Home Is Where the Cat Is

We’ve been back in the States for two weeks and three days. We landed at the Fort Lauderdale airport on the afternoon of Friday, May 17 for a five hour layover, two of which were consumed by an interminable death march through customs and immigration. A couple years ago we signed up for TSA Precheck. We should have signed up for Global Entry instead. Believe me, we’ll be doing that now.

The good thing about layovers in Fort Lauderdale is that they have what I consider to be the best airport pizza in the world: DeSano. Lea thought it was too salty this time, but to me it was just right. I like their “Diavolo” – a pizza with pepperoni and whole red peppers. And so began two weeks of weight-gaining indulgence at as many of our favorite restaurants as possible to see if they measured up to our memories.

Our flight from Fort Lauderdale to Atlanta landed sometime between midnight and 1:00 a.m. Saturday morning. The time since then has been a nonstop whirlwind of activity: rushing around, shopping our eyeballs out, visiting old friends, driving to Louisiana and back to retrieve our long-lost kitty, and reassembling our lives like pieces of IKEA furniture. I’ll cover as much as I can and regale you with many tales of our reentry in the coming weeks.

Our first order of business was to run by our storage unit and make sure we had access to personal checks; otherwise we’d have had to take cash out of bank machines to make the move-in payment on our new apartment, which we were scheduled to do that afternoon. Fortunately, we’d left our checkbook in easy reach and were free to move on to Action Item #2: breakfast at OK Café.

Real. American. Breakfast. Y’all. Pancakes with syrup. Eggs done right. Bacon. Orange juice. Milkshakes. A cheeseburger with fries. (Okay, that last was my order.) Did OK Café live up to our recollections as a classic, immutable Atlanta landmark? Hells, yeah.

It would be ungracious not to mention that our friend Melissa who joined us in Cartagena opted to stay and drive us around for our first four days in Atlanta. We would have had a much harder time and less fun without her. Thanks, Melissa!!!!

Action Item #3 for our first full day was to pick up the keys to our new flat. We’d arranged for this apartment from afar, starting all the way back in Salvador, Brazil, and not hammering out the final terms and conditions until our stay in Medellín. I’ll go through the nitty-gritty about arranging a return from long-term travel in next week’s installment (stay tuned) but suffice it to say that with a little pre-trip prepping and a willingness to make international phone calls you can have a lot of things set up and waiting upon your arrival.

Our apartment, for example, is in a complex that we’d looked at and liked a year before we left for South America. The unit we rented is a corner two-bedroom that’s larger than our last apartment, and right next door to a train station on Atlanta’s MARTA system – which is essential since we’re planning to go as long as possible without buying a car. Here’s the downtown skyline as seen from our window:

Once we had the apartment, the next goal was to fill it with stuff. Bright and early Monday morning, some movers we’d hired (while in Colombia, but not from Colombia) unpacked our storage unit and disgorged it into our new digs in just under three hours (which was incredible, even considering how much stuff we’d got rid of before we left). After that, for fear of what insects may have laid eggs in our boxes during the last ten months, we unpacked everything to get as much cardboard as possible out of the new apartment. The only way to cope with this much heavy labor was, of course, with more dining out at our favorite restaurants.

Fred’s Meat & Bread at Krog Street Market: Still as good as ever.

As you’d expect, there have been a few shocks to the system upon returning to the States – cultural aspects norteamericanos take for granted that we’d become deacclimatized to in the southern hemisphere. Portion sizes – YUGE! Selection of products in grocery stores – heavenly. Prices – ye gods. Americans – LOUD. But there was one cultural shift that occurred in Atlanta that took us completely by surprise, and I think it hit me full in the face as we drove to Fred’s for the best sandwiches in the city: namely, the explosion of people zipping around on rent-by-the-minute scooters.

Before we’d left, rental bikes had started popping up around town, but the scooter craze hadn’t even begun yet. We noticed a few people riding them around our hotel downtown, and while moving into our apartment we noticed piles of abandoned scooters from four different companies clustered on every floor of our parking deck.

As we approached Krog, a fleet of at least a dozen people shot across our path on these things. I can’t explain it, but my knee-jerk reaction upon seeing them in use was the same revulsion I feel every time I see someone whip out a selfie stick. I’m over that now – they’re a cheap, quick way to get around and while I haven’t tried one myself, I have had occasion to use a rental bike. Maybe I’m just old and scornful of new technology (gods, I don’t want to be that person), maybe I’m nervous about getting run over on the sidewalk, or maybe it’s just that I’ve spent a year walking everywhere and I appreciate how much you miss by zipping through life at high speed.

At least until I try one. Then I’ll probably fall off, break my arm again, and have a whole new reason to hate them.

After a few days, alas, Melissa had to go home. We organized closets and arranged what furniture we had. I alphabetized books, BluRays, and DVDs (because I’m me). Our apartment was simultaneously a wreck and empty – we had stuff everywhere, but no mattresses, no desks, no couch to relax on, and no cat to tell us what to do. We dealt with the latter by renting a car, gorging ourselves silly at Nori Nori Sushi Buffet, and driving to Louisiana to retrieve our long-lost Miss Piggy.

