We’ve already slipped back into our pre‑move routine… well, routine. Packing up every couple of days has turned us into a surprisingly efficient little unit, helped enormously by travel cubes, which at this point I consider both a lifestyle and a personality trait.
Elaine confirmed it, the sign in the kitchen confirmed it: checkout requirements were ABSOLUTELY NOTHING. Nevertheless, we’d washed up, and left everything as clean and tidy as possible.
Today we will be crossing borders, and have about a 4 hour drive ahead of us, so we’d plotted out our journey to have a couple of stops along the way, hoping for the “Sulphur Springs” experience we’d had on our way to Jefferson. With the car packed, and a few last bark-from-the-window goodbyes from the resident pooches, we farewelled Jefferson with a new state in mind (not to be mistaken with a new state of mind).
The trip was confusingly wonderful! Major highways with trucks and cars a plenty, followed up by inland roads with entire stretches not passing a single car, and a couple of WTF moments where the route would take you through a tiny town with little notice it was coming, or realising you’d actually even passed through. Hilariously one of those was called ‘Merryville’ which Matthew and I joked it sounded like a made up name for a Hallmark Christmas movie. We didn’t workshop a working title – but on reflection I think I would have called it “A Christmas Detour” – Stranded with no shops, no cafés, and no visible residents, this couple are forced to confront the true meaning of Christmas: making your own fun when the town provides absolutely none. As they wait for their GPS to regain the will to live, they discover that sometimes the most unexpected detours – even the ones with literally nothing in them – can lead to the best stories.
Our first leg stretch stop and the hope of a cute cafe in the town square was San Augustine. The cuteness and history were great, but everything was shut. Everything. Apart from a bank and a homewares store (two places that famously do not serve coffee) we had nothing to do but stretch our legs, admire the silence, and move on. Not the Sulphur Springs package, but a different kind of intriguing.
The roads here are so different from back home, and not just because we are driving on the other side of the road either. The connecting highway’s overpasses are insane, and the incredible way the American’s politely navigate who’s turn it is at stop signs is mind-blowing. We thought we had it all worked out, until an intersection when there were multiple cars crossing 2 highways. We were waved through by someone who definitely didn’t have right of way, so we just committed to smiling and waving at everyone like two overly polite bobbleheads. It seems to be working.
As we’re traveling, we decide to skip our second stop, as we have made good time, and keen to restock at Walmart before checking in to our next AirBNB. We pass the borderline and make a quick food stop at In-Laws Cajun Specialities. We were introduced to boudin – of which I’d never heard of, and pronounced incorrectly when ordering.
I asked them what is “boo-din ball”, and the lady at the counter smiled and said – it’s a ‘boo-dahn” in the most Southern way. We get a side of Cajun fries and find a seat. It turns out Matthew’s crayfish boudin and my pepper jack boudin were amazing, with equal joy about the fries.
We’re so close now, and after a quick stop at a very quiet Walmart, we find out next accommodation. It’s so awesome, a 2-bedroom townhouse on the doorstep of the old historical town of Lake Charles. Not that you’d know that driving in.
A very different feel to our last place, but still as lovely and we settle, unpack and take a breather after our journey. Matthew has been doing all the driving LIKE A BOSS and I am so very grateful to him. Especially given ‘that one time‘ I drove in the USA and managed to have a little bump on a highway and pop a tyre 10 years ago and traumatised myself into permanent passenger‑princess status.
Matthew’s other great talent is ensuring our clothes are clean and our houses are bug‑free. He even travels with his own bug spray. At one point he paused mid‑washing‑machine‑analysis to chase out a fly that had clearly decided to sublet. I adore this man.
It’s crazy how time has passed today, and before long we are ready to check out a local hang for a bevvy and meal. The one that appealed to us by name was “Old Bastards”. It’s literally just down the street. It had a big wrap‑around bar, the kind you instantly want to lean on while pretending you’re in a Southern sitcom. Despite it being $5 burger night, I finally got the green I’d been craving and ordered a wrap, a bold move in a place that very much specialises in Not Wraps. But it was delicious.
The bar wasn’t overly busy, the staff were friendly in that “we’ve seen everything” kind of way, and the locals were far more interested in drinking red wine and telling us they’re there four nights a week. I’m pretty sure they rounded down.
With that, it was time to call it a night. Back at the townhouse, Matthew decided the Old Bastards oil smell had “entered the fabric of our lives” and promptly started wash number two. Clothes clean, humans tired, day complete.
If you have missed any of the other days, you can read them here:
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