From 35,000 feet the Mississippi river basin displays some of its geological progression, giving us mere mortals a glimpse of the larger picture. From that height you can see scars on the land where the river has changed course. Towns that were once on the riverfront, are now fronted by a curve of greenery --- trees that have grown in the silt that was once the river bottom. The scars, most of them curving green swaths, flank either side of the present river. 

A hundred and forty five years ago, another S. Clemens plied his trade as a riverboat pilot on this river, and he wrote an account of it, called Life on the Mississippi. His pen name was Mark Twain. He had some remarkable successes and some abject failures in his life, and he was one of the most well-traveled men of his generation, but the time he spent on the Mississippi was his happiest.

Sam Clemens was forced to give up his beloved profession at the onset of the Civil War. It may have been a personal set back, but it was the beginning of a career that changed the face of American letters.

In a day when most people stuck close to home, Sam traveled from his boyhood home in Hannible, Missouri, to Nevada, California and Hawaii, to the East Coast (where he eventually settled in Connecticut), to France, Italy and Palestine, and throughout the South Pacific. His travels took months. Today we can rush around the globe in airliners, traversing vast distances in a day, but it’s still a pleasure now and then to take a slower paced trip on a boat or a train. The following is an account of a trip up the Mississippi in 2004.

DAY ONE:

November 28th, 2004:

I’m aboard the Mississippi Queen cruising upriver in bright moonlight toward Oak Alley, our first stop on this voyage. The Mississippi Queen is a beautiful sternwheeler, one of three owned by the Delta Queen Steamboat Company. The oldest and smallest of the three is Delta Queen. The Mississippi Queen, built in 1976 is the middle-sized boat, 382 feet long, 68 feet wide and six decks high. It carries 410 passengers and a crew of 157. The largest of the three is the American Queen - more on her later.

My cabin, 205, is named for New Madrid - a town on the river with a cataclysmic past. It was founded by the Spanish as a sort of New World utopia, with wide avenues and riverfront parks. Then in 1811 the strongest earthquake in North American history wiped out the town. The buildings that weren’t shaken down were washed away by great waves from the river. The quake was so strong that the Mississippi river ran northward for several hours. Over the years repeated floods and changes in the river’s course have pushed the town back from its original position (which now lies underwater). Anyway, as I was saying, my cabin is named New Madrid. It’s a compact room with two twin beds, old-fashioned wallpaper, embossed paper ceiling and wainscoting. It also has a private balcony.

Being new to the river I came at it with no preconceptions. I’ve driven over it a few times and never thought much of it. But here in New Orleans the noteworthy thing is the amount of ship traffic: container ships, cargo ships, barges, tugboats. New Orleans itself is a beautiful city, seen in a brief drive through the downtown on the way to the wharf.

The first thing I did, once on board, was to poke around the boat to find the best place to read, as I figured this would be an appropriate time to read Twain’s Life on the Mississippi while actually on the Mississippi, and it was one of the few books of his I hadn’t read. That night I found a good spot in the Paddlewheel Lounge, a bar with a large crystal chandelier and a view of the stern wheel. The upstairs part of the lounge has beautiful period-piece furniture and Tiffany lamps.

On this trip it’s a Geezer Bar (I can say that without reproach now, for I passed into Geezerdom this year). Of the 400 plus passengers, fewer than 10 are under 50, the average age of our passengers hovering in the mid-to-late-60s. But that’s to be expected, as school is in session and most people who aren’t retired are working this time of year.

This is a themed trip - Christmas Around the World. Christmas Carols are piped into the rooms on one channel, and CNN news for any fool who wants to keep his nervous edge during the trip. The boat has wreathes and at least four Christmas trees on board. Christmas crafts, door decorating, lectures and live music are planned around the theme. We’re a little late to see the turning of the leaves. The fall foliage trip is their best-selling cruise of the year, always sold-out months in advance.

My dinner companions for the trip are Terry and Susan West from Seattle, Bill and Will Fedderer from Saint Louis, and Veronica Monahan from Lake Arrowhead, California. Veronica is a Forest Ranger. Terry works for Alaska Airlines now, after 25 years in drug enforcement. Susan, who is stunningly beautiful with high cheekbones and the greenest eyes I’ve ever seen, is a news anchor in Seattle. Bill has written books on George Washington Carver and on the origins of Christmas traditions. I didn’t learn until the third day into the trip that he’s run three unsuccessful campaigns for congress against Dick Gephardt.  His son, Will, is only 21 and doesn’t quite know what to do with his life.

