When I finally got my car, they were out of GPS, so there I was on the road with only a sketchy map and a vague idea of where to go.
The car has an automatic gear shift, of course. I had to get used to that again, but it’s nothing a 3 year old can’t handle. The tricky bit proved the brake, which was much more sensitive than I’m used to, I nearly whiplashed myself a few times.
A few U turns later, I’d found the interestate in the right direction, and I was cruising towards Natchez, Mississipi. Radio on an ’90′s alternative’ channel, trip down memory lane with Beck, Red Hot Chili Peppers, Soundgarden, Rage Against The Machine …
First there were miles and miles of swamp (aka bayou). I took an exit at some point and just parked the car. In the muggy heat, the swamp smelled sweet, with something like decaying leaves in it. Lots of birds and insect noises. Basically, the water started where the road stopped, I guess the only way to visit is by boat. The highway itself is built on high pillars. Civilisation and cars above, muck and wildlife below.
After a while, the ground firmed up, and swamps were replaced by forests, and I entered the state of Mississipi. The road became slightly hilly. Long stretches of highway, houses sparsely dotted left and right, once in a while exits advertising fast foods, petrol stations and motels.
It struck me then how based on cars the lifestyle is around there. We europeans like to feel superior about our non-reliance on cars, but truth is our lands were settled before the car came along.
Some of these trailers or bungalows would not have been built if the owners didn’t have a car to drive to the nearest strip malls. Most food places are drive-ins, and malls cannot be negociated on foot. To change that would require major restructurings, and something as vague and distant as global warming is nowhere near incentive enough.
I reached Natchez after sunset, and found myself an inn for the night, to visit the next day.
Natchez used to be a very influential town, where southern plantation society gathered and had town homes. There are about 40 of these gathered around Natchez, which itself feels like a small sleepy southern town. There is a vague resentment towards New Orleans for having taken over the role of hub of the region, ‘we were there first’.
On the visitor center lady’s recommendation, I visited two plantation homes.
The first one, Longwood, is a splendid octagonal mansion, is set higher up on a very pretty stretch of land with old trees, very scenic. It belonged to a family of cotton planters. They ran out of money after the civil war, and never completed the interior, only the first (ground) floor is finished, and that is where they lived for a good number of years. (it only hit me after a while, but it’s also the mansion of Russel Edgington in True Blood)
The ground floor feels a bit oppressive, it’s fairly dark and only the outside has high-set windows, like living in a basement. The second, unfinished floor is where they probably originally intended to live, with very high ceilings, splendid high arched windows with a gallery looking out on the surroundings – it would have been beautiful if finished. There was a plan to reflect light from the dome with mirrors down into the inner rooms of the house.
The next house I visited was Rosalie, a house originally built by a cotton and lumber merchant. The house was headquarters for general grant during the civil war, and is now headquarters for the Daughters of the American Revolution (urgh). It’s furnished with many of the original pieces, very ostentatious golden chandeliers, exotic hardwood furniture. Interesting doll collection, and stories about, again, glory and decay. Apparently having zero cost labor force was very lucrative – the contrast between this opulence and its origin grated.
The weather was nowhere as warm as back in New Orleans, cold wind whipping about, fall colors – jacket weather again.
I ate a good southern artery-clogging meal of smoked chicken, sweet potatoes and squash in Natchez at a place called Biscuits&Blues – fantastic salty tender biscuits (fat scones) – and then I drove on to Jackson, as part of my plan to drive on to Memphis. Again, many miles of hilly road.
I arrived in Jackson after dark again, found a nice hotel, and pondered what to do. At that point I started to realize that my plans were a bit ambitious for just a week’s traveling, and that I had only a fuzzy idea on what to see anyway … some mails containing tips arrived then, and I decided to turn back to Louisiana the next day. I’d seen town homes for planters in Natchez, where they showed off their wealth to their peers, and I wanted to see some actual plantations, along the Mississipi.
Next morning I drove all the way back to Vacherie (name is a bit funny for french-speaking people), which is near to New Orleans.
I first visited the Laura plantation. This plantation belonged to true traditional french creoles. The house was fairly simple, a wooden, sturdy house on pillars. The family worked there, partying was done in their town homes in New Orleans. The pillars apparently widened in the foundations to pyramids, to make a kind of floating platform so the house wouldn’t sink into the mud. Separate kitchen, as most houses around there, to lower the risk of fire.
The house had a view on the sugar cane plantations, and on the slave shacks. The plantation had been steered by four generations of women, the most intelligent person being chosen to rule irrespective of gender. That puts paid to any illusions that women ruling the world would somehow mean a gentler place (something I never believed): these women were tough as nails, and probably not gentle on their slaves, either.
We got interesting stories about the families, very highly strung, dramatic people, a Creole thing to be apparently (more akin to latin temperament than anglosaxon practicality). We also saw a price chart for slaves: a skilled worker of 20-25 cost the equivalent of 100 000 dollars, and the prices could go down to 18 000 for dim-witted or lazy slaves, and to nothing for elderly slaves. They lived 12 to a small house, and were encouraged to breed. The handling of the slaves followed the ‘code noir’, until the american laws came along.
Slaves could set a bit of money on the side by doing extra work, and could buy themselves out. Some of these freed slaves then started plantations themselves, and owned their own slaves.
The funny thing is, the civil war didn’t change that much, at least not immediately. Most ex-slaves had never known any other life than the plantation, and so they stayed on to work. They weren’t well paid, and they bought from the plantation stores on credit, so they ended up owing money to the plantation (sounds familiar from our own mine workers in the 19th century).
Somehow, when I read books about plantations and slaves, I’d always pictured the surroundings as being scorched and dry, maybe as a reflection to the emotional climate. In fact it’s positively eden-esque: palm trees, pecan nut trees, pepper plants, green glowing grass.
After the Laura plantation I visited the Oak Alley plantation, also sugar cane, mostly known for the oaks lining its alley. The trees are majestic and about 300 years old. The house is a nice classic villa, with 2 high floors and a gallery along the second floor. Apparently it was the set of (amongst others) ‘Interview with the Vampire’. The gallery used to have a direct view on the Mississipi and the boats passing by, but they increased the height of the levee to 40 feet, so you don’t see it anymore nowadays.
After this visit, I returned to New Orleans.