Author: alohawild

I am packing and changing hotels today. I hope to finish the blog later today; otherwise, you will read this late on Monday.

Going backwards again, I was in bed around midnight after walking back with Donna and Dondrea to our hotel for one last night there, Le Richelieu Hotel. The night was windy, and the wind was surprisingly bitterly cold. Donna froze, and we all walked back with enthusiasm!

We managed, after first sitting split up and with various poor views, to move to good seats at Fritzel’s European Jazz Club, and the house bands were excellent, if not hot and fun. All eight of us now! Michael R. and Seth got the front seats, while the rest of us eventually got the top bench seat. We did about four sets with Kathy and Doug headed out before the last one, and Michael R. and Seth left a bit later. Ken, Dondrea, Donna, and I finished together, leaving mid-last set to be done before midnight.

The All-stars—the last, best, and house band—was made up of most of the same band we saw on Wednesday, but today blues and jazz were played, not ragtime. Still, it was good. The piano player, whose name I again forgot, from Wednesday, without the cigar this time, sat in for two songs and got to lead for those. His family was with him today (he moved them into some seats that became available between bands) and seemed to have a great time playing for them. He was excellent at playing and singing jazz. His hands flew, and again I did not know how we played that many notes. I was thinking of our own John Nilsen, who makes the piano sound like bell chimes. How these guys do this is a mystery to me. Excellent.

Again, it was Sunday night, and I only like Bourbon Street on Sunday-Wednesday before it is filled with troublesome drunk people who will soon be revisiting their sins when the cheap Hurricane fulfills its promises. Ugh! Look for me on Frenchman Street on those days, instead.

We had to wait before this as the folks arrived from the airport, all our flights worked, and we collected at Nepolean House. The hostess, looking besieged on a Sunday Night (but it was a game night for the Saints, the much-decried local NFL team), waited for us to collect everyone. A group of two tables inside (out of the cold wind) became available just as folks arrived. We were soon seated, and we enjoyed various sandwiches. Dondrea, Donna, and I got our excellent bread pudding, while Michael R. and Seth split a hot muffalata sandwich. Ken, Kathy, and Doug were at the other table and tried various sandwiches, including another muffalata. We chatted and caught up. There we left for Bouban Street and enjoyed some of the street bands on our way to Friztel’s. Bourban Street was already loud, but the crowd was subdued and cold. The wind was sharp now that the sun was done!

Before this, we picked for lunch after hearing the recommendation on our Grayline bus, and I was always curious, as I had never tried it, New Orleans Creole Cookery. I had only two beignets (which Seth said were like funnel cakes —I agree) and coffee before. And a mint julip with booze in it (I thought I ordered a virgin one; it was a happy bus ride back). I had the everything sampler while others picked food which focused on what they could eat (Ken and Donna) or wanted (Dondrea). It was not cheap, but it was excellent, and Donna, Dondrea, and I kept to an easy meal and a heavy meal with maybe a snack later.

We ate outside, and once in a while the wind would blow, knocking menus out of our hands or causing other minor problems. We had a heater above us, but it kept getting colder. The good hot food made it work.

Before this, we were on a Grayline Tour of the Oak Alley Plantation with more focus on the economics of slavery than the evils of the institution and the terrors it brought to its victims. The slave quarters are partially reconstructed, and there is an excellent message there in your own self-guided tour, reading the signs and seeing the engine of slavery. Most terrible for me is the names of the slaves they have found in the records (80% still existing, according to the tour guide, though the personal letters are gone). The plaque reads that these names may be all the record of these people that exists!

The tour and the grounds are great, and I stopped by, as I said, got a drink, and didn’t taste the booze at first. Wells, our tour guide in the house, gave a good tour, slowly brought slavery into the discussion, and then covered it. According to our guide, this plantation house represents the owners, not the source of work or wealth, but rather the users of the labor of others. The plantation seldom made money, and the original owners died trying to make it work. The land was eventually divided, with the sugar barons buying the crop land. The plantation really existed for about twenty years. I have often taught the irony of the South: that sugar and plantations never really worked—a story seldom told.

