Alright, alright... I realize that one post does not a blog make... and holy crap do I have some catching up to do!
First, some more essential Natchitoches trivia: don't drink the water. People keep sayin' that to me but no one can tell just what's wrong with the stuff. My theory is that it's some conspiracy perpetrated by Evian or mayhaps the Miller Brewing Co. to coax the unquestioning Natchitochian into purchasing more of their products. It doesn't seem like the brewing companies have much to worry about in this town though! Neither do the producers of sugar or cigarettes. In lieu of potable water, one is always sure to find plenty of refreshing ice tea to provide the body with essential hydration. That is, lest you have diabetes... tea around here is served sweet- a typical recipe balances about five cups of sugar to every gallon of tea. I shit you not! You can feel your teeth rotting as you slurp the gluconated sludge down.
Sidewalks, WTF! This town definitely ain't made for walking, which is good 'cause no one does. Sidewalks in Nakatosh have a tendency to end abruptly and if you do happen across a decent stretch of concrete, it either has a telephone pole obstacle course to impede your stroll or is awkwardly elevated five feet off the ground... one misstep and it's straight into the street where you can be sure your fallen carcass wont interfere with the progress of passing automobilists. And if you should like to cross to the shady side of the street to avoid contracting heat stroke in your perpetually dehydrated condition, think again. Grandma in her F-350 ain't about to be late to bingo at the church.
I'm not complaining though. Things are different in the South. And what they lack in basic municipal infrastructure is all made up for in their drive-thru liquor stores and cheap, I'm talkin' $2.50 a pack, cigarettes. Drive-thru liquor stores, hah! A sign above the service window reminds you not to drink and drive as they hand you a daquari though your driver-side window. Laws here are a bit of a farse. A bumpy ride down one of Louisiana's notoriously crappy roads serves to remind you that until they signed up with the Federal highway code (which mandates silly things like drunk driving laws) in the early 90s, that last great bastion of states' rights didn't receive a lick of Uncle Sam's asphalt money.
Speaking of states' rights... Louisiana has it's own little north-south divide and like Upstate New York and Southern Illinois there's an ongoing rivalry within the state. To any south Louisianan, everything above I-10 is deep-fried red-neck country devoid of good music, food, or culture in general. To the folks in the northern part of the state, south Louisiana is the home of those Cajun treats like boudin (boo-dan, a spicy sausage filled with rice and something else), Creole good-cookin', Francophile cities like Baton Rouge, Lafayette, and of course New Orleans that you want to visit whenever you've got Friday off and a few extra bucks in your pocket.
So far, I haven't got much flak for being on the opposing team of that bigger North-South rivalry. Maybe that's because my accent seems to assimilate to wherever I am. I fit right in as I walk down the street smoking my pipe in my straw and linen trousers, saying howdy to everyone I pass... including the little black boy on the bicycle who stopped and stared, yelling "fuck the KKK" behind me after I had made my way up the street.
You can't generalize ;o)
Next post I promise I'll tell you about the frat boys who kidnapped me in the back of their pickup truck, brought me to a keg party, and enabled my defacement of church property.
