#6 Visit New Orleans

When I was unemployed I was restless to say the least. Two of my close friends had used their time on unemployment to travel across the country. It was so exciting to glimmer their road trip experience on Facebook. Everyday I would wake up and check in on them to see where in the USA they were. It was very inspirational to say the least.

As for my time on unemployment, so far, all I had done was replace the transmission on my Blazer. Just about my entire severance went to it too! You know what, let's not even talk about it. Why did I even bring it up?

Let's get back to roadtrips. I wanted to travel too. I love to travel. It's in my blood. I started bitching about wanting to travel on Facebook because it had been two months since I was laid off from my job and the farthest I had traveled was to the Yuengling Brewery a whopping 30 minutes from me. I was yearning for the open road. I wanted to do something exciting and adventurous during my time on unemployment. Being unemployed was a total bummer. Achieving at least one of my lifetime dreams would be a much needed confidence booster.

All of my restlessness was further fueled by the fact that Mardi Gras was fast approaching. The news stations and morning programs were constantly talking about the event. I had always wanted to visit New Orleans. It was on my Bucket List. I wanted to visit NOLA even more so since Hurricane Katrina almost wiped the city out. To think that a city so charming and gorgeous, so steeped in history and culture could one day disappear made me sad.

In addition to Mardi Gras approaching, Drew Brees and the New Orleans Saints had just beaten Peyton Manning and the Indianapolis Colts in the Superbowl a few weeks prior. As big a Peyton fan as I was, I was so thrilled for the city of New Orleans to have won the big one because they had overcome so much. They had suffered tragedy, loss, and our government failing them on a grand scale. The city deserved joyous tidings!

I guess it is safe to say New Orleans was on my mind. It was everywhere I turned. So, I decided with my free time I was going to attempt to make homemade beingets. Mostly I wanted to make them because a show on the Food Network was featuring beingets. Again, NOLA was everywhere. Making beignets was certainly not a trip New Orleans but I figured I could try to bring a little of the Big Easy into my home.

I was blabbering to a few friends about my plan on Facebook. I was skeptical about making beingets. I was terrible at rolling dough. They were going to come out looking like little gimpy space ships instead of fluffy square pockets of deep fried goodness. Finally, after frustrating myself, I feverishly posted a Facebook status. It said, "Screw this. I am just going to drive to New Orleans and get some beingets. Any takers?"

I wasn't really expecting anyone to take me up on my offer. However my friend Michelle said she would love to go on a road trip to NOLA. Guess what? By 9 PM on that February night back in 2010 we were on the road to NOLA. Seriously. That just happened. Talk about spontaneity. Yes, we were going to just miss Mardi Gras but I didn't care. We were going to the Big Easy! I was about to go on a lifetime adventure and make one of my dreams come true.

I sauntered over to my parents' house to inform them of my plans. Here is how this particular conversation went down.
My dad (looking up from the newspaper): "Hey. There she is. What's up?"
Me: "Oh. nothing. Actually I was thinking about going to New Orleans. I have always wanted to visit there. Might as well while I have some time off."
My dad (reading the newspaper): " Yea. New Orleans is nice from what I heard. A little dangerous but I heard it is fun."
Me: "Yea. I think I am going to go to New Orleans. I may need you to watch the kids for a few days. They should be good. They are older but in case they want to sleep here ya know."
My dad (still reading the paper): "Well, if you decide to plan a trip let us know and we will see what we can do."
Me: "Well, I already have planned a trip."
My dad (peering up at me from the newspaper): "When?"
Me (laughing nervously): " I am leaving around 9 PM tonite?"
He just looked at me. I dumbfounded him yet again. Over the years I had gotten quite good at it. I didn't mean to do it. It was just my nature. Hey, my kids do it to me too. All the time.

Surprisingly, he was okay with everything. (Why fight it right?) My parents would keep an eye on my kiddos for me. Yes!! I managed to escape with a small lecture about being safe and not getting arrested because "they" ( I am assuming Southerners) will recognize my Northern accent and "they" do not like Yankees. It was pretty much the same lecture I received when I took off for Tennessee spur of the moment a few years back. I love my dad but the civil war ended like over 100 years ago.

