I rose a little later, 7AM, and soon wrote for two hours. The discipline of writing the blog has survived the Big Easy, and I invest a few hours every morning in writing. I planned to write more here, but the French Quarter calls, and I could use the walking. My legs are stiff every morning from the multi-miles of walking I do every day here. My back hurts less, and the pain starts after more than three hours of standing and walking. Better.
Don’t blink!
Also, colon issues are not reoccurring. Apparently, NOLA food and drink work for me; it is almost a cure. I will have to return to NOLA for more cures! My breathing has also been fine, with just some coughing in the morning. I have used my inhaler only twice a week! Again, I may need more NOLA.
While I wrote, Linda and Jesse (my sister and her husband) rose and headed to Toast for breakfast. I saw their text after I finished editing and publishing. I dressed and headed to them. They were about finished when I arrived but stayed while I had a light breakfast of coffee and some round Swedish pancakes.
Linda and Jesse were headed to the cemetery tour and hop on and off bus. I was walking today. After the repast, we walked to Jackson Square and Linda. After passing on a carriage tour, I found Linda and Jesse in a bike-powered taxi, and they headed off. I did not see them again until they found me at the evening parade.
I planned to just sightsee on foot and see how far I could push myself walking. First, an excellent bookshop. I did head the wrong way once, keeping with my unconscience wish to see everything in the French Quarter. I found Cresent City Books on its corner with Geoff at the counter. I discovered a two-volume publication of selected 1880s and earlier published stories from 1924. I had that and a modern history of the New Orleans red-light district (long gone) shipped to my home.
In a case, it was the famous vampire hunting kit I have seen on the internet for years; wow! I asked and was granted the chance to take a picture. I chatted with Geoff about Portland. He lived there years ago and found he spent his paycheck at Powell’s on books. When he returned to the Big Easy, the folks at Powell’s said they would miss him and his purchases!
I asked for permission to photograph the vampire hunting kit. I have seen it for years on the internet, but I was not expecting it to be in a used book store, even one focusing on fine books and collectible ephemera. I fumbled my Facebook post and suggested I bought the kit; no, just some books. I had to reword the post–embarrassing.
I passed on Absinthe House because every seat at the bar was taken, and the chairs were metal shop chairs. I want some comfort and class. I will go with the fangs, lovely food, comfortable chairs, and excellent service of the vampires who serve Absinthe.
I headed away from the river (North) to areas I had not seen before. I saw Desire, a mid-ranged restaurant, and decided I could not pass something named ‘desire.’ I was directed, as a single, to the bar, and the bartender was surprised to have a customer. I had a beer; no absinthe was available here, and the bartender said the fried oysters with fried and fried were fine. I don’t do raw oysters for all the usual reasons, especially when traveling, where a bad raw oyster can be a disaster.
Refreshed and refueled, I thanked the bartender and left Desire. I headed away from the river (North). I found another witchcraft store, Witch’s Cauldron, with a pointed hat and face bejeweled clerk. I found earrings for Linda and a frig magnet version of the hanged man tarot card, one of the major cards in my reading (reversed). I thought I would get it to remind me of the reading. We discussed the parade, and she was excited about Krewe Du Vieux being up tonight. It is a local favorite. It is adult subject material.
The witch-like clerk sent me to an Italian clothing store, Italy Direct, where I could complete a quest: a tie for New Orleans. I planned to dress in my suit with the gold vest and wanted the tie to match. An expensive tie, but a perfect match was acquired. The store turned away most customers looking for tourist goods while I bought my tie, but it was filled with flashy shoes, expensive wear for the carnival, and a selection of suits and dress shirts. I was intrigued, but I was sure my size was not available. Next time, and a few pounds later, I think.
With my small items, I headed further away from the river. I found an old firehouse for sale as a home for $4.35 million. I posted it on my Facebook account with a “You U Going To Call” comment. I also found suites to rent, which had me wondering about spending a few months here. So far, I have seen only a B&B that costs about $800 for three days, cheaper than Le Richelieu. When I tried to do two weeks, the price exploded to $5K. Hmmm.
I arrived at the edge of the French Quarter and the streetcars. I was tempted to travel further but found a bench in Congo Park instead. This was the park where black slaves were allowed to sing and picnic, and it later became just a meeting area.
Homer Plessy, as in the black lawyer who argued against ‘separate but equal,’ was from New Orleans, and his grave is in the cemetery I toured yesterday. It brings it a bit home to be in the park that was made available for black people enslaved or under Jim Crow. I rested there. I saw a tour guide sitting. He was happy to chat but sad that folks “come on a budget and not on expense reports now,” as he had no customers for his tour. I told him I was doing my best to eat and drink New Orleans back to health. That got a smile. He is seventy and still doing walking tours.
Much of what we call jazz was created here, and many point to Congo Park as the birthplace of that music.
Refreshed, I walked the long walk back to my hotel. It was still too early for some bars to open, but the music was everywhere on the weekend. The crowd was younger and full of energy.
I returned to my room and organized things a bit. Sunday is a travel day, but it is a late travel day. I rested, as it was a long walk, and I found some painkillers.
Linda and Jesse had great food in the Garden District, returned to the hotel, and rested briefly. I dressed for the parade and walked out to find a crowd headed to Marigny, out of the French Quarter. I followed and soon was near the same bookstore and the Spotted Cat I visited before. I decided this works and sent Linda and Jesse a pin of my location.
I found a beer at the chicken place. The beer I ordered was out, so I went with Susie’s favorite, Stella. I managed to spill it on myself–the locals laughed, seeing I was obviously a tourist (who spills beer except a tourist). I brushed off the mess and dried out.
I was standing with a self-described amateur photographer, and we chatted while he took photos. He lives a bohemian lifestyle (his words), using cheap housing, working odd jobs, and trying to sell some pictures. He lived previously in Beruit (an anti-genocide and pro-Palestinian pre-parade protest went by); he shared and said he loved the Palestinian refugees he met there. We then put away world politics as Linda and Jesse appeared, and soon, Krewe Du Vieux had our attention.
How many Jesus’s do you need in New Orleans?
The parade is bawdy and political, primarily local, and directed at the Catholic church. I saw three Jesus and various clerical-dressed marchers with the “church” folks throwing fake 100-dollar bills here and there. I was in the front, having been there for an hour, and my dress was deemed correct, and I was handed many throws, especially by the “church” officials. There were giant organs and various genitalia on display, some whole floats pulled all by donkeys. The crowd press was three deep, and I let Linda take my place about halfway. She scored many throws.
The parade was excellent, if NC-rated, and loved by the crowds. As we headed to a place to sit, we found the Krewe members all over the area still dancing and enjoying the night. My feet were tired, and I had some food. Linda and Jesse were not hungry. After walking many blocks back into the French Quarter, the streets, not closed off, were filled with people. We found the French Market restaurant, and there, waiting for slow service, we shared some boiled shrimp, crayfish (for Linda), corn (excellent), sausage, and one potato (?!). We also got Boudin balls to order. I ate most of the shrimp, and Linda showed a skeptical Jesse and me how to enjoy cooked crayfish. We were unsuccessful in enjoying them as I thought it looked like bait still. I did have a few.
Back to the hotel rooms as Linda and Jesse, who made their flights, had early flights back to Michigan by way of Atlanta. I packed and then went to bed before 11 and managed to get some rest from my walking. I did have to wake at 3ish to get some more painkillers; my right leg was complaining.
And that brings us to the end of Saturday; thanks for reading.
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