We left Pensacola to drive to New Orleans, or more accurately to drive 40 minutes west of New Orleans. Stephanie had read a New Yorker article about Mosca's, a great Italian restaurant that stood alone on a small road heading out to the bayou. Small menu, cash only, and a 50 minute wait on food due to the fact that everything was made to order. They are closed on Sundays and Mondays, so we decided that even though it meant overshooting our final destination of New Orleans, Thursday night was probably our best bet. Ward's iPhone GPS routed us through Jefferson Parrish and then over the Huey P. Long Bridge, perhaps the scariest piece of road know to man. Later we would find out that most locals refuse to cross this bridge, but that night, with a warm Italian meal only minutes away, we braved the tall, skinny bridge with white knuckles and thoughts of immediate demise. The wind kept pushing us toward the outer-wall, a small concrete barrier reinforced by wobbly scaffolding. Still, we made it across, and, finally, to Mosca's front door.
We initially thought that the trailers parked in the lot were a good thing, that we would be welcomed in our unwieldy home. But those trailers turned out to be for a film crew, and the restaurant was closed that night for the filming of the hit HBO series Treme. At 8:30, after a full day of driving and visions of Italian food I our head, this wasn't the best news for us, but we persevered and headed for a Pho spot that one of the grips recommended. Signs were in our favor as the directions brought us to New Orleans by not using the Huey P. Long Bridge. Only, they brought us there too late; Pho Tau Bay closed at 9 pm, right when we pulled in. Tired and hungry, we somehow kept a great attitude. There are worse things then having to give up and drive into New Orleans for dinner.
We ended up meeting our friend Becka and going to Juan's Flying Burrito for dinner. As we walked in Becka asked us if Erin, who is two weeks ahead of us on our cross country trip, had told us of all the Richmond people she had run into in NOLA. As she listed them off, Ward spotted Steve Earle at a table and, thinking he was someone he knew, loudly said “There's Steve Earle!” Loud enough for him to hear. Ward sunk into his seat with embarrassment. Still, it was funny to be turned away from one restaurant because of Treme, and then to end up having dinner next to an actor from the same show.
That night we slept at the new Walmart set between the Mississippi River and the Garden District. It was only blocks away from Becka's house and Magazine Street, had a police station right next door, and was close enough to the river that we could hear barge horns and train whistles all night. We found out later that this Walmart was under construction when Katrina hit, and the city used it as a morgue since their refrigeration had already been installed. It is a common accusation that Walmart masks an oppressive work environment, poverty wages, and aggressive capitalist take-overs with a bright, clean store, seemingly cheap products, and a really happy smiley face, but it was a real mind bender for us to attempt to visualize the death and destruction that was intertwined with this particular store.
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