FRIENDS CAFE: A Summation of the Rest

Well, as it turns out, not a whole lot happens after Sunday. But, that is alright, as I very much needed the unwinding.

Ok, I am certain that I bring drippiness with me on any vacation I take. Just as happened to me last year when I went to Tampa, I really don’t get any sunshine down in Louisiana.

Monday: I wake at about 9, bringing in the day the same way as I had before. Just laying back, listening to 105.9, a soul station in Lafayette that someone has recommended I check out. As I do this, I read yet more of the Armstrong book.

After coffee and biscuits, we basically collapse into the rockers and sofas where we remain parked for nearly all day, listening to a TV country station. Well she doesn’t remain parked, actually. Despite still feeling yucky, she leaves to get the car ready for the return trip to New Orleans and grab us some yummy food. She brings us back a huge plate of chicken strips with fat fries and an unusual dip.

Other than this, I simply revel in the idea of just being, worrying about nothing except inhaling and enjoying the next breath, and of course cool conversation that comes and goes as we please.

On this day, as we had some on the day prior, we talk about the differences between the US and Australia. We conclude that while blind people may generally have more opportunities here, both of these fine countries still have work to do before their citizens with such disabilities really have a shot at the job and life choices they want. He is an advocate in the land down under, and I in many respects have come to see him as a sort of mentor, at least someone to whom I could look up to. I want to be a louder voice in this grand community, but have to get better at getting my voice heard. I think maybe I’ll get there fairly soon, but that remains to be seen.

I also make a silly comment about life down under.

“Everyone in Australia is upside down!”

“Upside down?” he asks.

“Yeah, relative to us. Isn’t that odd?”

This amuses us both. I hadn’t really understood what was meant by the phrase “the earth is round until I was 17 or so, due to someone’s patient explanation of how it is in fact like the globe I’ve felt many times.

On Monday night, we do watch the movie God Is Dead. It is an interesting story about a college professor who attempts to get his philosophy class to declare in writing and by signing their name to it before class starts that God doesn’t actually exist. One student refuses to do this, and is thus thrust into a semester where he must present evidence to the contrary. The movie is fast moving, and yet still thought-provoking.

Early Tuesday: We have initially planned to go to New Orleans’ French Quarter, so I wake by 6:30, not knowing at what time things will get started. But he has had trouble sleeping the night before and she is still dealing with this sickness. We soon learn that it is the flu, of the type that can’t be stopped with this season’s vaccine. I’m amazed I’ve managed to avoid it thus far.

Anyway, because of all these things, we don’t actually leave until nearly 12 PM. They decide that, due to the likely crush of traffic, cold weather, and general lack of time, we will go ahead and head for the airport instead. This is ok, it just means I have to plan another trip down to stop by and thoroughly tour New Orleans, probably when it’s warmer out.

On the way to the airport, we make what turns out to be a crazy trip to a place called Brick Oven Pizza. The GPS first leads us around the block, then up onto an unnecessary road that takes several minutes to traverse. I am surprised she doesn’t just give up.

Finally at the restaurant, I get an Italian personal pizza with sausages, peparoni, mozzarella, and some veggies. I manage to eat half of it, allowing the server to wrap the rest in see-through plastic in the hopes that maybe security won’t throw it away.

Then off to make the somewhat sad trip back to my humble abode. Though I resist it at first, I finally allow these people to put me into a wheelchair and zip me to security that way. That always makes me feel silly.

I check out some generally boring bowl games until it is time to board the flight at 6:20 for a 7:00 departure. The couple beside me, I think the woman is American and the man Mexican, are headed to Miami to visit family. Ah, how I long to go down there and stay for a week or so.

On my next flight, from Atlanta to Raleigh, I meet a woman and her mom who are returning from a wedding in Fort Meyers, Florida. I would go there as well. This kind woman offers to assist me both onto and off of the aircraft, probably getting appreciative nods and smiles from tired agents and flight attendants.

Finally back at Raleigh Durham International Airport, I have the individual who comes to collect e from this woman take me outside where I slide into a waiting airport taxi. When the driver is unable to understand the address I try to give him, I just plug it into my phone and have my GPS issue the directions out loud. This isn’t a bad idea actually, as I can then be reasonably certain that we are taking the expected streets and I’m not getting the runaround. I mercifully get home at 1 AM, message all who care to let them know I’ve made it, and slide under the covers.

And that is the end of my wonderful trip to the state of Louisiana. As I said earlier in this entry, the question isn’t if but when I will return. Heck, maybe I’ll go and find my wife there. Ha, ha. That wrapped 2014, and I am ecstatic to see what kinds of excitement 2015 has in store. Hope your year has gotten off to a good start. More probably quicker than I know.