Before all of this, I rose at 6:30 (ugh!), wrote the blog quickly, dressed, and met Donna and Dondrea for our usual couple of thousand steps to the louder section of the French Quarter. We found Cafe Beugnet’s food, though still doused in a load of powdered sugar, better than the others we tried. We had, starting out at 8:30, reach the place just ahead of the 9ish crowd. Pastor Ken was missing, and we heard from him that he was running late. He just made it, and I was the last person on the bus, having got him coffee from the now-packed cafe.

The bus ride (and back) was enjoyable, with a video playing on monitors about the various plantations—most open only occasionally to the public—and the story of Hurricane Katrina told by folks in New Orleans. The ride along Lake Pontchartrain and over the Mississippi on the longest bridge of its type was fascinating.

The bus driver stopped first at the Whitney, and we will be there on Tuesday—I will leave that story for then. We then took the River Road along the Mississippi and saw more of the remains of the plantations’ parcels of land. Sugar Cain fields are everywhere, and the levy now tall on the Mississippi. Each was a narrow but long parcel serviced by the road and the river. Large trees in a line were often the only signs of what once stood there. But this was the land of back-breaking, deadly sugar work, and the dinners and privileges of others living off unpaid labor.

It was a good day and we learned and enjoyed, but never without paying or a tip. Unlike the famous threat of Odysseus against the sponges off of others’ labor, everything was paid for!

Thanks for reading!

Saturday ended with us saying goodnight to Ken, who had to walk back across the French Quarter to his hotel, and with us—Dondrea, Donna, and me—heading to our rooms at Le Richelieu Hotel. With my alarm set, I soon fell asleep and slept better despite all the noise. Saturday Night is loud in the French Quarter, though quieter here near Marigny, where the hotel stands.

Chuck Redd Vibes Quartet was at Snug Harbor off of Frenchman Street in Marigny, not the Quarter, and we had tickets for four. Before this, we had a chaotic dinner at Snug Harbor Jazz Bistro, but the food was excellent. I had fried oyasters with, of all things, a usual baked potato with the usual fixings. Ken had three bowls of their local flavors: Jambalaya, gumbo, and estouffée. Dondrea and Donna, still stuffed from brunch, split a burger with a baked potato. Donna and Dondrea finished first and headed out to the stage to get us our table. Ken and I followed after we finished and paid the bill.

The Quartet was excellent, and again, we are amazed to find even better-performed jazz. It is like New Orleans ups the challenge to be better for us each night. While a vibraphone is not something I would pick as a jazz instrument, Chuck Redd owned it. The band members, all assembled for this play, were excellent (I don’t remember the names), and some were well known, according to what I was told. From the crowd, a legendary drummer took over for a few songs, and he seemed to challenge the band with his playing. I saw Chuck Redd smile or nod when the drummer did something tricky to the sound and then responded on the vibraphone with some matching play, add something,  and then looked at the drummer with a ‘so top that’ look. The bass player and gitar player also had their chance. It was a night of jazz challenges called and answered.

Chuck’s wife we learned was in the front row and was clapping, smiling, and call out through the show. The last song was her’s, named for her (sorry, again I forgot the name), and there was a pause, ever so slight, and there was a single clap from her seemly built into the song, and a big smile on Chuck as he then flew across his instrument and produced a melody that seemed to caress her. It was wonderful to see this and hear her laugh as he surprised her with little changes.

Before this, we found seats at The Maison, and I had some chicken wings from a basket that Ken ordered; he flew in today, and we had music and caught up. Next, we stopped by the same art show, Dondrea and I both got notebooks for only $5 (I then lost mine at Snug Harbor–setting it down somewhere and forgetting to get it). Before this, we met at the hotel as Ken walked 25 minutes from the other side, where the Hyatt is.