Nori Nori: So/so. The rolls aren’t quite as good as we remembered, but the grilled squid and nigiri are still to die for. Especially the eel. (Lea may disagree on that point.)

As long time readers may recall, before our trip we had to find a home for our cat. Parting with Miss Piggy was the saddest thing we did before leaving for South America. We could stay in touch with our friends, but we had no idea how Miss Piggy would handle us leaving her behind or whether she’d even remember us when we came back. We entrusted her to our friends Bob and Laura, and their teenage son Evan who would be Piggy’s primary caretaker while we were away.

It turns out that Piggy did wonderfully. She bonded with Evan, who we’re sure was sad for us to take her back (though he put on a brave face). Yet once we were at their house and she sat in our laps it was clear that she didn’t see us as strangers.

The only downside to the affair was that during our absence, our friends had to move away from Atlanta for work reasons. The upside to the downside was that our friends moved to Thibodaux, Louisiana, giving me a chance to actually go home home. I may have lived for thirteen years in Alabama and nearly three years in Atlanta (which I love, by the way) but I will never be from those places. I will always be from the land of Mardi Gras, fried catfish, Tabasco sauce, andouille gumbo, and Zapp’s potato chips.

And so, after ten months of constant travel, we set off once again – heading down to the Gulf Coast, visiting friends and loved ones along the way, and forging westward past the old, familiar landmarks on Interstates 10 and 12, until finally turning south on I-55 towards LaPlace and pulling over in the tiny, swampy hamlet of Manchac: nestled between Lakes Ponchartrain and Maurepas, home to the finest catfish restaurant in the history of human existence on Planet Earth – Middendorf’s.

I could write a whole article on Middendorf’s. Instead I’ll stick to two words: GO. EAT.

We had Sunday lunch at Bob & Laura’s with their extended family, but before running off with our cat we made a trip north to Baton Rouge to visit Lea’s graduate adviser, Dr. Ferrell, who is the closest thing to a grandparent that we have now. Baton Rouge is a city whose geography is imprinted on my brain like a circuit board; I had to resist the urge to spend all day driving around to all my old haunts. It’s good that I did. Dr. Ferrell fed us crawfish and gumbo, making our Louisiana experience complete in every way possible.

The night before, though, after driving up from Thibodaux, we made a point of going to The Chimes. Apparently, The Chimes is now a chain with locations elsewhere in Baton Rouge and other cities. The original is an LSU landmark just outside the north gates of campus, where they serve literally hundreds of beers as well as fine Cajun cuisine. (Their crab cake sandwich is unmatched, and my favorite appetizer is the alligator.) The Chimes is a special place for Lea and me – it was where she spent many, many hours with her fellows in LSU’s geology department while working on her degree, and it’s only a block down the street from the amphitheater where we were married. In fact, The Chimes was the first place we stopped between leaving our wedding reception and heading off on our honeymoon.

We got up way early Tuesday morning, drove back to Thibodaux and squeezed an unhappy cat into her slightly-too-small travel carrier. She cried as long as the roads were bumpy. She was happier when sitting in Lea’s lap, or when we draped a pad over her carrier (she likes to hide under things). We stopped only as often as we had to for gas, food, and the uncramping of legs. Eventually, exhausted, we pulled into our parking garage, marched down the unusually long hallway to our apartment, and let Miss Piggy loose in her new home.

She immediately hid in the closet. We weren’t surprised.

We were surprised by how soon she came out, how quickly she adjusted to her new surroundings, and how soon she forgave us for leaving her with strangers for a year. The apartment was still a wreck, our new furniture hadn’t arrived, and we were still sleeping on an air mattress and a cot, but none of that mattered. Miss Piggy was back. Our family was reunited. We were home.

P.S. The Restaurant Tally – Do they still hold up?

Fort Lauderdale Airport

DeSano Pizza Bakery: I think so. Lea, not so much.

Atlanta Metro Area

OK Café: Oh yes.

Mary Mac’s Tea Room: Surprisingly, no.

The Bone Garden: Sí, Sí, Sí. Another margarita, por favor.

Fred’s Meat & Bread: Absolutely perfect, and dangerously close to our new residence.

Hooter’s: Iffy. Something seems different about the hot sauce. Another test is needed.

Nori Nori Sushi Buffet: Also iffy. We’d go back for lunch if we were in the area, but not for dinner or on weekends when the price goes up.

Hankook Taqueria: Fan-f**king-tastic, but we should order fewer tacos.

Louisiana

The Chimes: Is still the Chimes. Branching out has not lessened them in any way.

Middendorf’s: If possible, even better than we remembered.

P.P.S.

There are still a bunch of Atlanta restaurants we haven’t taste tested yet, if anyone wants to drive us. Pretty please???