FRIENDS CAFE: Zydeco 1, Tight Crowds and Dancing

I think this day was the climax of my trip, in many respects. I had a lot of fun, got to enjoy a new kind of music, and expand my food repertoir a bit. Not to mention bouncing around a jam-packed building with random people.

Saturday, December 27

6 AM, Having already plugged the hearing aids in so that I wouldn’t miss the household’s early rising, I am called to action by a light knock at the door. Time for their usual coffee and morning chat. I have fun with this, feeling the correct balance being restored to my “caffeine stream”. It is no wonder that coffee is a multi-billion dollar industry in this country.

Feeling even more refreshed after a quick shower, I and they are relieved to discover that the deluge of rain (supposedly 7 inches) that had been forecast has really turned out to be more of a slightly unpleasant drip. I guess that we were going to give it a go anyway, given that we’d be leaving early and were bringing along the appropriate gear to protect said hearing aids, but definitely not having to deal with that kind of craziness is preferable.

Into the car for the fairly short road to a town northeast of Lafayette called Breaux Bridge. I’ve heard of this place, because former Carolina Panthers quarterback Jake Delhomme originated here. We are visiting not for sports though, but for their famed music, called Zydeco. According to the Wikipedia article I read, this musical genre is fairly distinct to Southwestern Louisiana, and was invented by African Americans and Creoles in the area. The article goes on to state that the first recorded instance of this term (Zydeco) was by a country western group in 1929 called the Zydeco Skillet Lickers, and they had a song called “It Ain’t Gonna Rain No Mo”. Ironic title for our day’s likely outcome.

Our intended destination is a jumpin’ place called Café des Amis, from which I generated my title for these posts. Not only the building but its surrounding area are about as full of people as can possibly be, and then some. We have to connect to a long line and hope that maybe we will get inside. As we wait, we make friendly chatter with everyone around us.

“Do you know them?” I often asked the woman of our group, referring to the people to whom she speaks.

“Nope,” she replies: “I just started talking to them five minutes ago”.

Yup, it’s just that kind of place. Once inside, I even get to enjoy a little of that randomness myself when a woman pops out of the rocking masses and asks to dance with me. If I do this right and have chosen the correct photo, always an adventure for a blind man, you should see us standing there. IMG_1736 And now to something I do know for sure what I doing, I recorded an audio clip there as well. Great music and great musicians, Leroy Thomas and the Zydeco band. I hear they’re always wildly popular.

Soon enough, a table opens up and we sit to have breakfast. You always have to eat fairly quickly, as there are people pressing in on those seats as soon as you’ve finished. I opt for a yummy sausage, egg, and cheese croissant and some grits, I think, along with a glass of orange juice. I also try a piece of beignet, which was delicious. It tastes like a funnel cake that has been stuffed with eggs and such.

Once we finish, we prepare to exit this particular café. On our way out though, we come across someone to whom I am introduced who also happens to write a blog that focuses pretty heavily on travel. I like that the URL is A Road of My Own, and the title is Traveling Solo. I ask my friendly host a couple of times if she had known of this before striking up that conversation, but as usual she hadn’t known this individual at all. This is a definite, good coincidence.

We then venture over to the Joie de Vivre café, as I guess many coming from our former location do. Here, the guy in my group strikes up a jam session with some of the other musicians there, his instrument of choice being the piano. Here’s a bit of that audio as well.

By about 1:30 PM, we decide to head home, where we mostly just chill for the rest of this day. Once both of them have drifted off for a nap, I sit on the little rocker and listen to sports for a good while. Then when the guy returns, we have a bit more of a conversation, before the woman returns and we settle in for some TV and good company.

For dinner we also have croissants, because she needs to get rid of them. She puts ham, cheese, and I guess mustard in them. Whatever the sauce inside, they are so good that I eat the two almost quickly enough to lose a couple of fingers. But then, what isn’t good down there?

This makes up the bulk of Saturday’s activities. I eventually retreat upstairs, turn on some jazz, and read more of the Louis Armstrong book. I think by this point, unfortunately, she is beginning to come down with something that may have been gotten from exposure to the swells of humanity, so we just lay low after this. More soon.

FRIENDS CAFE: Kind Servers and Craw-fishy

I will use the overarching title “Friends Café” for my trip to Louisiana, both because it’s the translation of an actual place we visited, and because it applies to pretty much everything I experienced on this journey. Never have I seen truer examples of “Southern hospitality” than I have in this fine state. So, let’s begin the journey shall we?

Friday, December 26

3:20 AM, I make my halting way out to the curb, absorbing the absolute quiet and clear cold that are present on this post-Christmas night. As the duffel bag’s strap digs into my shoulder, I hope that my prearranged taxi does show up at 3:30, for I have no other viable options that I can think of. 3:22, 3:24, and finally it pulls up at 3:27; actually three minutes early. Well done!

I hop in and nearly doze, warming my digits in the heat stream as the driver, from a Middle Eastern country I think, chatters about perceived differences between Christianity and Islam.

