BE AT POULOSKIS AT 1700

Late yesterday, Jim got a mysterious text message on his phone, "Be at Pouloskis at 1700." He left a return text, "Where is Pouloskis? " We asked everyone we ran into if they knew where Pouloskis was? No one we talked to in Cypress Cove had a clue where or what Pouloskis was. Terri, the office attendant at Cypress Cove even looked up boat names that register into the area. Nothing. We were at a loss and hadn't found a ride. A visit to Pilot Town was looking pretty dim for Tuesday. Its the off season for fishing and many boaters have alternative season jobs.

We called several local marinas and got names. We called numbers plastered on the sides of boats passing by. Tuesday dawned cold, gray and windy. At 11:00 a.m. Chris Calloway called us and offered to take us to Pilot Town on an open boat. We debated briefly since neither of us brought winter clothing. "Bundle up, you are gonna be cold," he told us. When would we have another opportunity to visit this unusual place?

Chris knows how to dress for an open boat. He promised we wouldn't get wet. We managed to avoid frostbite on the 20 minute drive over. A slew of cliche's come to mind, like "colder than a well digger's ass in the Klondike."

When Chris pulled up into Pilot Town, a pilot boat was backing up to the dock. The skipper was a retired 25 year employee of Texaco, now working as an engineer on the pilot boats. Hewett Peles informed us what everyone else had already told us, and what we had read, "There is nothing here to see!"

Yeah, we know. We aren't normal tourists. We don't only flock to tourist sights. He told us the pilots used to work several branches of the river, they were called the Branch Pilots. "Now, the branches are all full of sand. They have dredges taking the stuff out, but they'll be at it forever. Only one branch near the gulf is navigable now," he told us. We asked which direction to the post office. "It was only a trailer on piers. It was one of the first buildings to go in Katrina," he said. The building below is floating on a barge and is in good shape.

The Pilot's barracks was in good shape. At first we thought the sign was a joke since this is a very quiet community, but people come here to hunt and guns are noisy.

This building right next to the barracks was clearly damaged during Katrina, but others were far worse. Below you see the piers for the boardwalk and house, all that is left of this residence.

Air conditioners, stoves, refrigerators and washing machines lay rusting about where they once graced peoples houses. We saw a door with the knob still on it floating in the water and the pink bathtub below overgrown with weeds.

We walked the cement "boardwalk" , built in 1993, in both directions as far as it would go. We saw about 5 intact buildings and many crushed beyond repair, sunken into the swamp or gone altogether.

Chris then took us around the North side of the Island to see the camps which suffered little damage. Small cabins on stilts. He had never visited or navigated around Pilot Town and he showed us the depth gauge reading 23 1/2 feet change within 100 yards to 2 feet. Nature reasserting itself, trying to rebuild the island in its own way. We saw egrets that looked like flamingos because they had eaten enough shrimp to turn temporarily pink; raccoons, ibis', and many other birds. It is/was a unique community in that all houses there are built on stilts or float.

It wasn't our intention to go to Pilot Town to document Katrina damage, but to wander as far south in Louisiana as we could go, just for the heck of it. We did it! We decided to celebrate our adventure.

When we returned home, Jim claimed his fingers were still cold enough to chill the champagne. (Whatta ham!) As for Pouloskis? He never returned our message. There is a military installment nearby, military time-1700? We decided it was just a wrong number.

FOX NEWS PREDICTS END OF WORLD

A Fox News reporter claims the end of the world is near. Personally, I question the science, or lack of science, put forth for this claim but if the past is any indication, Fox will stand behind this reporter and won't back down. The reasoning goes like this, and I quote:

WE GOTS A BLACK PRESIDENT

WE HAVE A WHITE MAYOR

BUDDY D WORE A DRESS

PIGS HAVE FLOWN

HELLS HAS FROZEN OVER

THE SAINTS WON THE SUPER BOWL

THE END IS NEAR!