Dinner was Seafood Gumbo, flounder rolled around a sheave of asparagus in a mild white sauce, followed by whisky soaked bread pudding. My table mates had various entrees including blackened redfish, steak frites, and chicken.

Underway there was a thrumming, a slight bouncing, but sometime during the night the water became more placid and the bouncing stopped.

DAY TWO

November 29th, 2004 :

The first morning I learned that the river doesn’t run north to south. It twists and turns to such a degree that the sun may be on the port side one hour and to he starboard on the next. There’s a prodigious amount of water in this river (dare I say, unfathomable?), so much, in fact, that it doesn’t seem there should be enough rain to fill it. And yet it’s flowed non-stop for millennia

To get here I drove 65 miles an hour in a car to the airport, flew at 500 miles an hour to New Orleans, only to get on a boat that plugs along at 4 miles per hour upstream. It takes some time to get used to the pace. After breakfast I took an hour to sit in a rocking chair on the front of the boat. It’s dead quiet at the front; you don’t hear the motor or the paddlewheel at all. I enjoyed sitting there for the first ten minutes before I began to feel antsy. Which reminded me of something that has been missing in my life - solitude and quiet reflection. Like so many people in this time period, I rush around all day carrying out routine tasks and responding to phone calls, emails, urgent and not-so-urgent requests, responding to this crisis and that. There never seems to be time to think. So I forced myself to sit in that rocking chair for a solid hour, with the unexpected result that I actually started to feel relaxed! I also began to feel younger - I couldn’t help myself, as I listened to snatches of conversation from my fellow travelers, all of which centered on their pills, cataracts, and bridge-work.

For a long while the banks of the river were lined with parked tankers. They’re from all over the world. I saw the Solaro, an oil tanker by the look of her, from Italy, with VIETATO FUMARE - No Smoking - written in ten foot high letters on her superstructure. There is a lot of traffic on the river at this stage, seagoing ships taking on oil and grain, and barges with all manner of transport from upriver.

Before noon we cruised along miles and miles of unbroken woods. Sea birds, gulls and cormorants were abundant, and we saw a couple of eagles. The Mississippi Queen moved slowly up the side of the river, close to the bank so as to be away from the worst of the current, and all along the way we displaced ducks that had the bad habit of putting themselves in front of the boat.

A disconcerting thing about the river is that it never stops moving. Even after we tied up to the shore at Oak Alley, sitting on my balcony overlooking the river, I could swear we were still moving. Of course, it was only the river that was moving, bringing all manner of flotsam downriver, mostly logs and twigs, but once we saw what looked like the back of a school bus go bobbing by.

I’m feeling younger by the day - getting this geriatric crowd off the boat is like herding turtles. If that’s what I have to look forward to in fifteen years, I had better enjoy myself today!

The lower part of the Mississippi is sugar cane country, with hundreds of plantations spread out between the river and bayou in a band about 10 to 15 miles wide. Oak Alley is most notable for its bower of 28 250-year-old Virginia Oaks covered with feathery green mantles of resurrection ferns. The plantation house is also worthy of inspection. Built in 1837 for Jacques Roman, the Greek Revival house sports Doric columns, 12 and a half foot ceilings, 7 rooms and 7 fireplaces. It was originally the centerpiece of a large sugar cane plantation.

Just down River Road is Laura Plantation, a typical Creole plantation with a rich history that mirrors the fortunes of the area’s inhabitants, and points up the power that women could wield in Creole culture.

Until Louisiana law forbade the teaching of French in school in 1916, the Creoles spoke a dialect of French that kept them insulated from the rest of the English speaking country. Even today this is a very closed society. Laura Plantation is in Saint Joseph Parish, which has a population of just 21,000. According to our tour guide, the 2,000 census revealed that 99.9% of all the families in the Parish have lived there for over 200 years! Which is the exact opposite of the population in Lake Tahoe, California.

