Cajun Adventure, Post-Hurricane Rita
(continued)
It had been a record-breaking warm Wisconsin January, in the 50s much of the time. But Lafayette was warmer -- I could smell the earth. Anna and I took a whiff and smiled at each other, flinging our coats into the back seat of the rental car. We were going to enjoy this 65-degree weather.
First thing I did in the car was tune the radio to KBON, the Cajun station Mike and I sometimes listen to at home through the Web. Ah, KBON! Cajun, Zydeco, and swamp pop with a little country and R&B thrown in – right fine. Anna was about to get a heavy dose of my favorite dance music.
The 10-minute drive from the airport to the Diocese building was my first of many navigational challenges during our week there. Anna was supposed to be the navigator, but she was much more interested in writing in her journal than studying maps. (When we returned to Wisconsin, I learned that Anna had used those journals to record my bouts of dismay and verbal vulgarities as I repeatedly got lost.)
When we arrived at the Diocese building, Cheryll Guilbeau of United Way was there to greet us, as was Joe Paris, now beardless but still sparkly-eyed, wearing the rubber boots he had on for rose garden planting duty that day. The Diocese campus, known to locals as “Immaculata,” resembled a Spanish hacienda, like a smaller version of the Marine Corps Depot in San Diego, where our son Brian went through boot camp: lots of brick arches and a courtyard with graceful plantings, including crepe myrtles, palms, palmettos with sharp fan-like leaves, and kumquat trees. Mocking birds sang up and down the scale.
Mmmm. The South. My second home.
Cheryll led us up to the sprawling third floor dormitory, where we chose adjoining cubicles – little cells without doors, each containing a single bed and a chair. Cheryll showed us the occupied cell of our only dorm-mate, a woman named Sheri who was working with United Way through UMCOR, the Methodist outreach agency. We threw our bags inside the cubicles and prepared to leave for lunch.
Before Cheryll left us, she invited us to dinner the following Monday at Prejean’s, the famous Lafayette restaurant owned and run by her husband. I remembered eating some great gumbo at Prejean’s when Mike and I dined there in ’03 on the recommendation of a guide who had boated us through the Atchafalaya Swamp.
We were delighted, but not as thrilled as Joe, who snagged an invitation by proximity.
“Prejeans! Prejeans!” he kept repeating. (We were learning that Joe has no shortage of enthusiasm – for Prejeans, and for everything else.)
Joe jumped into our rental car and assumed navigation duties, a relief to me. We drove straight to Café des Amis in Breaux Bridge, still crowded even though it was about 1:30 pm and the Zydeco brunch was over. This lunch was the beginning of Anna and me trying lots of new tastes. Throughout our week in Lafayette, vegetarian Anna had bread pudding and plenty of dishes made with eggplant. I tried meat dishes we don’t often find in Wisconsin, including fried breaded gator, crawfish, and frog legs (all delicious!). During that short week, we had more fried food, non-diet soda and caffeine coffee than we’d had in any combination of years before. Folks down there eat like the health food revolution never happened.
At one point, Anna asked if anyone wanted the “hot pepper” on her plate. Joe almost freaked out.
“That’s not a pepper! That’s pickled okra! Try it!”
Anna tried it and fell in love with the wonderful new taste and texture.
Joe and Anna and I sat for a couple of hours in Café des Amis and told stories back and forth, long past the time our plates had been whisked away. This was our entry into Southern Time.
Folks in Cajun country run at a slower speed than we do, I’m guessing because it’s too hot and humid to move fast. I found myself adjusting easily to Southern time – I felt no pressure to get up and get gone.
After that liesurely lunch, Anna and I returned to our dorm for a nap. Joe went back to his roses, with a plan to meet for dancing that night at Randol’s. I told him he better change out of those rubber boots.
He answered with a big smile, “Down here you can dance in anything, chère!”