Hey, brother, its Fat Tuesday. This is New Orleans. Here people do whatever the law allows and the law is lenient. Its Bacchanalia. Its a fun street party. Its friendly and no one seems to take offense if you offer something a bit rude or crude. The spirit of fun prevails and no one takes it seriously except the proselytizers who at one point blocked traffic on Bourbon street. The police moved them. The crowd booed and flung a few beads at them, but no one got violent or ugly about them raining on their parade.

The past few days showed me organized parades. Fat Tuesday is about a people's parade. Dressing up, celebrating, having fun, entertaining we tourists. A show that can never be repeated. Each year is a different experience.

Folks are begging for beads from the balconies. Bead throwers tease the crowds, try and get the girls to show some flesh and have just as much fun as the people in the street. Music blares here and there along the way. You can't help but break into a dance now and then.

The crowds look like this, kind of stunned and in awe.

There are beautiful, unbelievable costumes. Children parade with parents. Mothers decorated their strollers and joined the throngs. No one is a stranger; greetings of Happy Mardi Gras on everyone's lips. One tall dude came by and kissed me on the cheek. Whatta town! I loved every minute. Who wants to miss Fat Tuesday?

A tourist like me, this guy estimated his beads weighed five pounds.

They were throwing souvenir panties off a balcony and I outreached this guy. He just smiled and tried again.

We walked from Canal St. , to Bourbon, to Esplanade and back to the Marigny neighborhood. We slipped into a cafe bar, had a good beer, Cajun crawfish boudain for me, a sandwich for Jim.

This young woman fell asleep in her plate. Click the link below for more pictures, but be warned there is adults only content.

http://picasaweb.google.com/1579penn/FATTUESDAY21610#

MARIGNY AND THE FRENCH MARKET

My partner Jim wanted to visit the French Market. We walked through the old area of Marigny and found everything French, signs, a Frenchmen Hotel, a Paris fountain, a statue of Joan Of Arc, and Frenchmen Street, which made Jim very happy.

The street scenes here are San Francisco, Haight-Ashbury, University Ave., Berkeley, 1960’s. Street musicians, laid back, friendly people, artists, dogs to pet. Shops with opium pipes and cigarette rollers; a strong gay and lesbian population. Homey, ragtag eating places, tacos on the street, everybody has to make a living, man! (I found a another endangered species- a working telephone booth.)

The music never stops. Everywhere, people are having a good time. Everyone knows everyone’s business and they like it that way. One shop keeper told us that Marigny was just chosen the best neighborhood in the United States. He didn’t have much in the way of detail, who judged it, or what criterion.

This graffitied building even had its windows painted over, but it was open for some kind of business. I opened the door and peeked and got a glimpse of a billiard table.

This clinched the Haight with this well used telephone pole.

The Spotted Cat piano player was hammering out tunes. The joint was small and cozy. At night, I’m guessing it is a very friendly place. I want to come back here.

A woman told me she lives next door to this “found junk” artist. Her comment, “You should see his yard!” I laughed because I would have loved to see his yard.

When we reached the French Market, music was in full swing. This costumed fellow jumped off the stage and played with the crowd. Oh, the costume, to die for.

As you might guess, characters abound here. And this gent decided you don’t have to wear your mask on your face.

Boiled peanuts were a new food to me. Though salty, they were quite good. We enjoyed Creole chicken with dirty rice and peas; and alligator sausage stew from a market booth. Both choices were delicious, plentiful and cheap. We saw people waiting in line 20 deep to get into buy a muffaletto sandwich.

If you don’t have jazz musician friends, you can still have a jazz funeral. A mime told me and I quote: “You only have to do three things. Die. In order to die you have to live. In order to live you have to take a good shit once in awhile.” Street wisdom!

We wondered back to “The Quarter” , stopped for real brews at Crescent City Brewhouse and watched the kid shuck oysters. He told us he sometimes does this for 13 hours straight. He makes it look pretty easy, but you have to have the right tools because it isn’t easy.

Around Jackson square the proselytizers were in full sway. The gentleman above challenged passersby to a chess match for $5 a game. Fortune tellers, tarot dealers, face painters, portrait painters, street musicians, artists and tourists crowded the square.