It was here at Laura Plantation in 1894 that Alcée Fortier collected some of the African folktales passed down by the slaves, including the tales of Compair Lapin - Br’er Rabbit - and the Tar Baby. These were originally written in French and later translated rather liberally by Joel Chandler Harris, who added uncle Remus to the mix. I doubt that the real uncle Remus was so happy-go-lucky. Slaves on that particular plantation were not well treated under the stewardship of Elizabeth Locule who branded at least one would-be runaway, and who instituted a “breeding” program to boost the number of her slaves to 69.  That was a hard woman!

Back on board I enjoyed a musical review with selections from Stephen Foster (leaving out lines that strike us as offensively racist in these times), and Jerome Kern’s Showboat. Then came another fine meal in the dining salon: Beer and Cheddar cheese soup; watercress salad; grilled scallops, and cherries jubilee.

Tomorrow morning we arrive in Baton Rouge for a morning tour of the town.

DAY THREE:

November 30, 2004. The day dawned grey and dreary, and unusually warm and humid for this time of year. I set off to explore Baton Rouge, which is undergoing a lot of public building these days. I managed only to stroll a mile from the dock to the “new” capitol building, the art deco edifice erected at the behest of Huey Long in 1934, then back to the old capitol building. The latter is a farce of architecture, a nineteenth century imagining of a royal/medieval past.

At the top of the new capitol the wind was blowing hard enough to flap my pants and oblige me to hold my hat in my hands. It affords a fine view of the river and of the rest of Louisiana in that area, which is as flat as a pancake.

The walk between the new and old capitol buildings was perhaps 10 blocks and I only encountered two people on the sidewalk that whole distance. This is the most deserted downtown I’ve ever seen in any good-sized city anywhere. It’s a mystery.

The self-guided tour of the old capitol building, however, is not to be missed, especially the animatronic Huey Long. He is a little less animated as a robot, but the oratory is the same. A short history of the Louisiana Purchase, narrated by Hal Holbrook, is also worthy of your time.

Coming out of the building I walked into a deluge. It was just a block back to the boat, but I was soaked. I changed and headed for the Grand Saloon for a lecture about the origins of Santa Claus by Bill Federer. Santa, it turns out, was not as jolly as I’d been lead to believe. He was a devout Christian and generous to other Christians, but he was the devil to worshipers of the goddess Diana. Going to Diana’s church was a sensual and stimulating experience, being all about fecundity and the life-giving nature of Woman. It wasn’t hard to find young men to convert to that church. But Saint Nick got the townsfolk (or maybe just the wives) all stirred up, and they razed Diana’s church. After that church wasn’t much fun.

We got underway at about 2 PM and churned our way upriver where the water widened, the current slowed, and we picked up speed as we passed several long islands, the kind that Huck Finn would have been happy to live on. Speaking of which, today is Mark Twain’s 169th birthday. So I went back to the Paddlewheel lounge, had a Scotch, and read some more of Life on the Mississippi, a generally agreeable book despite the passage of time. Some things haven’t changed. As Twain noted then, there “extends over a wide extent of country an ironclad belief in Adam, and the biblical history of creation, which has not suffered from the assaults of the scientists,” a fact that has not changed to this day, as was  illustrated during the recent Presidential election, and in a poll cited by National Geographic that indicated 45% of the American public still does not believe in the theory of evolution. Coming from Northern California, I thought that the Bible Belt had shriveled up decades ago. I was misinformed. So, plunging back into the heartland, I am getting reacquainted with my fellow citizens and their quaint beliefs.

Dinner that night featured filet mignon and Cajun-style catfish. Susan West’s stories of her producer singing Willie Wonka’s Umpa Lumpa song in her earpiece during a broadcast, were amusing and informative.

DAY FOUR:

December 1st, 2004.

By the time I awoke this morning we’d traveled maybe a hundred and fifty miles upriver into country that was entirely devoid of human habitation or commerce, at least as seen from the river. The banks are lined with thick woods. The water is quite wide here, broken into channels by long wooded islands. Most of the trees are deciduous, so this would be an ideal cruise to view Fall colors.

The weather had turned sunny but cold, so everyone stayed indoors. For at least three hours before arriving in Natchez, Mississippi, we saw no other sign of life, save for some ducks headed south. We were alone on the river.

