recovering from the previous night and preparing for the following one, so Rosie only met a few people before returning to the road.

Some people still drink during the day on Bourbon Street. Those people love goats.

He gave me a souvenir cup!

A nice bar owner took a picture for me at the corner of Bourbon and San Felipe.

Piper, Juno, and Rosie take a moment in the shade under the historic Bourbon St sign.

Rosie loves to meet other kids like herself!

On our way to get back on I-10W, I took a few pictures of Loyola college, which is quite impressive in its own rite, and the trolley cars. I hate that I didn't stop to take a ride on one, as a admire the whole trolley system. 

Loyola College

Trolleys taking a break

Reflection on the road out of town, right before noticing the heat gauge!

We had to stop for twenty minutes on our way out of the city since one of the engine fans in the Element doesn’t seem to come on when it’s supposed to. Dan asked me why the air conditioning wasn’t cooling, and I had the forethought to check the engine temperature gauge. It was hot, hot, hot! Driving around towing a camper in hundred degree heat towing a thousand pounds is a recipe for overheating, and we’ve learned to keep a weather eye on the gauge. No harm was done other than some panting and grumpy animals, and soon again we were on our way to Texas!

Rosie's grumpy face

As much of the Bayou backwater as I got to see

This is how we roll on the way to play with llamas in Texas!