By 9PM Michelle was outside my house. I kissed my kids goodbye, grabbed my bag, and gathered the road map I printed from Google Maps. I was more than ready to hit the open road and bid ciao to the frozen tundra of Northeastern Pennsylvania for a few days. Michelle and I were both so excited for our spontaneous adventure. She drove. I navigated. Within a few hours we had crossed the Mason Dixon line.

We were now technically in the South. This was reaffirmed when I started seeing huge 100 foot crosses on the side of the road. It kind of creeped me out. Not gonna lie. I may have said a Hail Mary out of guilt since I had become a fallen away sheep of the Catholic church. We stopped at a gas station in Virginia to recharge around 1AM. It was at that gas station that it dawned on me that perhaps my dad was right about this whole North/South thing. Southerners do not like us Yankees.

I scolded myself for not praying harder when we drove past the giant crosses. That must be why. Or perhaps, just perhaps, the gas station man was getting annoyed with me because I was being somewhat annoying. It happens sometimes. Honestly though, I was in total shock and awe over the fact that a carton of Marlboros were only $35.00. I must have asked him 7 times if that was the "for real price" for a carton. I even rephrased the question 7 times just to trip him up and prove he was lying.

Turns out, he wasn't lying. He also despised me. He didn't find it amusing when I asked him if the Sasquatch jerky stick was authentic Sasquatch meat either. I guess the sass and sarcasm of "Northern" charm is not so charming in the South. "Crack a smile buddy, it's not that bad." I think to myself. I didn't care. I had several fresh cartons of Marlboros Ultra Light 100's under my arm. Score!!

On to Tennessee. It was snowing. Seriously? It is not supposed to snow in Tennessee. We were trying to escape the snow. PA had a ton of it. This was not fair! Turns out it does snow in TN but at that time I thought once you were out of Virginia there was a magical no snow zone til you hit Argentina in South America. I was wrong and I was sad.

By 7 AM we found ourselves driving through Chattanooga looking for a cheap hotel because we were both delirious from lack of sleep. We stopped at a McDonald's to regroup. I was so sleep deprived by this time that I did not realize I was mimicking the cashier's southern accent. He did not find this amusing. He despised me too. So did his manager. I'm such a Yankee asshole.

I took my McGriddle and slowly made my way to a table where I collapsed next to Michelle. She could barely keep her eyes open. I was in the South for approximately 7 hours and I have managed to piss off every human I came in contact with. We needed to find a hotel. Michelle asked the cashier if there were any cheap motels in the area. The cashier gave her directions to a motel down the street. He did not make eye contact with me. It was like I was not there. Sighs.

We left McDonald's and made our way down the highway until we spotted the motel. From the outside it looked decent. The sign advertised $25 a night. We just needed a few hours so the price was right. We entered the motel and saw an in-ground swimming pool. This wasn't so bad we decided so we registered for a room. The hotel clerk handed us our key and we made our way to the room.

I try really hard not to think about it now, but let's just say, I have been in some cheap motels in my lifetime. I vacation at the Jersey shore all the time. There are some real dives in Jersey but even the dives are still relatively clean and maintained. This hotel was not even close. As I reluctantly explored this room, all I could think of was hookers and crackheads. That is so terrible I know but it was honest to god what I was thinking. I sleep with my shoes on, fully clothed. So does Michelle.

Selfie from the scurvy motel.

After two hours I can no longer sleep anymore. I start tossing about. Visions of what may have previously been in that bed disturb so much that I become anxious and itchy. I had noticed a Bojangles across the street on our way to the hotel.

I had set a goal to try all foreign and exotic fast food joints on my way to and from New Orleans. Bojangles is definitely both. I get out of bed and decide to to visit them to see what they are all about.

I walk into the restaurant hoping not to piss anyone off. Mentally I remind myself not to turn on the "Northern" charm. I am only to speak in short, direct sentences. I stare at the menu intently. A chipper teenage Southern gal from behind the counter asks if she could help me. The "Northern" charm cannot be contained. It is just too natural to me. I decode to forewarn this sweet girl,

I inform her that I am from the North and have never been to a Bojangles before. I tell her I am not really hungry but would like to try something because I am curious about this strange, wonderful place. I tell her I definitely want a soda but have yet ot figure out what else I would like. Saying the word "soda" in addition to my accent intrigued everyone in the kitchen. They all came out from the back to see this "Northerner" who used the word "soda".

