From Pascagoula to Mandeville to Lafayette

One of my favorite towns heading west is Mandeville, Louisiana—thankfully spared by the spate of storms a few years ago that hit Biloxi,  Gulfport and New Orleans.  My mossy Mandeville is right next to Covington, home of the writer Walker Percy.

My  Mandeville has Cajun music and cattails and houses on stilts—and a view of the bridge leading to New Orleans.  I didn't drive on the Lake Pontchartrain bridge into New Orleans, but Kate and I did a few years ago.

At a gas station, I met a friendly boyish young woman with enormous blue eyes and tattoos scattered randomly up and down each arm.  Each tattoo had a sort of do-it-yourself look. “Where do the locals go for seafood?” I asked her.

That’s how it works traveling in any direction—you ask and you receive.  Fifteen miles later, I was in downtown Covington looking at art in galleries and eating the best corn and clam chowder and fried shrimp at Buster’s Place.  The waiter was an ever-smiling young man named Neil who seemed to have all the time in the world to talk, and by the time we left, I almost suggested we trade e-mail addresses.

People are extraordinarily friendly in Louisiana, I’ve noticed, and seem more light-hearted than people in other states.  I wonder why.  Maybe it’s because they dance a lot?

Just before arriving in Lafayette for the night, I drove through Breaux Bridge for old time's sake.  I've had lots of good times in Breaux Bridge, and if I get up early enough in the morning, I may go back for a quick look-see.

I visited a great quilt shop in Gautier (pronounced Go-Shay; who knew?) and found a quilt pattern with Mini Coopers.  Had to a buy it! One of these days I'll have to make a Mini wall hanging or something and use up all my scraps.

The sky was a brilliant blue all day.  Just as I was driving across the Atchafalaya Bridge past Baton Rouge, the sun dipped down like a brilliant gold ball behind the streak of clouds I'd been watching, a great light show!

I always say "Atchafalaya" all the way across the bridge, like a chant, an incantation.  I love these Cajun names for rivers and bayous and swamps and bridges.  I love the Louisiana air, the sunsets, the music emanating from any place people gather, the open smiles on the faces of people sitting on sidewalks smoking and talking.