We went shopping before Ken arrived, and this included multiple used book stores with one overflowing and a tight squeeze between things. I picked out a few things at each and had them shipped home to Oregon. We also stopped by some mask shops and the cooking school to get a few items (again, Dondrea and Donna had that shipped home).

We then stopped by Muriel’s Jackson Square and sat for a while to enjoy some drinks from the bar and their Séance Lounge upstairs and past the ghost table. The table is set to calm the previous owner who took his life after, according to what I read, losing his home, now Muriel’s, in a poker game. While we did not see any ghosts or anything strange, we did meet quite a few folks and chatted while enjoying our drinks.

 

We also stopped by the marvelous New Orleans History Museum, which covered the area’s history and the Civil Rights movement in NOLA. It was a good introduction and I liked it. We met some folks who tried the voter test, a voter suppression technique before it became illegal, but they failed on the math section.

(One of my chess hero’s set)

Brunch, with its lines of food, banging of plates, and often average food, is not my usual scene. The Court of the Two Sisters is rightfully known for its brunch on Saturday and Sunday. We made no reservation, but arrived before 9, when the tourist swarm seems to hit, and got in without waiting.

I tried little bits of everything I thought was good. The food, staff, and music were terrific. The turtle soup was good, and it was only my second time having that. I was smoky and good.

Running out of time this morning…I will say I had written the blog the night before…slept in to 7ish and wrote some postcards, and then waited, then met Donna and Dondrea to head to brunch. Thanks for reading!

 

 

The morning started with me rising before my alarm. I had trouble sleeping as I did not want to miss my alarm; I kept waking up. I managed broken sleep and rose before my 6:30 alarm around 6, and started on the long blog for Thursday’s busy day. It took me until 8:45 to finish. I wrote and did the usual things, including making coffee using the in-room coffee maker and updating Quicken. I jumped in the shower and soon we met downstairs.

We walked toward the Mississippi River, then to the French Market, and finally to Cafe du Monde.  Today it was powdered sugar and beignets! And we got some of their smooth coffee with chicory. We ordered two small orders of the fried sweet-style bread, two each, for breakfast. It was loud and crowded, and we did not need to reexperience this.

After that, we walked to the Hop-on Hop-off Bus for New Orleans (NOLA), bought a day pass for over $50 each (cheaper than Uber), and soon were enjoying a view from the top of the bus and a tour guide covering the area. I think it is the best way to see the city (though I have not tried the streetcar), and soon we were out of the French Quarter and in the central city.

It always reminds me of the land-of-expense-reports and conventions. The places seem mostly to cater to the accident tourists of business travelers. There are always a few places I wish I had time for—some jazz and food places—but so far I have stayed in the French Quarter and the Garden District.

The same is true for the World War 2 museum; someday I will spend a few days looking and then return on other trips to cover the parts I missed. But again, I never fit it in.

We leave the bus on the edge of the Garden District and decide on Gris-Gris for dinner. This is an on-the-edge southern restaurant, and we are given the kitchen bar location. We get to watch them make the food. The place does not disappoint. Dondrea has the chicken gizzards over grits and a bowl of gumbo. We shared the gizzards, and it was amazing. I tasted the gumbo, and it was terrific, with extra flavors that might be from filé gumbo powder. I had the pot toast, recommended by our waiter; it was a dream. Donna tried a bowl of gumbo with a wonderful house salad. It was a joy and a pleasure to eat and watch the cooking. Recommended!

We headed back to stop 11 on the Hop-on Hop-off, and Dondrea ran to the bus to hold it up while Donna and I caught up. Without too much trouble, we then continued the tour on the bus, entered the Garden District proper, and saw all the expensive homes and mansions, including Ann Rice’s former home.

We rode the bus back into the French Quarter. I am someday going to get off at Riverwalk, walk the levee of the Mississippi River, look into the paddlewheel there (I have done the one in the French Quarter), take a tour, and maybe visit the aquarium, too. But not today.