A cold sweat washed over me. They were just teenage kiddos. I certainly did not want to offend them with my sass and sarcasm. They had never heard anyone order a soda before. They asked me if I have ever been to New York City. I told them many times. They asked me to say a few things in my accent. I found this so amusing because I do not believe I have an accent.

I threw them for a loop when I said "youse" instead of "you". I also pronounced "ask" like "ax". Even I never realized I did that. These kids were so sweet and so nice. The teenage cook proudly told me that he would make some fresh chicken strips for me to try. I thanked them for their kindness. I informed them that they were my best friends forever. They told me I made their day and to come back any time. For teenagers, they were so much not smart asses.

I was so happy I didn't piss anyone off. Adults can be so cynical. I hoped that those sweet teenage kids I just met never became the cynical miserable adults I have come into contact with in my life.  Happily I ate one of my chicken strips and officially declared Bojangles the best chicken ever. KFC ain't got anything on them! Seriously, their chicken is so good. I wish there were more up North.

My new BFFs at Bojangles in Chattanooga.

I walked back to the Bates motel while chomping on my delicious food. Michelle was now awake. We were none to happy to bid adieu to the freaky motel and get back on the road. It was 3PM. We only spend 20 minutes driving through Georgia before entering Alabama. I was excited to see some palm trees but I saw none.

Perhaps we were still too far north to see any. I was also amazed at how few mountains there were in the south. There were literally none once we left the Smoky Mts.  There was some interesting road kill along the highways though. I had no idea what any of the animals on the sideo f the road were.

Midway into Alabama we moved to another time zone. This was something neither of us had ever experienced before. As little as it was, we were both very excited about it. We had time traveled an hour into the future. I mean, how could we not be excited? And eventually, on the drive back, we would be able to go back in time. The only thing missing was a Delorean and Christopher Lloyd.

As we progressed through Alabama, we arrived in Birmingham. I thought of Martin Luther King Jr. He was a great man who had a tremendous impact on the social consciousnesses of this country in his brief time on earth. He was another one taken way too soon from us. Birmingham seemed like a nice city. Appearances can be deceiving though. I also knew it was also one of the most dangerous cities in the country.

I found it strange that every big city we encountered in the South had some skyscrapers but not nearly the amount you would see in Philly and Baltimore. I did not include New York in there because I have yet to be in a city that even comes close to having as many skyscrapers as New York City. That city is in a league all their own. I would probably need to travel overseas to Asia to witness anything like New York City. The only other city I could think of that would even come close to NYC would be Chicago.

Driving by Birmingham Alabama

Anyway, that was one of thoughts that ran through my head as we traveled further South. Dusk was settling in as we left Alabama and entered Mississippi. Michelle said she wondered if the people in New Orleans talked like Farmer Fran in the movie "The Water Boy". I started laughing. We would find out soon enough I guessed.

It had been a few hours since we had last stopped for gas or a restroom break. None of the exits we were passing have a gas station we recognize. Finally the "old" lady, aka me, couldn't hold it in any longer. I had to pee. We pulled off of the next exit that had a gas station.

Wrong move. The road was pitch black. There were no lights and no signs of life. Michelle started to become freaked. We drove for what seems like an eternity in complete darkness. Her headlights were the only lights on this road. Finally we came across this shady looking run down gas station. It looked like one of those gas stations you would see in a horror movie like Wrong Turn or Friday the 13th.

I looked at her. Suddenly, I no longer had to pee. I wanted to live instead. Michelle made a quick U-Turn and burned rubber back to the interstate. A few more miles down the road we found a very public, very well lit truck stop. It was 9PM. We asked the attendant if he knew how much longer it would be before we arrived in the Big Easy.

Random Road Trip Photo. 

He figured it would be 2 1/2 to 3 hours. I told Michelle once we entered Louisiana to stop at the Welcome Center so I could grab one of those travel discount magazines with the cheap hotels. I promised her we would stay at a hotel where we recognized the name, even if we have to pay a few dollars more. (If we only knew then what we were in store for.)

We find a radio station that played some really incredible hip-hop. It reminded me of home. I am located 2 1/2 hours from both NYC and Philly. Although I am not a "city" gal I have been NYC many times and have driven through Philly to get to the Jersey Shore many times. The influences of both cities do extend to my town. Hell, NEPA is practically a suburb of NYC. I just wish we would get more of the better jobs, venues, culture and shops each city has.

