When it comes to trains, I’m a romantic.
Photo courtesy of Michelle Jackson, Belfast Telegraph
“Hi, I’m Randy, and I’ll be attending train 23 bound for New Orleans today,” the voice comes from the café carriage. “Get your morning started with a Bloody Mary or Mimosa.”
The giddiness of fellow passengers, draped in Mardi Gras beads and sparkly T-shirts, is infectious. I settle in the wide-spaced seat shortly before sunrise, with misty dew covering the windows, as my mind conjures up all kinds of scenarios. When it comes to trains, I’m a romantic. I’ve even fallen in love on a train — but that’s a story for another day.
Mobile
My journey starts in Mobile, the historic heart of the Deep South. In 1703, the first Mardi Gras was celebrated here and did not reach New Orleans until 10 years later. There’s a friendly, sibling-like rivalry between the two cities, both fiercely proud and protective of each other at the same time.
At the Carnival Museum on Government Street, I take a guided tour with curator Cart Blackwell, an aficionado of Mardi Gras. Displays of exotic dresses and lavish trains encrusted with jewels and embroidery tell the story of each individual royal that wore them. The tradition of dressing as a king for a day was borne from the pre-Lenten festivities of Fat Tuesday — translated from the French for Mardi Gras.
“We are the more family-friendly option than New Orleans,” he insists, with generations of family members parading at some stage over the three-week season.
Later that afternoon, I take a 15-minute drive to a suburb north of the city. Founded by the survivors of the Clotilda, the last known ship to bring enslaved Africans to the United States, Africatown resonates deeply within the African Diaspora. Carefully preserved artifacts belonging to survivors, and recordings of their voices, at the Heritage House Museum, offers an opportunity to remember with respect the stories of those who have passed through.
At the concierge desk I speak with Tiffany, a fifth-generation descendant of Clotilda survivors. “My great-great-grandmother lived to be 124 years old, and she witnessed a slave beating first-hand. Her son was a buffalo soldier and his daughter was photographer for chief-of-staff Colin Powell and President Clinton. She used to attend Easter Egg hunts on the lawn of the White House.”
Tiffany’s own father died after exposure to Agent Orange during the Vietnam War. From slave ship to the White House, her family legacy is a veritable chronicle of American history.
My base in Mobile is at the Admiral Hotel, a charming boutique stay surrounded in stylish reminders of Mobile’s French connections. Portraits of Louis XIV hang next to sculptures of dancing stallions. In my guest room I’m pampered in a cocoon of regal purples and golden yellows, with smacks of baroque furniture that make me feel like royalty. There’s a generous smattering of French cuisine in Le Café and Le Moyne Chophouse too, and homemade cookies for guests to munch on in reception.
The Haunted Bookshop on Joachim Street, where the resident cat creeps up on customers, is worth a visit. So too is the delicious foodie tour that takes in mouthwatering seafood at Wintzells Oyster House. Another favourite is the Trolley Tour that leaves daily from the History Museum of Mobile.
Read about the rest of Michelle's adventures aboard the Amtrak Mardi Gras Service in her article on the Belfast Telegraph.
