I was up at 7 and writing the blog until almost 9. I had to wave off the room crew until I was ready and dressed. I did skip over the Texas road styles with a twenty-foot on-ramp on a hill to a curve. I am lucky to have survived getting back on Highway 10 from Stuckey’s. But writing the blog is constantly having to choose what comes to memory at that time.
I put on my long sweater and felt hat and decided to explore the New Orleans French Quarter and find breakfast. I was thinking of Cafe Monde, but I would see what I found. As has happened repeatedly, I went the wrong way. I have the Maps app on my iPhone, which helped me get turned around. I headed to the trains and the river. I soon found the French Market, but it was just starting to wake up. I headed towards Cafe Monde but found French Toast and decided on that. I got a seat at the bar, and soon, a bright thirty-something waiter poured me coffee. She asked how I was, and I said, “I am waiting to find out.” That got a look and a chuckle. After being not dull like the other customers, I found I had excellent service. I also asked the waiter with her huge hoop earrings with the blue evil eye glass bead set in them for her thoughts and got the “traditional breakfast.”
This was bacon, eggs, a savory biscuit, and grits- yes, double up on those carbs. The music would come on, and the waitress would dance and swing to old but familiar 1960s and 70s tunes. The crowd was one giant hangover, but the crew was moving. Thus, recharged and stuffed, I was ready to do some serious walking. I circled the French Quarter and found myself retracing my steps from last night, but the places were open this time.
I found Jackson Square open today.
I found the dusty and somewhat forlorn Pharmacy Museum and paid the $10 entrance fee. Since I had missed the once-daily tour, I walked through the rooms, one downstairs and a few on the third floor, and read many of the signs. It was a mix of the start of the science of medicine and learning how vital regulations were. They sold poisons and radium as medicine until the rules required the medication to be shown to be beneficial.
I took several pictures, thinking they could be helpful in another 1920s or early setting for a role-playing game. All I had to do was change some to black and white, and they started to look scary and old. While not a tourist trap, I recommend it as a time filler. I did get some locally made books there that are great, so it’s a mixed bag.
I then headed to the Voo Doo Museum. Getting lost buy again walking the wrong way even with my iPhone helping. I found a magick place, Sassy Magick Noir, on the way. They sell pagan crafts and incense like our many stores in Oregon. I asked for a recommendation, which I know, looking at 50+ heavy white guys, left her confused–Not her usual customers. I pointed at the books, and then she got me the owner of the shop’s book, Magic without Tools by Sean Wilde (no relation), which I purchased. Thanked them, I headed back and immediately headed the wrong way again, and finally found unexpectedly that I was at the Voo Doo Museum. The gal invited me in and told me when I heard the music, it was time to leave (which I forgot), and while the place had the trappings of a tourist trap, all the altars and figures had real money stuffed in them. I did not feel welcomed by the place, but more tolerated. I was respectful, and as I read the various stories, the air seemed to lighten a bit. Again, showing respect, but I made no offering other than the tip jar for the gal running the shop.
To enter, I had to pay 8.75, which was eight thousand pennies, seven hundred fifty. I have nine dollars in cash; I figured the spirits expect money and put the quarter in the tip jar. I then added a dollar, and that got a thanks. I was given a piece of blank paper to rub in my hand three times to allow entry. The attendant did not touch my money until that ritual was completed.
When I left, a group was waiting for a tour guide, and the music played. I was asked if I had any questions, and I said, “I had many, but none specific at this time.” That pleased the attendant gal, who looked the part of a VooDoo Priestess on a brake, and she gave me their card in case I needed anything. The spirits were on my side now.
I did manage, even with the Voo Doo spirits looking kindly on me, to go the wrong way. I was at the Vampire Cafe for the third time. I decided it was lunchtime and headed inside. They were not very busy, and I sat at the bar. The vampire bartender and I went over the drinks. A positive, my blood type, we both decided, was too sweet. AB+ became the choice, and a Vampire Salad made from shredded Brussels sprouts instead of lettuce was lunch. The cocktail was not too sweet and not too boozy–excellent. It seemed to actually fit with the salad.
I talked to the denizens there about my 1926 knowledge of the area and how I buy old maps and atlas for not much on the internet. They found this intriguing and might look into it. We also talked about travel. The bartender vampire gave me a pass to the 1920s-style Potions, a speak-easy hidden bar that can only be accessed with a pass. Perfect.
I returned to my hotel mainly in the correct direction, rested, and then prepared by dressing in my black suit, red vast, and other 1920s-appropriate items. My felt hat will have to do, as my Homberg would not travel without a hat box.
I am writing the rest of this on Wednesday morning.
Dressed in a black suit and a red vest, very vampire-friendly, I walked across the French Quarter for the third time today. Bourbon Street was the target and something I have avoided as it is loud and drunken–not my thing. The street at first looks plain and missing the food and shops I see on the other streets. Once I get past Jackson Square and the cathedral, there are more lights, and it starts to get loud, and tourist shops are back with gaudy outfits in green, gold-yellow, and purple.
