Let's start with a disclaimer: Though this was to all effects and purposes a trip to New Orleans, it was also an SPB convention. It would be unwise for me to try and explain the nuances of the Silly Pink Bunnies (perhaps this will help?) or exactly what goes on at convention time, but suffice to say its predominated by drinking and general merry-making and very little "sightseeing" in the typical sense. What this means to you, gentle reader, is that (coupled with my Minolta's lack of flash) this trip log will unfortunately be rather scant. In short, New Orleans is an amazing city and you should go. With or without 35 other dudes. Day 1
Took off from SFO and ran into the Donfather himself, Mr. Jeremy Fish.
Checked into a room at the Hotel Villa Convento which may have been the ill-famed "House of the Rising Sun" some time ago. Nice brick walls and little balconies overlooking the street.
The call of fried chicken.
Which was answered at Coop's on Decatur. I think there must have been at least one of us at that place at any given moment it was open, the whole time we were there. Crispy deliciousness.
On to to the R Bar to meet up with the dudes. Greetings, drinks, more greetings, more drink.
And on to the morrow.
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Day 2
Mimosa breakfast (sausage and biscuits on the side) and an apple pie for dessert.
Gastronomically speaking, New Orleans is a wonderland. Imagine every tasty critter (or okra and greens if thats more your fancy) all spiced up in jambalayas and gumbos or fried to a nice brown crisp. In one sitting I ate no less than chicken, duck, crab, sausage (which I can only assume was pig-related) and rabbit (for which I still feel guilty), a veritable turducken in my stomach. New Orleans is also home to the large and delicious muffaletta, a combination of meats, cheeses and chopped olive and veggie business which comes on a roll the size of a soccer ball. This one came from the Verte Mart on Royal, which turned out amazing sandwiches of all varieties. Two thumbs up for the meatballs with provolone.
Took a short walk down to the riverbanks to watch the boats go by and not swim.
I've always wanted to take one of these down from St. Louis, playing cards, sipping mint juleps and listening to ragtime the whole way.
Saw some kids tap-dancing on the street for money and asked how they nail the taps onto their sneakers. Tin-can magic.
Walked down to the Hotel Monteleone on Royale, home to the visiting likes of Faulkner, Hemmingway, Tennessee Williams and Eudora Welty (whose "Golden Apples" I'm currently reading). Someone said the Williams Festival was that weekend, but I heard nary a "Stella!" the whole time we were in town.
Made like Truman Capote and whet our whistle at the Carousel Bar. Yes, it actually turns, no I didn't get sick. Did get an introduction to the Sazerac though, and its now up there on the favorites list right next to Champagne Cocktails.
Moved into our new digs at the Lamothe House which also earned a place on a favorites list. Lovely large room (granted they gave us an upgrade, but it was free and unexpected so that still works in their favor) and a plant-filled courtyard with a pool and hot tub. The whole place was filled with antiques and strange portraits, giving it a haunted-house-in-Disneyland sort of air, but not in a cheesy way at all.
So nice.
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Day 3
Since this day was spent almost entirely poolside, I'll pretend we went sight seeing instead and give you a small glimpse of the French Quarter.
Still lots of damage from the storm.
Armstrong Park, named after you-know-who (Hint: its not Neil) and home to Congo Square, the only place slaves were allowed to place music freely in the open.
The Pharmacy Museum on Chartres is filled with all sorts of antiquated medicines and apparatuses. Trepanning devices, lobotomizers and other scary looking instruments shelved next to opiate bottles. I love it.
Can't wait to visit the Mutter Museum someday.
Off to the Dons' Dinner, followed by more libations, some carousing in a woodie wagon and a trip to the show whose neon signs frequently begin and end with X.
Folly has no end.
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Day 4
No, it certainly does not. Into the rural for some skating and bbqing (no to the first, a little too much yes to the second) and of course the requisite drinking, it being Easter Sunday and all.
Took a walk to the corner store and found that nothing over 6% gets sold in the country on Sundays. Lucky for me Boone's Farm squeaks under at a mere 4%.
Maybe it was the hot dog smothered in brisket sauce drowning in a sea of warm malt liquor, but it took a while to recoup from that one. Good long nap in the car followed by a nice hot shower and a bloody mary cure-all only scratched the surface. Funny thing about New Orleans id nothing really gets going til well after ten, so just about the time you should be sleeping one off, you're heading out the door again.
The jazz at Donna's was better than any sleep I'd have gotten anyway.
Late night beignets at Cafe Du Monde. Best treats in the world, though something about the place made me sad. Not in a bad way mind you, just in an early morning, half-drunk sort of way that empty streets and beaten-down people can bring on. Its not the bums or street drunks that do it, its the people who seem to have so little going for them, yet continue to toil with a smile for the rest of us. Its a strange feeling, a solemness that makes me want to look people in the eye and remember to say "thank you" and give a verbal lashing to anyone who so much as smirks at the rumpled uniform of the aging busboy.
Some things you just can't explain, but its nice to have a listener.
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Day 5
Said goodbye to the Lamothe House and walked down to Fiorella's for red beans and rice and another amazing fish po'boy (the first was from The Praline Connection and it was probably the size of my arm).
Wandered to the outskirts of the Quarter and found ourselves at St. Louis Cemetery #1. Opened in 1879 its the oldest of New Orleans' cemeteries and sits next to the housing projects built over the remains of Storyville .
Remember that scene from "Easy Rider"?
The possible tomb of Marie Laveau. We also found the final resting place of Homer Plessy.
And on to resting places of our own.
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Want to ride a streetcar named Desire? The city of New Orleans lies along the Mississippi River (in case you didn't turn on the TV during the latter half of 2005) in the southeast of the state of Louisiana. Its one of the older cities in the U.S. dating back to 1718 and is accordingly rich in history and lore (check out Herbert Asbury's book "The French Quarter"). Its also home to amazing food and music as well as throngs of tourists, especially during the monster that is Mardi Gras. Eat a lot and stay off Bourbon Street and you can't help but love the place.