Day 6 -- to Abbeville, La

Moving day. Time to say goodbye to our sweet city digs and move on to something a little more ... rustic.

Keith snuck out of the hotel this morning, while I was packing. He said he had an "adult errand" to run. He had gotten it in his head that he needed a gin fizz, which apparently is a legendary New Orleans breakfast beverage. He found one at a bar called the Old Absinthe House, on Bourbon. Yes, he said he enjoyed it: It's frothy, with egg white and ... gin, I guess. And yes, the place was open at 9 a.m.

We drove 150 miles west to a town called Abbeville. We're staying in a cabin at Palmetto Island State Park, on the Vermilion River, outside of Abbeville, with "outside" meaning 12 miles away and in the middle of freaking nowhere. In New Orleans, we were right on Bourbon Street, right in the middle of it all. Our location now is a little more remote. The air is electric with bugs. The chirping and buzzing is so thick and close that you can slice through it with a knife. After the traffic and crowds in the city, the drone is welcome, peaceful, mesmerizing.

Satellite-view on my map app

As we drove toward Abbeville on Highway 90, I was surprised at how rural the landscape is. Like, fields and farm stands. I had imagined driving across southern Louisiana through thick cypress forests dripping with moss and then coming to the end of the road and having continue to our destination in a canoe, paddling past by bearded men sitting on logs, spitting chaw and playing the theme from "Deliverance" on their banjos. On the surface, anyway, the landscape doesn't look much different from Central Indiana -- until you see the all homes on stilts.

We stopped for gas at a small-town station, where two guys pulling a fishing boat halted their conversation about bass to ogle our Teardrop. Those were some thick, deep, Cajun-infused drawls coming out of their mouths. Keith wondered to himself if they use poles to fish, or if they just reach into the water with their hands. We were then inspired to quote Adam Sandler's "Waterboy" for the rest of the trip, in poser accents that would probably get us arrested if anyone heard them.

The landscape turned decidedly more marshy when we turned off the main road from Abbeville to the state park. There is a long stretch of road that falls off into cypress swamp on either side. Every half-submerged log is an alligator in my mind. So, between you and me, I won't be sticking any body parts in that murky water just for the fun of it.

As we unpacked the car at the cabin, Charlie spent his time trying to locate and catch an armadillo, which had waddled across the driveway in front of us as we pulled in. I'm sure there are a lot more critters where he came from.

Our state park cabin is stunning. By "rustic," I meant that we don't have room service and we had to make our own beds. We have a beautiful screened porch that looks out over miles of dense Louisiana forest, as well as two bedrooms, a bathroom, a full kitchen, air-conditioning and -- I don't know how this works, considering our cabin's godforsaken location -- WIFI. Awe-some. Don't scoff. It's a sultry 95 degrees out, and I will put off sleeping and cooking outside as long as I can. We'll fit that in on this trip; I promise.

So, yes, we have a full kitchen here, but no groceries. We went into town for dinner, and picked up staples at the supermarket on the way home. We ate at Shucks!, which bills itself as THE Louisiana Seafood House. As soon as we stepped inside, we saw that the actual restaurant space has the personality of a Hyundai showroom. It's a just big room -- very clean -- with a lot of tables. It took us about 15 seconds to realize that what Shucks! lacks in physical character, it more than makes up for with incredibly gracious service and a fantastic menu. The owner, David, swooped down on us, introduced himself, shook our hands and made us his best friends for the evening. He explained some of the history of the area and talked up the menu so well that he sold us on just about everything on it. We loaded up our table with alligator bites,  charbroiled oysters, crawfish etouffee, oyster stew with andouille sausage, crab cakes and fried gulf shrimp. Everything was as amazing as he promised -- fresh and tender and succulent -- and about a thousand times better than anything we had in New Orleans. It was some of the best seafood I've ever had. By the time we left, by the way, the restaurant was packed with locals. Not bad for a Wednesday night.

David revealed to us that we are staying in the heart of Cajun country. This county, Vermilion Parish, has more direct descendants of the French Acadians than anywhere else in Louisiana. David explained that his own grandmothers, who both lived into their 90s and died just a few years ago, spoke only French, and that both of his parents had to learn English as a second language.

David proved to be an invaluable resource for things to do in the area. He gave us plenty of ideas of places to explore and sights to see. We're looking forward to fitting it all in in the next two days.