“Do you know why you’re here?” he asks.

I think his take-home message is that death exists to keep us from doing things that are too far out there, and that it also focuses us on finding our purpose. We should also strive to live the best we can while in this body. I can agree with those conclusions. I think more than anything though, he’s just talking to keep himself awake long enough to reach Raleigh-Durham International Airport, an 18-minute ride along Durham Freeway and Highway 40 according to Google Maps.

We do reach the building, and I am disgorged at the Delta Terminal. A woman who says she is on her way to Detroit helps me to the check-in counter, but I do not get anymore time to speak to her. Really, I suppose that few people feel like speaking at 4 AM, as even the worker who is guiding me says the bare minimum.

At the ever-so-fun security checkpoint, I am pulled aside and wanded, even having the palms of my hands scanned. Fun times. Then down to my gate, where I sit for about 15 minutes before being silently ushered aboard.

The first flight to Atlanta departs promptly at 5:10. I am annoyed for most of it, because the Braille display absolutely refuses to cooperate. Airplane mode has shut down Bluetooth, and when I attempt to re-enable it I still can’t regenerate the connection. I have since come to the conclusion that it is better to turn on Bluetooth immediately after going into airplane mode, and not once I plan to actually use the display.

I have brought two books onboard with me: Louis Armstrong’s New Orleans, an exhaustive piece about that city’s musical, Jim Crow, and other history as it relates to that jazz great; and Buccaneer by Maycay Beeler, a true crime story about a drug dealer who has all sorts of adventures transporting product and eventually lands in prison. I find the latter to be a better airplane read, as the chapters are generally short and action-packed enough to hold my interest.

After having guzzled a cup of coffee to also give me juice for the day, we touch down in Atlanta where I am to wait another hour and a half for my final flight to New Orleans. No one talks to me at this point, so I finally fight the display and get it working, and chat with people online.

The next flight is relatively uneventful and on time, so I just sit and enjoy this one. On both of these trips, well really all four, I have been placed in right-side aisle seats. This means I have difficulty engaging seatmates in discussion, since I can’t hear particularly well in my right ear. In the small talk I do manage on the way to the Big Easy, I ascertain that the person beside me is from Massachusetts and is visiting family.

“It may be kind of cold out there,” she says: “but I’ll still enjoy it!”

As we disembark, the flight attendant insists that I must try beignets and of course that other Louisiana thing: crawfish. An agent then shows up, whisks me into the airport, and since I’ve managed not to check a bag, straight out to where my party awaits.

I have come to see two individuals with whom I serve on the board of the Norrie Disease Association, mostly for the vacation and fun chatter that would ensue. They are both due to make the long trek to Australia, another place I would very much like to visit, at about the time that I return to the shop for work. The woman who is hosting me at her place actually resides in Lafayette, which is about as far from New Orleans as Charlotte is from Durham. I suppose I should have known this, but still end up feeling a bit bad for not flying straight into Lafayette. That choice does save me $100 at least, though.

Before beginning that drive, we stop at IHOP for a quick bite. I opt for a sausage, egg, and cheese sandwich and fries. They really give me two, and I can barely eat even one of them! This is only the beginning of my food consumption in that great state. I also have fun talking to the server in there who asks “what are you doing with that phone!” I think she was surprised at how I could even operate an iPhone. She is fun, funny, and cool, and keeps watching me for most of the time I am there.

On the road again, the guy and I in back start conversing about topics as wide-ranging as independence for blind folks, the pending big changes in the Norrie Disease Association, and what we want out of life in general. Eventually we start to drift off, and she turns on the radio probably to stave off the silence and keep going. After nearly 3 hours, we arrive at her place.

It is a comfortable little house with a 1-car garage. I am given a quick tour: shown where the two bathrooms, stairs, and the guestroom where I will sleep are located. I am then ushered to the little rocker where I immediately get comfortable, wrapping in an LSU blanket and enjoying the warmth of a fire. I quickly adopt this chair as “mine” during my stay there.

Not much happens until dinner, where I get to try crawfish for the first time. It is in a pie that they get from a place down the street called Pouparts French Bakery, kind of like a chicken pot pie type thing. There seems to be some other filling inside of it too: consisting primarily of the “trinity”: onions, bell pepper, and celery, and I enjoy it. I don’t notice much taste in the fish itself, but it might be hard to distinguish within that context. Accompanying that, we have a delicious salad. She accidentally gives me the one with Caesar (sp?) and he the ranch dressing, but I certainly don’t mind. It is delicious and full of flavor. There is also a potato covered in flecks of bacon and cheese. MMM.

And that just about wraps up Friday. As the weather turns gloomier, we opt to just stay inside and call it a night early. I am pretty tired, so take a bottle of water upstairs, crawl under the covers to catch some football on the phone, and soon enough give in to dreamland.