Angola and St Francisville

28th-29th Oct

There is plenty to see that is a bit bizarre in America and in truth we do actively seek it out. I know that there is oddness and quirk everywhere in the world but it seems that here it is found on a scale that surpasses anywhere else that we have been. (Let it be known that we have not yet visited Japan.) There is an excellent publication called Atlas Obscura (atlasobscura.com) which details global oddities for the reading about, or the searching out, depending if you are living a normal responsible life or escaping reality and wafting around aimlessly in a Tin Can for months on end looking for focus and direction.

It was from Atlas Obscura that we learned that every Sunday in October the inmates of the largest super max prison in the USA, Louisiana State Penitentiary, put on a rodeo for the public. We had bought our tickets months ago when we realised that we were going to be in the area at the right time. This was not to be missed

The prison is known as Angola because it is located on the site of an old plantation that used many slaves who originated from the country of Angola. It is also still a working farm of 18,000 acres, hence its other nickname: The Farm.

It houses over 5000 inmates, mostly in dormitories rather than cells. Despite the excruciating heat and humidity of summer air conditioning was only fitted in the 1990s. A death row facility was completed in 2006, without aircon. About 75% of the inmate population is black, about 71% are serving a life sentence and about 1.6% are on death row. The last execution was in 2010.

The rodeo started in 1965 as a small internal event as a reward for well behaved inmates. No public were invited. Now it is a sellout ticket-only event with over 10,000 visitors each event. The inmates have since built a rodeo stadium and the farm raises the horses and bulls.  There is also a large arts and craft fair selling all sorts of things like paintings, carvings, leather work, jewellery and garden furniture.

There was a 90min traffic jam to get through the gate. 90 minutes of ever-filling bladders, no bushes and the beginnings of discussions of what receptacles we had in the car that would be suitable. I nearly caved but we arrived and parked up just in time. We have never been so pleased to see a porta-loo. Ever. There were a lot of rules associated with attending an event inside a super-max prison: No phones, no cameras, no alcohol, no drugs. No bags over a certain size and all bags had to be transparent. I took only one essential item. A lip salve. Hampson took the money.

It was boiling hot despite being the 28th of October. I cannot imagine what it is like down here in mid-summer with 100% humidity. Sweaty, sweaty, sweaty is my guess.  We cleared the security into the fenced area on the edge of the farm.  There were lots of stalls and lots of eateries. All were manned by inmates, overseen by a large guard presence. The guards dealt with all the money. These inmates were obviously the good ones.  There was another area where the inmate artists manned their stalls from behind a 10ft fence. These were obviously those who were less trusted and they did look a bit edgier. We didn’t buy anything except lunch and an unfeasible number of bottles of water. Then the rodeo began.

Now, our previous rodeo experience is limited to one small town event in Michigan last year, but this did seem a lot more gung-ho than your average event.  These guys were not doing this for money or fame, just for the pure escapism and personal achievement . Most of them have no background of rodeo or horsemanship prior to incarceration, but what they lack in skills they sure make up with pure guts. It was odd knowing that amongst the performers were violent offenders and murderers. Sometimes the bulls seemed to feel the need contribute to the punishment. It was carnage out there. One of the events was called The Poker Game. This involved 4 inmates sitting at a poker table in the centre of the ring, ostensibly playing cards. Then they added an angry bull with a tight strap cinched around its nether regions. The winner was the last person to leave the poker table. Some ran. Some were removed by the bull. Madness.

We have no photos, obviously, but trust me, it was a visual feast. Performers and crowds alike. We headed off before the end as we couldn’t face being stuck in traffic to get out too. Exiting was a breeze and we soon found ourself pulling into our accommodation for the night, the nearby St Francisville Inn.

St Francisville was only about 30mins away and another very cute historic town choc-a-bloc with preserved homes. The Inn is a small 10 room hotel in perhaps the most lovely of the old buildings. The front lawn was picturesquely shaded by huge old oak trees draped in Spanish moss. It had recently been bought by its new owners who were reeling with the extent and costs of renovations, which had begun in earnest. It will be utterly gorgeous (and three times the price) by the time they have finished with it. Our night’s accommodation included happy hour drinks in the sultry heat of the courtyard and a very delicious and fattening breakfast. Adding these extras to a very enormous and comfortable four-poster bed made this a very worth while night on ‘dry land’.

Before we headed off the next morning we took a stroll around the well signposted walking tour of the old homes of the town. Most are privately owned and beautifully kept. I think this would be a nice place to live, for nine months of the year. Summer is just too hot to imagine.