As we were jamming along to Jay-Z we notice we had begun the journey across the I-10 Twin Span Bridge over Lake Pontchartrain. Only one bridge was in use as the other one was still under construction. The original bridges were destroyed by Hurricane Katrina. Michelle was a little nervous driving over the water. This was the longest bridge she has ever driven.

For miles all you could see was water glistening in the moonlight on either side of us. It reminded me of black ink begging to be put to paper. I tried to distract her by mentioning hotels where we could stay. The French Quarter had a few recognizable hotels with prices ranging from $50-$75. We decided on a Days Inn. As DJ Revolution and KRS ONE began rapping to "The DJ" Michelle gasped. I looked up. I gasped too.

There it was! The Big Easy was directly in front of us in the distance. It was a stunning view. The lights from the city radiating in the night sky was breathtaking. There was a colorful glow surrounding the city like an aura. It seemed fitting that it was nearing midnight.

We were so excited to arrive in New Orleans after nearly 27 hours of travel. I looked out my window. My gut started to wrench. It had been nearly five years since Katrina swept through the area but the remnants of her torrent were still painfully on display.

Flood damaged, wind swept houses covered in boarding stood lonely and abandoned along the road. All I could think was "that was someone's home". That was someone's pride and joy. Someone worked very hard to have that home. At one time these broken, gutted homes were full of life.

I noticed black spray painted words reading "Katrina Was Here" and "Hurricane Katrina Did This" covering some of the abandoned homes. My heart hurt because I knew how many people had lost everything in that hurricane. Some lost their own lives and some lost the lives people they loved. Some people would never fully recover from this tragedy. I knew this. Our government had really disrespected the people of New Orleans. I hoped that this hard lesson we all witnessed never happened to another city again. It was inexcusable.

I found myself feeling elation at being a tourist in this city. I knew my little bit of commerce was not enough to make a huge difference, but every little bit helps when a city needs to rebuild and re-establish itself after a tragedy. New York went through similar circumstances after 9/11. I brought my children there too not long after. Every little act of kindness and every good intention has a positive ripple effect no matter how minuscule it may be.

My happiness briefly came to a screeching halt as we entered the city. We were definitely in a shady part of town. It was quiet. The streets were dimly lit. Buildings were falling apart. Metal fences were bent and jagged. Except for the occasional lady of the night, there wasn't a soul in site. I may have begun to panic a little but I did not want to alarm Michelle. I called Becky immediately since she was down this way a few weeks back.

I asked her how to get to the quarter since our directions were leading elsewhere. As she is answering my question we crossed Canal Street. Suddenly there was life. There were people and cars and brightly lit shops. I felt a small sense of relief. I was well aware that as gorgeous as New Orleans was, it was also ranked as one of the most dangerous cities for violent crime in the United States. Some lists had it ranked as high as #2, others as low as #13 which was still extremely high.

Becky gave us direction to the French Quarter. Michelle and I just looked at each other. They were the same directions we had. We just drove through there. There was no way that was the French Quarter I said aloud. It was eerily dark and very quiet. The streets were dank and wet. The only souls about were those of the undead.

I peered out my window at the architecture. I began recognizing some of the ornate buildings. All the colorful shutters on them were closed tightly. What was going on I thought to myself? The French Quarter does not close does it? Where are all the party people? Where are the beads and zydeco bands? There was none of that.

Later on we found out from a local that on Ash Wednesday, the French Quarter does end business early. As we drove through the Quarter once again, I couldn't shake the atmosphere. It was very gothic, very antiquated and very haunted. I felt the chills shudder through my body. This macabre sense of fascination crept through me. I was still frightened but I was also completely intrigued with my surroundings. I wanted to find this hotel we decided upon. I wanted to stay in the French Quarter.

Michelle, on the other hand, did not share my sense of fascination. She looked rather alarmed. She suggested we go back to Canal Street. She noticed a Harrah's casino with a hotel attached to it. She suggested we stay there. I realized I was not the only one on this trip. I agreed with her choice to stay at the casino. My fascination with the Quarter was going to have to wait until daytime. As we drove out of the Quarter, I tried to take in as much of the shadowy, vampiric scenery as I possibly could. I knew I would probably never witness this again.

We found the Harrah's with relative ease. If we gambled for an hour, we could park in their lot for free. That was no problem. We also figured the price for a room should not be too expensive because it was a week night. Casinos practically give rooms away during the week in Atlantic City. Yea, not Harrah's of New Orleans. Not during Mardi Gras. (We keep forgetting that one minor detail.)

