New Orleans!

From Memphis to New Orleans. Man, what a difference driving into New Orleans. It's like, a real city. Or maybe I should say it's a thriving city, because the other cities we've seen just looked so economically depressed. I wasn't sure if I should blame that on the current state of the economy or if that's just the way that Memphis and all of the towns off I-55 in Mississippi have always been (maybe I should catch up on my US History, seeing as that was my minor... such a failure..) but I was starting to feel a little bit depressed about it, myself.

We rolled out of Memphis pretty early to hit I-55 South. No outlandish sightings on the road this time, but some time in the early afternoon I began to verbally state that some coffee might do me good. MIRACLE. I look up and see the sign: Coffeeville 20 miles. .... COFFEEVILLE!?! The answer to my prayers! We were all very much obliged to get what would no doubt be the world's greatest coffee from Coffeeville. Soon we were approaching the exit, with baited breath. We were lead down a very long, very windy road. Lots of run down homes, some on wheels and some just kind of forgotten over time. Cows. And then... a huge patch of hanging moss, clutching to the trees in some attempt to pull them back toward the earth. It was right out of Big Fish, that sort of random magic that you don't expect to find along the way. But still, we had not yet reached Coffeeville. We were growing anxious. Finally more signs. (and I should also note that we passed two small churches along the way). We were close. Very close. The buildings were still falling apart but it was looking up. There were more of them. Lots of pick-up trucks, too.

And then. There we were "Welcome to Coffeeville" - AMAZING. My caffeine addiction was causing my skin to itch all over - it knew we were close to the most unbelievable substance we'd ever taste. We pulled into what seemed to be the only open business on a Sunday - the gas station. The coffee sat in a pot like a golden beacon of light. And wouldn't you know, it was the most... absolutely horrifyingly disgusting coffee I'd ever tasted. The irony killed me, really.

So we toured around town some more and it's actually fascinating. We ended up seeing seven more Churches. SEVEN. That makes NINE in and around one little town. It seems to be the only "business" that's thriving. And I can sort of see why. It's like at one point in time this place was a thriving western town of some kind. And now it consists of blank saloon-style buildings, painted in colors, standing alone and vacant. There's a weird sadness there. But nothing like Jackson. Nothing could compare to Jackson.

The Capital building in Mississippi is gorgeous. The whole block where the capital sits is stunning, really. But we were hungry so we decided to look for food - preferably not fast food. This was the most difficult task we had all day. We drove down what seemed to be a beautifully vibrant street only to discover that it, too, had been abandoned. Boarded up and left, just like that. Detailed street lamps with nothing left to light but the brick below. It was erie, and sad. Driving futher we hit a massive group of houses that may have been sparatically occupied but looked as abandoned as the rest of it. It's like people just up and left 50 years ago. It was kind of sad. And no, we weren't able to find any restaurants that weren't fast food chains - and believe me, we tried. We tried very hard.

So you can imagine why pulling into New Orleans was so thrilling. It might not be as vibrant as it was pre-Katrina, but compared to the aftermath of the economic bombing we passed through, this place is unreal. And it is, actually. It's beautiful. In every way. Eclectic and architecturally interesting. Just beautiful. We went to Bourbon Street, because we had to, and it was fairly active for a Sunday night. We ignored the restaurant/bar employees who came out on the street trying to usher us in to their business and just followed the music we wanted to hear. The first bar, kind of a divebar type, had an unbelievable bluesey band. The second seemed even more authentic. That woman had lungs. Typical New Orleans in every way, but they played well and they played hard and they brought that room to life.

And then there was the final band (after the Gumbo, which was amazing). A full band. Trumpet, sax, trombone, keyboard, drums, bass, guitar... They were phenomenal. The owner of the place got up on stage to sing a few. He looked like Whitey from "8 Crazy Nights." I mean this guy was short, was somewhere in his 70s, with a full head of white hair and the kind of skin that makes you think of Santa Clause. But holy hell - when that man opened his mouth I was blown away. It was the loudest, most raspy piece of heaven I'd heard all night. I wondered if his brief stints on stage is the reason he was still so full of energy at his age. You could tell he lived for it, and it made you wonder what the rest of his life was like - if he'd always done this, and gone completely under the radar... if he'd given anything up for it. If he had kids who had kids who deserved to boast "my grandpa has the meanest voice in New Orleans." It was the perfect ending.

Highlight: Melissa gets all into the music, naturally, and an old Italian man requested a slow dance. Naturally, she had to. It was the most adorable thing I've ever seen.

I have more pictures and video of a lot of this - but my internet connection is slow, and we'll never get on the road in time to enjoy Cafe Du Monde (our next stop before we hightail it out of here).

I'll have to post all of it late tonight, if I can. Once we get to Austin.

To Austin!