We stopped at the Marigny area and soon walked the one block (I first started the wrong way) to Frenchman Street near Washington Park. I am happy to see we are near Snug Harbor and The Spotted Cat jazz clubs. We walk the path towards the Mississippi River, and soon hear excellent jazz and smell great food, but we are not looking for food right now!

We find that The Maison, our target, is not yet open, and head back a few doors to the 30/90 to find a seat. Daphne Lee Martin was belting out an eclectic mix of jazz, folk, blues, and hints of rock with her band. We heard the end of the first set and stayed for three more, sipping soda pop drinks with the mixology class on our mind. I talked to the lead singer on one break, and they will be in Oregon later. I will have to try to find her. I signed the guest book and hope to get some information.

Daphne Lee Martin and the band kept getting better and better as they played. Their last sets are excellent. We leave before the final song, as it is time for The Maison Mixology Class. During the break between sets, I noticed the jazz club was now open, so I talked to folks and learned what we needed to do.

We climbed to a balcony-like area in Maison with a bar, and Chris, our bartender and teacher, was ready for us. Donna and Dondrea were partners, and I got Chris because there was an odd number. Excellent. We could tell that Chris knows his stuff and the history of his drinks. I hear him revising the history I had heard in a bar-hopping tour in the French Quarter on one of my trips. Chris showed us how to shake and open the shaker. He pours the booze for legal reasons, but the rest of the work was ours. There were six folks besides us three. We were soon shaking, straining, and tasting. We make a Pimm’s Cup first, and mine was bright and refreshing. Next, the Hurricane, made following the original recipe rather than the industrial version, was quite good. Chris won’t split that one with me, and I drink much of it with Donna, taking some too. With fresh juices and less sugar, it too seemed a refreshing drink; but, beware, it is full of rum you do not taste!

Chris makes us each a Sazerac, though we get to stir it, all of us trying to get the proper bartender motion. I add the garnish, and it makes for a softer, more expressive drink than the ones I have had. Even Donna liked it.

Vieux Carre is a mix of two drinks, and we quickly put it together, and it is, unlike the Sazerac, not fragile. It is not at all boozy like a Saerac, but it beguiles you as it is full of booze. It was lovely; I had never had one before.

We talked to Chris for a while after the drinks were done. We were all quite happy. We learned that Chris is in his last nursing classes. He is moving to the medical field. We talked about various drinks, discovered he was a gun collector, and discussed guns a bit.

We managed to get off the stools without falling to the floor! We got downstairs and were granted a table on the main floor; I had been very polite when asking for help earlier (polite works here), and they were willing to seat us. I also think they are proud of their class and us students.

We enjoyed The Shotgun Jazz Band (here). They were great musicians and show people. I could watch them over and over. We got some light items—still stuffed and now tipsy—we tried the fries with gumbo. An excellent alternative to a bowl of soup. I also ordered 6 oysters in the Rockefeller format. Dondrea had two. They were perfect.

We left The Maison after the band finished, thanking the staff. The drag show stars were outside to advertise their later show in the upper area. We decided to stick to our promise to get some sleep tonight and not stay up all night, or at least late.

We found the night art show was on and did it as a side trip on the way out. It was full of edgy art that Dondrea pointed out had a different, if not strange, feel. I agreed.

We walked the four blocks back to our hotel. We arrived without issue, and soon I was back in my room.

I spent the rest of the evening writing this blog. It is louder tonight. I like the sleepy days better, Mon-Thur.

Thanks for reading.

 

I woke before my alarm at 6ish and soon made coffee and wrote the story of Wednesday and our first partial day in New Orleans (NOLA). The hotel, Le Richelieu, with its balconies and thin walls, can be loud, but as we are far from the crowds, I again slept well. The ten thousand steps might have something to do with the sleeping.