We grabbed our bags from the car and walked into the casino. At the hotel desk stood a man with a crisp white shirt and neatly pressed jacket. We informed him that we would like to rent a room for the night. He was more than happy to oblige. He asked for our preferred members card. Neither one of us had one. His demeanor changed immediately. All of a sudden he is not sure if any rooms are available.

Michelle explained to him that she will gladly register for a preferred members card. He explained that even with the card a room was going to run us around $180.00. We laughed out loud. Michelle suggested we look around. There were many other hotels in the area.

As we walked out of the casino into the cool, sea salt infused, nighttime air, I noticed a shiny, jet black Rolls Royce in the valet parking spot. I had never in my life been in the same vicinity as a Rolls Royce. I whipped out my camera and started taking pictures of the black beauty.

Michelle pointed out that the license plate is encrusted with Swarovski crystals. I noticed the rims on this thing were also encrusted with crystal. Now that's spiffy. It was a Hawaiian Rolls Royce. I knew this because the license plate said Hawaii. Must have cost a pretty penny to get it to NOLA I thought. Then again, I had a feeling money was not an issue for the owner since it was a freakin Rolls Royce covered in crystals. I started snapping more pictures.

Michelle warned me that I was getting a little too close to the $10 million dollar car. She was right. Never in my lifetime would I be able to afford to pay for the repair of even a scratch on a car of that caliber. And I am a clumsy gal so I back away from the car slowly. Man she was beautiful though.

We Dey! Joan of Arc Statue in the hauntingly quiet French Quarter

As we continued our search for a hotel room I could not help but notice the huge sense of pride the city had for their beloved football team, The New Orleans Saints. The famous Joan of Arc Statue near the Quarter was carrying a Saints flag. I was in awe someone was daring enough to climb up the tall gold and marble figure and place a flag in her hand. Talk about pride! It was so fitting.

The Saints did what no one thought they could do. They beat Peyton Manning and Company in the Superbowl two weeks prior. Being a huge Peyton Manning fan, I was cheering for a Colt's ring #2. However, now that I was in this city; had driven through the depressed areas still tormented by the nightmares of Hurricane Katrina; and recalled the laissez faire method in which the city was treated before and during the hurricane, I was very happy New Orleans won.

The city needed something wonderful and cool like a Superbowl win. It needed to regain it's incredible spirit. I could still feel that spirit in the air. This was a very happy, excited and proud city. I was so unbelievably thrilled to be in New Orleans. Too bad we missed the ticker tape parade by a week.

As we continued our journey to find a place to sleep, we came across some more hotels. We entered a Marriott first to ask about their hotel rate. $230.00. No way! There was a W a block down. $250.00 for a night. Just wow. The Holiday Inn  was $190.00. I realize we are on Canal Street and Mardi Gras just happened but really? We were just going to sleep there and it was already after midnight. What the hell.

This was not going so well. Both of us were frustrated at this point. Neither one of us wanted to shell out that kind of money for a room we would be lucky to spend 8 hours in. It was now 1:30 am. As we walked down Canal Street, we saw a gift shop. The gift shop was open so we decided to go in to check out some souvenirs and regroup. I spotted cans of alligator meat. I started reading the labels. Maybe I would get my dad a can for shits and giggles until I realized canned alligator meat in that particular gift shop went for about $10.99 per can.

I put the can down and I walked over to the wall of hot sauce. As I was laughing over the names of some of the sauces like "Colon Cleaner", "Swamp Scum" and "Rectal Rocket Fuel", Michelle came running over laughing hysterically.

"He's here!" She exclaimsed.
"Who?" I was  curious. Maybe it was someone we know. Maybe it was Drew Brees!
"The dude from the "Waterboy". Well not the actual guy but he looks and sounds just like him!!!!" She pointed over behind the rack of calendars and cookbooks.

Farmer Fran was at this gift shop!

I snuck closer to the rack and tilt my head. I start laughing hysterically too. I peek around the rack. The guy does look a lot like Farmer Fran. He sounds even more like him. We are talking very thick cajun brough. He is going on and on about something.

The poor Indian man he is talking to is just standing there nodding his head. He has no idea what this guy is saying but whatever it was, he was very passionate about it. Turns out the Indian man is the shop owner. His son is at the register watching Michelle and I hiding behind the calendar rack laughing our asses off. He begins laughing too.

