We took 90 into New Orleans, decided that anything other than 10 might be a nice break, thought maybe it’d be scenic. Probably should’ve stuck to 10.
Didn’t realize how badly the sugarcane-county roads get beat down by the trucks that move harvested stalks. The truck lane is worn and so bumpy at points I was worried the steady drumbeat of vibration might see the RV rattle itself apart. Like an army breaking step to avoid bringing down a bridge, I rode over the center line when possible to avoid the worst of it.
Driving through the miles and miles of cane field, I felt the same the sense of discovery as when we drove through Texas oil country. That realization and awe at entire industries and livelihoods and ways of life wholly unfamiliar to me. It’s fascinating, really, how foreign regional cultures can feel within the same country or even state – seems the more vibrant the culture the steeper the learning curve.
I enjoy discovering what locals are shocked we don’t simply know. “Plate lunch” lines in sit-down restaurants, drive through daiquiri shops, chicory in coffee. Things they’ve never not known, things we’ve never known. Blew a waitress’s mind when we told her you can’t just order a “sweet tea” in California.
And so the trip continues to teach me. About culture, about people, about my family and myself and our country. I pray I pay attention, I learn, I change for the better.