I wrote the blog and soon finished a summary of the day before showering, dressing, and all that. I also ran Quicken, and updates flowed in, including my payment for my new insurance, paid in advance via the government website. I keep a close watch on accounts.

I met Dondrea and Donna, ready to start the next adventure, and we headed to French Toast in the quarter. We walked for about five minutes, and there was no line when we arrived. But they were busy inside, and we took a table outside. Soon, we ordered classic breakfasts (with grits) for Dondrea and me, but Donna gave the eggs and salmon a spin. Lots of coffee marked that we were in a two-hour time difference. Little birds kept landing, and some even chirped to beg for food. Yes, I was panhandled by chickadees!

We then explored the much-reduced flea market and farmer’s market. It was closer to Portland’s Saturday market with local crafts and food shops than a Farmer’s Market in Seattle or LA. We managed to resist the author selling their books directly; one sold the story of rising the rails and made a movie I had heard of. Hats were tempting (more so now that mine is lost, but that happens later).

I had some colon issues; I only mention it as folks wonder how I am doing after colon cancer, and I found the necessary public space to manage that. We were able to proceed.

Having enjoyed the markets, we headed to Jackson Square and walked around the area. Donna, with her cane and brace, was doing well with all the walking. My legs were already complaining, but I worked through it and was fine.

John Cosentino, in a green cart with two seats, offered a mule-cart tour for a few bucks more than the usual wait-and-then-go tour. We took him up on it, and Dondrea asked to see the LaLaurie Mansion, famous for its haunted reputation. He was local and soon told us a few stories (most of which are now forgotten). He did tell us he had never seen a ghost. Dondrea got a picture of the LaLaurie Mansion.

We next wandered the quarter and found the Faulkner Museum and Bookstore. I found one book—a remake of the Bluebook from Storyland—listing the services provided by prostitutes. Dondrea spoke to the book seller about Faulkner, not her favorite author, and he agreed he is hard to read, then pointed out a book of stories Faulkner wrote while living in this building. Dondrea bought one.

We next walked to one of the Vampire bars, and it was having trouble as water was cut off during the road construction, ugh. We walked to the Vampire Cafe instead.

A tall man with fangs found us a table. The napkins were red and folded in a bat form. The silverware was across it, suggesting a cross. The place was appropriately gothic. Later, a man in a kilt would sit next to us. He had a marine belt over his kilt, and we soon struck up a conversation with him. He was here for a fair, trying the place out.

We had drinks, mine the AB+, which is their version of a Sazerac, Donna and Dondrea found other blood types that fit their tastes. We ordered some excellent appetizers (still full from breakfast): fried deviled eggs, pork belly bits, and baked Brie (with walnuts on the side, as Dondrea is allergic to them). Our waiter brought us a book from the owner about the local vampires, with a suggestion to look for her at the other restaurant if we bought it and wanted it signed. Dondrea picked up a copy. Our waiter retold the coffin girls’ story (here) and then granted us a pass to Potions. We also were ‘bit’ and she handed us decals to wear showing the bite marks (we did not get those on yet).

Instead of heading to our hotel, six blocks away, we strolled towards Crescent City Books near the end of the French Quarter. There were plenty of stores worthy of a look as we went. A French importer was selling an Art Deco absinthe serving set that Dondrea thought was terrific. They showed us tablecloths and other tempting items.

We did not escape a hat store’s temptations. Dondrea has a new hat to take back with her. I demurred.

The area is full of art studios, jewelry stores, and various forms of antiques and exotic imports. We stopped at many, but most were window-shopped. The least tempting type of visit. But we reached Crescent City Books, and soon I was in for less than $100—low for me—with a copy of General Hood’s (Confederate) account of his experiences in the American and Confederate military. I also found an account of the NYC 1920s-30s about speakeasies published in the 1930s. Interesting. Both are being mailed to my house.