I walk over to him. He tells me that is his father and that this man comes into the store often. His father feels sorry for him so he lets him have his rant, then he leaves. Sometimes the man asks for a beer. His father gives him a soda. I remark about how kind his father was to do that. His son replies by saying they know what it is like to be shunned. I get it. I buy some green, yellow and purple mardi gras beads, a souvenir patch and some postcards. As he is ringing up my order I ask him where an affordable hotel in the area may be located. One that was less than $100.

He leans closer to me. "Miss, I do not think you would want to stay at one of those hotels. It is Mardi Gras. All the clean, decent hotels are going to be expensive. The best one I can think of is the Sheraton. I think it is $130.00 a night but it may be more because of Mardi Gras."

I sigh, thank him for his time and grab my bag of baubbles. I walk over to Michelle and tell her we are going to have to bite the bullet unless she wanted to drive outside the city limits. There was another Days Inn and a Super 8 in our price range. She is too tired to drive anymore. We both want to have a few drinks and play the slots in the casino. We grudgingly make our way to the Sheraton.

A big blue cow statue in the Sheraton Lobby. 

The room ends up running us $179.00 after taxes are added. We tell ourselves it is worth it. Actually, utter exhaustion tells us it is worth it. We take the elevator to our room. I realize I am still wearing my winter boots. I brought sandals too but it wasn't exactly warm in NOLA.

As we enter our room we cannot believe how beautiful it is. The beds are puffy, fluffy and perfectly made. There is a floor to ceiling window donning a set of shutters in classic New Orleans style. The view is pretty cool. I get a touch of vertigo looking down to the floor and seeing the street below me. There are water bottles and snacks neatly displayed on the dresser. Michelle informs me if we want them, there is a charge. I tell her that is crazy considering what we just paid for this room.

The view from our hotel the morning after.

We change and head over to the casino. We need to gamble for an hour. We laugh as we get our preferred cards. We head for a bank of slot machines. We are thirsty and ready to throw some cash in the machines. Naturally getting a server to come over to us takes forever. When she finally makes her way, she is very apologetic. We order our drinks. When she comes back I give her a five. She smiles and says she will be sure to stop back soon for refills.

I suck down my whiskey and diet in record time. I knew it was going to take about three or four just to get a buzz going. Just as promised, our server comes back. She informs us that her shift is ending but will get us each two drinks a piece and introduce us to the gentlemen who will be our server for the rest of the evening. I start feeling woozy. I ask Michelle how she feels. She says she is woozy too.

"Maybe the alcohol is stronger in the South" she proclaims. I think she may be on to something. Our waitress brings us our drinks and as promised our new server. He is a cute Latino guy whom looks like he could have been a member of the 80's boy band Menudo. In fact, I think Michelle mentions that. She takes an instant liking to him. I tell her if she wants me to get lost for a few hours I'll go play Keeno with the other old people in the Keeno lounge. She laughs and says she is not going to do that. She just thinks he is cute and wants to chat him up.

She asks our waiter if the alcohol is stronger in the South. He laughs and says it isn't stronger, the bartenders in Naw'leans are just more generous when pouring the drinks than the rest of the country. He's right. My whiskey only has a splash of soda in it. Guess the more drunk you become, the more money you spend. His friend the janitor man was also now involved in the conversation. Everyone in New Orleans was so friendly.

Our janitor friend!

After playing the slots and making new friends for a little while, exhaustion hits me hard. I just wanted sleep. That beautiful fluffy bed in my hotel room was beckoning for me to come lay in it's arms. Golden slumbers awaited me. By now it is 4 AM. We haven't had much sleep in the last 36 hours.
We begin our trek a few blocks to the hotel. It is a little after four in the morning in the #2 most dangerous city in the country yet Michelle and I are roaming about without a care in the world. I ask her if she realizes what we are doing. She laughs and says she is over 6 feet tall. No one is going to mess with either of us. Besides, there are cops visibly everywhere. Even cops on horses. Once we arrive in our hotel room, we both collapse into our respective beds. It's lights out. I do not stir for 6 hours. It was some of the best sleep of my life.