Natchez, Mississippi, population 18,000, is cotton country. Actually, they don’t grow cotton there; Natchez is just the affluent expression of cotton wealth. Twain called it “the last of the beautiful hill-cities.” Plantation owners lived in Natchez, but their plantations were actually across the river in Louisiana. In 1860 half of the millionaires in America lived in Natchez. A lot of them were originally from the east, so they were Union sympathizers during the “war of Northern aggression.” This was the only county in Mississippi to vote against secession, and during the war they surrendered to union forces three times, thus sparing them the destruction that befell more belligerent towns such as Vicksburg. As a result, more than 100 antebellum houses are lived in today, and 82 are on the National Register of Historic Places. Some are bed-and-breakfasts. Four old mansions are open to the public all year, and many others are opened for the annual spring festival. The tours are hosted by members of the local Garden Society.

Before disembarking, we had a cooking demonstration by onboard Executive Chef Jerry Christian, from recipes put together by Corporate Executive Chef Paul Wayland-Smith. These included such Southern specialties as Blackened Redfish, Fried Green Tomatoes, and Bread Pudding with Bourbon Sauce.

The kitchen staff, which numbers 26 (13 per shift) feeds 410 people in two seatings. The waitstaff numbers two dozen and everything is orchestrated to perfection. Each night the menu offers New Orleans style appetizers, soup, salad, main course - fish, fowl, meat (beef or lamb), and vegetarian dish - followed by several rich desserts (such as bananas Foster, rice pudding, red ribbon cake, chocolate cake etc.) with a Southern portion of sugar. The fare is not always gourmet, but it’s all very good (three out of four stars), and the Cajun spices are kept on the low side to give the flavor without the heat associated with New Orleans restaurants.

Built on a bluff about two hundred feet above the river, Natchez is the longest continually inhabited European settlement on the Mississippi, having been founded by the French in 1716, subsequently passed to the English, then the Spanish, and finally to the United States. Its name derives from the local Indian tribe, who were mound builders. It’s a town of magnolias and large live oaks draped with Spanish moss. If you ever visit, take some time to walk through the streets to read the historic placards and appreciate the architecture. You’ll also notice many fine examples of Victorian and Queen Anne style buildings from the late 19th century. Many of these houses were refurbished with grants from the National Register of Historic Places, and as such they’re required to open their homes to the public a certain number of times a year. Natchez makes the most of this during its annual Spring Pilgrimage.

Our tour took us to three houses on the National Register of Historic Places. The first was Monmouth Plantation, though I don’t know why they call it a plantation, for as far as I could ascertain nothing had ever been grown on the property. It is, however, an authentic antebellum home circa 1818, that has now been turned into a B&B and is a member of “Small Luxury Hotels of the World.” It has a rich history and beautiful grounds. The next was Magnolia Hall, built in 1858, featuring a museum of antebellum and Victorian clothing.

Lastly was the unfinished Longwood, a six story octagonal house that would have been 15,000 square feet if the owner, Haller Nutt, had lived to finish it. Only the basement, 11,000 square feet, was completed before his workmen fled back to Pennsylvania at the outbreak of the “event of recent unpleasantness,” as one of our tour guides called the Civil War. Nutt lost all of his plantations and died of pneumonia, leaving his wife to raise their eight children on her own in the basement.

Our tour guide, a charming wraith of 90, with cloudy blue eyes and a sweet smile, had played in the upper reaches of the house as a child. She said, “Y’all from the Queen?” We assented that we were. “Ah’ve nevah been on a steamboat. That’s somethin’ Ah’d like t’ do, someday.” Nobody said anything, but I know we were all thinking, “Don’t wait!”

Terry and Susan West went exploring Natchez’s row of 10 antique stores, where they were entertained by one old proprietor with white hair and a smooth-as-butter southern accent. Terry remarked that Natchez was the kind of Southern town you imagined while reading a John Grisham novel. To which the old gentleman responded, “Well, suh, I was a law-yah an’ I practiced with Mistah Grisham, an’ I’ll tell ya, he’s a much betta authah, than he is a law-yah.”

One note, before closing out this day: I’m thoroughly enjoying the lack of television, and news, and mail, and email. I dread the pile of mail that I’ll come home to, but I’ve got to take some of this slower pace of life back home with me. It’s healthier.

DAY FIVE:

December 2nd, 2004.

Woke up tied-off to the riverbank at St. Francisville, which is set back a quarter mile on the bluff, a tiny town of 1,800. While we bused to Greenwood Plantation and Angola State Penitentiary, the boat raced back down to Baton Rouge.