We next walked back to our hotel and soon passed many familiar places. It is more than ten blocks back. Donna will soak her foot in the pool. I rested and napped for a while in my room before dressing in a dress shirt, sweater vest, tie, and dress shoes. Dondrea arranged for a taxi to Arnaud’s (here).

While expensive, it is not overly so, and we had a great time there (about $120 each with drinks and dessert). I had the veal, Dondrea the quail, and the best Filet Mignon I have tasted (we all shared). We all tried the excellent turtle soup, and it was the first time any of us had anything like it. It was a complex, smoky flavor. We added their famous soufflé potatoes and okra. The service is an art and a performance that you will not often find with old-school meals. Customers, there is a dress code, and I was reminded to hang my hat on a hook. Most are dressed up a bit, but with few ties. We had dressed up a bit for dinner. Our last treat was Banana Foster for Dondrea and me (Donna picked a baked Alaska), which burned at the table—spectacular—and we got some glances from other diners for the show.

We walked to Potions, taking our pass, and headed to Bourbon Street and Fritzel again. We were tossed beads by folks on a balcony. Potions requires a pass and is above my favorite Jazz place on Bourbon Street. We had to pay a cover, and on the card we were given were words we needed to say. We read the card’s words aloud (the password), the door unlocked, and we walked up the twisty stairs.

Somewhere here, I lost my hat and suspect it was found and tossed off the balcony like beads. I will likely see a replacement here. I have lost hats all over the world. I added a new story about losing a hat in New Orleans—no reason to mourn. No photos in the speakeasy. Dondrea had her tarot reading there, and we all had interesting drinks. The balcony overlooks the Bourban Street, and it was a lovely night to sit there and drink our drinks.

Hatless and all of us a bit happy, we walked back to our hotel. Dondrean and Donna were surprised by the change in vibe on Bourbon Street and glad we did Wednesday there. We won’t be back for the weekend, yike! I like the street only at the beginning of the week. It seems friendly—maybe hungover from the weekend, starting on Thursday—for Monday-Wednesday, and good for some music.

Back at the hotel, we headed to our rooms, and I was soon asleep.

Thanks for reading.

 

As I wrote yesterday, I woke with my alarm, surprising me—I had slept so long and so deeply at a hotel on a travel day. I quickly performed the usual process and watched time disappear fast. I rolled my bags out of my room at the Holiday Inn Express. All the colors, wallpaper, and carpets match the ones I have spent many nights in the Greater Detroit Area. I checked out with the night manager, who was still there. It was just before 4 and to me still night. Four of us took the first 4AM shuttle to the airport, a short ten-minute drive. I met a man, and we both chatted about travel and food as we both passed the time. The others, still showing signs of waking up, ignored our friendliness. He was headed to a small town for business. He told me he tried retirement after hearing I was retired, but went back to work because he did not like having nothing to do, and now has more control and enjoys what he does (he did not tell me what he does). I did argue that I was busy.

As was our intent with the chat, the time went by without worrying about flights, and we shook hands and disappeared from each other’s lives, but we were relaxed and happy to be at PDX. I wish him well and hope his flights were good.

I checked in and managed to remember my phone after using it to scan my boarding pass QR code. The belts were working at the self-bag drop, and soon I was headed into security. A TSA person waved me, like last time, to a different line, “It is shorter.” It was short, and soon I passed with only a pat-down for wearing suspenders under my sweater. With Delta, I was in the exact same location as last time, in D gates, but the little market was being remodeled, and someone was selling from racks set up in the hallway, even around 5AM, and I found my usual little set of fruit, crackers, and cheese from Elephant’s Deli. Armed with a snack, I waited only a short time and boarded my 737.

The flight was easy and mostly empty, with the middle seat not used for me. I read, and soon we landed at Salt Lake City as the sun bathed the area in bright light. It was a 90-minute flight.

With only a short delay getting off the plane, I soon followed my TripIt app to locate the tunnel to the B gates. It was a bright, happy tunnel with recorded music that made me smile, though I did not recognize it. Soon I found my gate after filling my water bottle, and I drank all the water waiting for the plane. I started the blog on my Apple laptop, but the gate folks called the plane as I got near 400 words.