It is lightly raining outside, more like mist, and my suit coat is damp but not uncomfortable. I have on my felt hat, which does not really match the outfit but keeps my head warm. I get a few friendly comments about the outfit from men drinking outside. Smoking is allowed outside of buildings, unlike in Oregon, and I smell some weed here and there. It is only a hint of weed, unlike in Portland, NYC, and weed-smothered Amsterdam.
I am early, and Fretzel’s European Jazz Club is a tiny room about half full at 4:30 PM. A guy, Richard “Piano” Scott, plays a keyboard and sings familiar jazz songs with a drummer filling in for him. They see me and think, dressed as I am, it must be the next show.
After completing their set, the drummer chats with me and discovers I am dressed for the Vampires upstairs, not the next band. He also makes shocking anti-Semitic remarks and other less-savory comments. I decided it was time to find the vampires.
In the courtyard, now that it is past 5 PM, is a dark character who I ask if they are ready. He says that depends on why I am there. I hand him my pass, and he unlocks a plain door. There is a rundown staircase. I climb it without issue and enter a pair of darkened rooms. A vampire, more goth than classic, is making drinks. I order something with absinthe in a plastic glass. I walk out onto the balcony on Bourbon Street (plastic glasses only on the balcony) and can hear the music and energy of the partying.
The vampires smokes, and the tarot card reader vapes. With my suit, vest, pocket watch change, and hat, I get photographed with the vampire from the street. I am looking more like a staff member than a guest!
I want a tarot reading that explains the process for my writing and role-playing games. I have to wait a few hours and chat with the liberal (!) vampire about living here and her views. The tarot card reader takes forty-five minutes to charge the crystals, and I am second up for a reading. I am on my third drink, mostly sparkling wine and a hint of red absinthe–I usually stick to no more than two. Finally, I paid $70 plus a tip for my reading.
There are three decks, one very worn and an Oracle deck, which did not appear to be the usual major and minor cords of the tarot system. The cards are partially laid on the table, and the reader asks me not to interrupt the process. I try to follow along as cards are explained and used to tell me about my past, present, and this year of my future. The reader constantly is looking at the deck and sometimes adds a card. I asked later, and the reader checks his understanding by looking at a card for a positive or negative reaction to the thought.
The reader gets some minor cards, which are explained, and the major cards really set the message. The minor cards are the duration or process of the story. The major cards in my reading are The Devil, The Hang Man (reversed), The Chariot, and Temperance. The Devil is in the past, suggesting to the reader with the other cards that I had many troubles in the past and could not reach my full potential. The Hand Man (reversed) and the Chariot appear in my present reading and represent a significant change and amazing and unstoppable success. The future shows there will be some setbacks (minor cards), but again, Temperance signals continued success combined with some minor cards.
All very interesting and took more than thirty minutes of me listening. The drinks helped; yes, quiet and listening for thirty minutes seldom happens. When completed, I asked how the card’s meaning was known (the reader memorized all the cards) and how the decks were selected (they just call the reader). The reader asked me what I thought. The reader missed that I was recently widowed, and I did not mention the brain tumor, and it was not, except as a hint, in the future reading. Before the reading, I talked about myself briefly on the balcony, and I could see that the reader had incorporated everything the heard.
I think some of the stones’ charging was assembling a story in the reader’s mind. I thought the reading was well done and authentic, but also the usual contrivances of guesses and hand waving. I can see why people believe in tarot reading, and the reader certainly did. While humans are naturally pattern-matching, we can see patterns that are not there; this appears to be the human struggle to understand the universe and our place within it. I will not return for another reading except for more research into the process for my writing and gaming. An excellent experience.
I managed the stairs, tipped the gate vampire, and headed back onto the streets of the French Quarter. I wanted some food- it was after 8 PM now. I first walked down Bourbon Street’s chaos and saw only one food joint that would fit, but it was nearly empty. Don’t eat in empty places is a rule.
I turned around and left the noise, and I received more compliments on my outfit, all from rough-looking men. Hmmm. I continued into the darker and quieter streets. I could not find a place to eat, but I found my hotel. I was definitely lost again. Taking out my iPhone, I followed it to The Coops and found a bar and good food. I had seafood gumbo there and agreed with Taylor, the night manager at Le Richelieu, that I like the non-seafood version better. But this was good and had okra, making it excellent and authentic.
The bartender has been there since 2005 and recommended the fried chicken. I agreed to two pieces. It came with jambalaya and coleslaw, but I would have loved the sides. The jambalaya was smoky and filled with bits of meat and shrimp, and the coleslaw was creamy. The chicken was fresh, hot, and a bit plain, but perfect as I was hungry. I had a bottle of locally made beer to go with it. There was no music, so I just ate and listened to the tourists chat about NYC to a staff member headed there soon.
Stuffed with chicken, gumbo, jambalaya, and coleslaw, I returned to Le Richelieu without getting lost. Taylor was back as the night manager, and he and I reviewed some New Orleans maps. He suggested the best pizza place (he also works there) and other locations in the Garden District and beyond. This would require the St. Charles Street street cars to reach. I will see how I feel, but it may be time to head out into the rest of New Orleans.
I returned to 317, my room, and carefully put away my outfit. I showered away the hours of drinking and walking and then climbed into bed; I quickly fell asleep. I did wake up a few times, but I did get some sleep.
Thanks for reading.
Alohawild (Michael Wild's) Website 