Greenwood is notable for its grove of live oaks hung with long drapes of Spanish moss. The Greek Revival house itself is a reconstruction; the 28 pillars and fireplaces being all that survived a fire in the 1960s. Originally a 12,000 acre cotton and sugar cane plantation worked by 750 slaves, today the farm produces hay, pecans and cattle. The reflecting pond was dug by slaves who used the red clay to make the bricks that built the pillars and foundation of the house. Across the reflecting pool from the big house are several smaller houses built as a bed and breakfast inn.

From there we drove through the 18,000 acre Angola State Penitentiary. What a depressing place. Angola is a maximum security prison. 95% of the prisoners are there for life, without parole. They work the fields, growing food to feed themselves. It’s such a dismal place; every incorrigible teenager should be given a tour. It scared me, and I’m not even a criminal.

After a tour of the museum, featuring the old electric chair, the horse-drawn hearse made by inmates, and a collection of inmate made weapons, we bused down to Baton Rouge to rejoin the boat. Downtown Baton Rouge was as dead as usual. Coming up to the dock we were treated to a surprise; the Mississippi Queen was tied up alongside the American Queen. We had to cross the AQ to get to our boat, and I took the opportunity to duck inside and have a look. The AQ, built in 1995, is the largest Mississippi steamboat ever built. It’s 36 feet longer and 21 feet wider than the MQ, but its size is not what makes the AQ grand. What made my jaw drop was the absolute opulence of the furnishings. The two front parlors and center lobby are filled with beautiful antique Victorian furniture and Tiffany lamps, sculptures, artwork and tasteful bric-a-brac. I went back to our puny little boat feeling a bit deflated. But my mood was boosted as we pulled away and the MQ’s calliope piped up to give us a rousing send-off. Lots of folks on the AQ came to the rail to hear our happy little tunes - I don’t think the AQ has a calliope.

Dinner that night consisted of escargot in puff pastry, Snapping turtle soup, prosciutto and melon, veal Marsala, and the usual decadent desserts. We shared our table with the Cajun Storyteller, Darrell Bagno, who entertained everyone on the boat after dinner with a reading of A Cajun Christmas.

His reading segued into a description of a Cajun Christimas tradition, the lighting of big bonfires along the levee on Christmas eve. Upon adjourning from the Grand Saloon, the passengers gathered along the starboard railings to view a couple of those big bonfires onshore, which were accompanied by a surprise fireworks show. Then I retired to my cabin to finish Life on the Mississippi; a fitting end to my first trip on America’s great waterway. 

Mississippi Queen Statistics

MISSISSIPPI MUD PIE

(Serves 6)

The soil deposited by the Mississippi is some of the richest in the world but even so, this Mississippi Mud Pie is richer still.

Chocolate Pecan Brownie

4 oz. unsweetened chocolate

1/2 lb. unsalted butter, soft

1/2 tsp. salt

4 whole eggs

1 tsp. vanilla extract

2 cups of sugar

1 cup of flour

1 cup pecan pieces

Melt chocolate and let cool.  Whip butter and add sugar and eggs.  Mix well.  Add melted chocolate and flour and mix well.  Fold in pecans.  Pour into greased 8x11x2 pan and bake at 375¡ for approximately 30 minutes.  Turn out on flat surface and cool.

Coffee Ice Cream

2 cups whole milk

3 cups heavy cream

1 1/4 cups sugar

4 whole eggs

1/2 tsp. vanilla

1/4 cups coffee reduction (4 cups reduced to 1/4 cup)

Scald milk and cream.  Add sugar and dissolve.  In separate bowl beat eggs, vanilla and coffee reduction.  Slowly add milk mixture to eggs whipping continuously.  return to heat and cook for about 15 minutes over low heat or until mixture coats a spoon.  Stir constantly.  Let cool overnight and freeze in ice cream freezer.

Whipped Cream:

2 cups heavy whipping cream

1 cup confectionery sugar

2 t. chocolate liquor

Whip together in chilled mixing bowl until stiff.

Top brownie with ice cream and freeze until set.  Top with whipping cream and freeze.  Cut into 6-8 equal portions and top with warm Hershey's syrup.  Garnish with pecan pieces.