And as I stood, I then headed to the men’s room. Yes, I did drink all that water. I returned, and the boarding process was still in the lower zones. As a holder of a Delta credit card, an AMEX, I am assigned for no extra charge zone 5.

A family was in my area, and soon I discovered I was the spare seat. Their girls were not quite teenagers but were curious, happy, and well-behaved. I put my bag in the overhead bins to make it easier. I did grab my Kindle and phone. I forgot their names, but they were headed to a cousin’s wedding in the New Orleans area. The little person next to me played games on the screen, and I was surprised to see chess and other complex games. Smart kid!

I watched the movie Lincoln and cried at the ending. With the book I am reading, The Message by Ta-Nehisi Coates, about civil rights, writing, and ‘haunting’ the reader with the real truth and purpose of the story, I saw a new aspect of the movie. The movie is haunting. With my new perspective from my reading, I now see President Lincoln is haunted by his place in history, stopping Slavery for all time, and if he was ‘fitted’ for it.

The plane arrived without issue. I wished my seatmates well, and soon found Donna and Dondrea near the baggage claim. We soon had a taxi after standing in line in the warm, humid air. Palm trees planted at the airport make it clear we are in warmer climes. A minivan for us, me putting in my hotel name on the driver’s phone, and we flew out of the airport and down concrete four-lane roads.

Our driver’s lane selection and approach to exits were like a race car driver’s, but we arrived safely, and it was $45 plus tip for all of us. My room at the Le Richelelu has a door to the wrap-around shared balcony on the second floor. Donna and Donrea have a small private one above mine. I walked around and waved to Dondrea.

Checked in, slightly unpacked, and ready. We walk to Napoleon House for a late lunch/early dinner. Our waiter, Bruce, is a character but also helpful. We share a warm muffuletta sandwich cut into six wedges, and Bruce directs us to take two slices each. We have sides of jambalya, red beans, and rice for Donna. All excellent. Drinks are good, Pimm’s Cups for Donna and Dondrea. I had a Sazerac in a small cup. Their bread pudding is more my style when I cooked one, more custard—and we all shared one. Bruce suggested a return, but not for a few days, as he is off for the next two days; we all had a good time.

Fritz European Jazz Club was on my list for tonight, but before risking Bourbon Street, we visited the New Orleans School of Cooking store and eyed all sorts of goodies. We will swing back to purchase some items later in the trip. We walked out to the river, and there were two paddle boats tied up. It was a supermoon, and we watched it rise from the river. Lovely.

There was no line for Fritz, and we found some metal chairs (comfort is not a focus here). The Bourbon Quartet was playing, and soon Donna and Dondrea agreed to spend the evening enjoying Fritz, one of my favorites. We caught most of their sets and had only two rounds, as the staff was busy seating folks as the crowd slowly built.

The young band got stronger and louder as the night went on. Their focus was jazz with many Armstrong selections (as the band leader played trumpet). Fritz never disappoints, and they got better and better, and soon we were amazed.

We stayed for one set after the All-Star Band setup. They did ragtime, and the piano player, in a pressed gray suit, and a cigar in his teeth, stole the show. Donna looked him up and he leads a Swamp Tour when not playing piano.

Getting out of my chair, I had only two beers over the hours, which was difficult; I tripped over a foot I did not see. I managed to catch myself on a chair, but I was bruised by slamming into the cheap metal chair. I was happy not to fall and be carried out of a jazz bar on my first day!

We took the long walk back to the hotel, enjoying the look of NOLA after dark. We walked by many ghost tours getting started. Dondrea and I (texting) both used our balconies for work. I finished the Wednesday blog, while Dondread did some work and some Zoom calls.

I put on my PJs and soon was sleeping. I woke cold but well rested.

Thanks for reading!