Day 10 (45) Leaving and headed home

I finished this on Monday evening. I am home safe and back to work today. This is Sunday’s blog.

I rose at 7ish, trying to decide if I should get up or just sleep. But there are just too many things to do in NOLA to rest. I rose and wrote for two hours, and then I still was not finished with the editing when I passed 9AM and just published. You can edit forever (Dondrea later said the typos were not bad).

I dressed, packed my suit bag, and then carried it to the car. I put on my sweater, as it was still cold, and headed to the French Quarter for a half-day visit. I found Toast, got a seat at the counter, and was welcomed back- I am almost a regular this week. I had the traditional breakfast. Another couple sat next to me, and they saw what I had and ordered one traditional and one catfish. That looked good, too!

Time, as often happens when it is the last day, vanished, and soon I was rushing off to the General Store. They had Cafe Du Monde gift sets that they shipped. So, I came up with a list of addresses that I emailed to myself to send gifts. The beignets are on their way to many, well, beignet box mixes. I sent out six of those and two small king cakes with coffee. I had to write out every address on a paper form, and then they charged me for shipping and the items. The folks at the store were happy to get a mass order.

Next, I went to the tourist shop Jazz Funeral and found some fine Made-in-China NOLA logo items as gifts. Now supplied with gifts and some in flight, I headed out to walk the quarter one more time. It was a warm day. Today was a Mass for the Police, and I saw many of New Orleans’s finest in formal uniforms. The music folks were out, and Jackson Square was full of art, music, and various tarot card readers. I circled the park and enjoyed it. I took a picture of one artist’s website as the art is painted on wood from Katrina. I may order some of that as gifts–I don’t need to carry on painted boards.

I headed to Stanley’s even when I was not that hungry. I was told their gumbo was the best. I got a table after noon passed, the bells sounding wonderful, and I tried it. It was delicious, but no okra, and as good as Coop’s Place. One of the locals was there and said they liked the food. The waiter said it was as good as what you can get in the tourist area, the French Quarter, but it was not spicy and salty like good gumbo. The waiter and I talked about cooking, and she told me how to make gumbo. Start with the trinity (one part white onion, one part green bell pepper, and one part celery), add the meats, and let that good a long while. Add your veggies and spices, authentic version from people who know, and add your seafood (she was not sure oysters should be included, but she knows some folks like it) and then a bit of Old Bay (East Coast) or Crab Boil (Gulf Coast and her choice, but acknowledged it was an item of dispute). We talked about cooking while I enjoyed their just OK food (I liked it).

She wished me well, and I headed back, walking slowly one more time the seven blocks back to Le Richelieu. I packed the rest of my items, splitting my books between my suit bag and roller bag. I loaded them into the purple Honda CR-V, Air Honda, and walked back in to check out. Eve, who checked me out, opened the gate remotely for me and another car to leave.

I found myself braking a few times and dodging some exciting driving in NOLA, including someone running a light in a three-way intersection at angles (?!). There were panhandlers with cups on sticks at one light. They use them to demand money through your window at the stop light. They left me alone, but they hit up the gal behind me, who looked unhappy when I watched in my mirror. But soon, the light changed, and we both got out of there with some enthusiasm to the dislike of the stick-cup folks.

On the highways, there was a warning that there was traffic, a surprise for a Sunday afternoon, 2:30PM local time. Last night’s protesters from the parade were on the main highway, 10, and blocking, shouting, and waving flags from the vehicles. I was stuck and got about twenty minutes of flag-waving and cheers. I waved hello to them. I am unsure if I agree with their politics, but I believe in non-violent and non-threatening protesting. The People (not citizens, The People) have a right to demand redress from the government. While it was inconvenient, I smiled and waved.

I also got to look at the cemeteries on the roadsides. They are spooky and newer than the one I went to. All are built with above-ground graves.

A police car led the protest, and soon, I was going fast again. The exit for the rental cars was before the airport. I drove and finally circled once to spot the tiny sign for rental car return. I pulled into Avis and returned Air Honda. I pointed out the star break in the windshield, and the brakes were not good. I later got a note that the car was damaged, the windshield, and I would be charged if I had not taken the proper coverage–I bought it. I pulled my bags to the shuttle, which seemed to drive us back to New Orleans; it was a long way.

I found American Airlines and soon printed two bag tags. I got in a long line, but an agent pointed us to the correct line. I was not alone, being in the wrong line. I soon saw my bags coming in at 35 pounds. Yes, it was good. I split up the books and mailed some! And now, down to one carry-on, I headed to security.

I was in the wrong line (that direction thing is still not working for me) and soon was in General, which was moving well. Like many, I had a sweater and coat, which were a bit warm. Soon, I was passed without incident (my pants remained on when in the scanner with no belt or shoes–I try to use colorful underwear on travel days).

I found Emile’s near my distant gate; I walked forever to the last f**king gate again. I ordered a cheeseburger, and it was excellent. I chatted with a gal beside me about labor relations–she works for a labor board. Others were watching the Ravens vs. Chiefs, and there were many cheers.

I had an economy seat, but First Class was sold out, so I flew to Dallas in 8A. The plane was old and uncomfortable. I was wedged into my seat without issue and read my book on my phone using the Kindle app. I had only 47 minutes to make my connection, and I all but leaped from my seat when we deplaned.

Dallas is so big and complex it seems to violate the laws of time and space. I had to take trains to the next terminal. I got off and rushed to find my gate had moved; f**k. Checking, I have to find D4. The last (and I do mean last) gate. I reboard the train and drive for twenty minutes, passing five, yes five, terminal stops to reach D.

D4 is the last gate, and it is a twenty-minute walk. It is the most extended terminal I have walked without gates. Yes, it is like a causeway into the deep reaches of the airport. I see my boarding starting time pass while I rush with my one bag and my coat on. I arrive with many others, out of breath. The flight is delayed; f**k.

An hour late, the plane boards and then sits on the tarmac for another twenty minutes. I am in First Class, and I put my coat in the bin and kept my bag. The plane is an older AirBus, and the seat squeak. It looks worn. It shook and squeaked on take-off–yikes.

I was happy to get a Mexican-style dinner and have coffee to stay awake. The plane engines roar. The AC pumps out heat and then cold, making it very uncomfortable. It is only a three-hour trip, but it is one of the least comfortable planes I have flown. I remove my shoes as the strange air pressure and heat swell my feet.

Finally, I arrive in Portland, and it is 11PM again. I walk about 1/2 a Dallas terminal, the whole length of PDX from C to baggage claim. My bags are tagged to be delivered early, First Class, and I find them and arrange them to wheel out, and I call the shuttle.

The shuttle arrives, and another family has a mountain of bags and kid equipment. We drive a moment, compared to New Orleans and Dallas, to the lot, and soon Air Volvo responds, and my bags are loaded. I drove across Portland, driving Texas and Louisiana fast, and soon reached the Volvo Cave. I park next to Corwin’s truck.

I unpacked and put all my clothing in the washer and ran it. I gave Corwin his t-shirt, and we picked a spoon holder for the house. I bought a lot for friends. I finally slept at about 1:30AM local time. I slept well and woke before my alarm–the time change worked for me this time.

Thanks for reading.