We visited a jillion souvenir shops trying to find a frog hat for Jim. Alligators? Plenty. But no frogs.

I took a lot of pictures. You can check them out with this link.

http://picasaweb.google.com/1579penn/FrenchMktNO2010#

ITS ALL ABOUT THE BEADS AND DRINK

Mardi Gras Parade number two, for us, was a different animal. Fast moving, giddy excitement, people screaming for beads and plastic junk, including me. The whole street was alive, moving, cheering, smiling, having crazy fun. The New Orleans Police Department is very laid back and helpful. If a cop saw an errant football, cup or moonpie that missed its mark and ended up in the street, he would helpfully push it to the curb or hand it into the crowd.

The theme of this parade seemed to be drink. There was a nod to Valentines day in a couple floats, also Thoth Krewe with Egyptian God floats, but drink after drink and places to drink rolled down the street. I didn't count but over 20 floats were named for individual drinks, grasshopper, mimosas, brass monkeys, champagne, singapore sling and so on.

Did I say this was a serious drinking town? This is a SERIOUS drinking town. Jello shots made with 190 proof booze.

Why bother with a single drink when you can get everything you don't need in one. I watched a bartender pour 8 shots into a single drink. They sell them in 32 oz. size to 70 oz. size. And, you can bring them out into the street.

All of the elements for a parade were present. The horseman above threw artificial roses. And, along with horses, you have bands, and music and noise. The bands didn' t simply play music, most of them danced and jived down the street.

We noticed the band escorts picking up beads from the street and giving them to the hard playing marchers. But for us it was the beads. You couldn't help but want to catch them as they flew through the air. Everyone competed for hands full of plastic beads.

And at the end of the day, most people wore their booty home.

Its all about the beads. We did like many others and put our beads in a bag. I couldn't believe when we got home to find our booty weighed 18 pounds. Whattam I gonna do with all these beads? Its insanity. And we'll go back and do it again.

We took the ferry back to our side of the river and watched the sun set over the Big Easy. A perfect name for a laid back fun city.

CAJUN IS KING

Decisions, decisions. A wealth of music, now which affair to attend? Every morning we were in Eunice, the Savoy Music Company had a free jam of local Cajun, Blues or Zydeco musicians. Its nice to hear the musician before you decide what music to buy. They sell a wide variety of local C.D.s The sign on the door reads: No Soul, No Service.
That evening, our choice was free Cajun music at DI's with dinner, a dance at a local RV Park, or a two band program at the old, recently refurbished, historical Liberty Theatre. Its part of the National Park Complex along with the Acadian Center. The cajun accordionist played his electric instrument behind his back, up over his head and regular style. Beating the hell out of an accordion takes muscle. A very talented young man whose name I couldn't pronounce nor spell. The program was mostly in French. Young people aren't as interested in Zydeco and Cajun as the older generation. I sat next to this young man's wife. He is an exception at 31, with a two year old daughter, just getting into the game. None of these musicians make a living with their music, she told me. "They just love the tradition and the sound of home."

We watched the people dance. The women don't have to urge their husbands onto the dance floor. The men are first on their feet. They come to have fun and it was obvious they did. I fear this particular style of dance is passing the way of the older generation. Calvin Daigle taught me to dance Cajun style at Fred's. He instructed me thus:
"The lady must keep her legs stiff and slide backward. The man takes a step backwards once in awhile just to give her some relief. Its a glide. Then the two-step is the same but you still glide."
I got the hang of it. Luckily, Fred's wooden floor had some type of fine dust to assist the dancers, especially people like me who wore tennis shoes. The liberty theatre floor is wonderful old plank hardwood, excellent for dancing. They did vaudeville shows in this place at one time. Beautiful place. The entrance is unique with etched glass front doors.


We said goodbye to Eunice on Sunday and drove to Westwego for a two week stay at Bayou Segnette State Park. The weather is beautiful. Got the bikes down since the paths here are bike friendly with little auto traffic. Looking forward to New Orleans, great food, Mardi Gras and a host of other activities in the days to come.