Around 10 AM the next morning the sun is shining through our room length window. I try lifting my head from the soft, goose down pillow. It feels like a boulder. My neck weakens and my head falls back into the soft pillow. I give myself a few minutes and decide it is best just to sit up completely. I am very groggy. I sway back in forth, my hands gripping the edges of the bed for balance. I look over at Michelle's bed. She is still out. I grab my clothes and head downstairs for a smoke and some coffee.

The beautiful ornate bar in the center of the lobby is serving Continental breakfast. Colorful juices, a variety of over sized muffins and picture perfect pastries are lined up on tables for the patrons. I walk over. There is a charge for Continental breakfast. I am pissed. We paid so much for that room and we could not even have a juice and a muffin? I head outside to have a cigarette noting next time I come to NOLA, I will not be staying at the Sheraton.

My negative thoughts are immediately dispelled the moment I step outside. The sky is pale blue and clear. The sun is radiating it's vitamin D for all who would like to absorb it. The weather is a gorgeous spring like 55 degrees. In a few months Pennsylvania would feel as springlike but I knew at this very moment, there were giants mounds of snow piled in every possible spot available due to several high accumulation snowfalls. I did NOT miss that.

I begin observing everything around me. A large scaffolding stage decorated in green, gold and purple drapery is being dismantled in front of the hotel. The men doing the work are chatting and laughing about the events of the past few days. Snapped, broken, green, gold and purple beaded necklaces hang from the scaffolding and chain link fence. There are some glistening and swimming in the murky water clogging the storm drains along with a variety of other trash. Business people are walking around gabbing on their cell phones, sipping coffee. One woman is even wearing sneakers with her business suit just like you would see in NYC. My phone buzzes. I look down. It is a text from my sister Alicia telling me to have a blast and to say hello to Brad and Angelina for her. I laugh. She is a nut.

As I look up from my phone there is a raggedy older man standing in front of me. He is holding a brown paper bag in his hand. (Wonder what is in there? Sarcasm.) His neck is hanging slightly forward because he has about 30 pairs of beads around his neck. These are premium beaded necklaces. Some are custom made. Some are very fancy. He asks me if he could have a cigarette. I oblige him. He starts talking about his beads.

His story goes like this. Every Mardi Gras, he comes to the festivities. Nice people like me will give him cigarettes. He can talk drunk people into buying him a beer or some food. Late, late at night, he walks around once the streets clear somewhat searching for treasures. He mainly collects beads. All the beads on his neck are either treasures he found lying in the street or tokens of drunken camaraderie given to him by the many inebriated party people throughout the night. He in turn sells these very beads to other people.

His eyes grow wide as he tells me of some of the other treasures he finds in the streets. He visits the pawn shops to trade those treasures in for cash. As I am putting out the butt of my cigarette and wishing him a nice day he offers me a set of beads for being so nice and listening to him. I tell him that is very sweet of him but he should try to get some cash for them. I have $3 dollars in my pocket. I tell him to buy food with it since he already seems to have alcohol in his brown paper bag. He excitedly tells me his is heading to Cafe Du Monde to get some beignets with my $3.

I suddenly get a strong sense of excitement. Beignets!! The whole reason for this trip. I get to have beignets!! I say my goodbye and run back into the hotel. Michelle is awake. We wash up, change, grab our bags, check out of this "charge you for everything" hotel and make our way to the casino parking lot to retrieve her car.

It's French Quarter Time!! I am more than excited. So is she! As we make our way to the quarter we take in the New Orleans decorum and architecture in the beautiful daytime sun. The buildings really do look like what you see on TV. The music video "Rag Doll" by Aerosmith comes to mind. Movies like "The Pelican Brief", "Live and Let Die" and "Double Jeopardy" do as well. So do all those Travel Channel programs I love watching. I finally take notice of all the palm trees around me.

Real live palm trees on Canal. 

So shabby chic and beautiful.

Parking is relatively cheap near the quarter. We find an open spot on one of the smaller streets in the French Quarter. This is my first encounter with a parking meter that takes credit. I love it! I slide my card through, chose the amount of time we wish to park and this little slip of paper rolls out of the machine to place on the dashboard of your car. Way easier than rooting for change in the abyss also know as my purse.

I believe it was fate that brought us to the parking spot. I say this because as we start walking down the sidewalk and turn the corner, I find myself completely stunned and speechless. As humans it is natural for us to connect with other humans. Some we gravitate towards on a much deeper level. And then there are those exceptional people we come across that are kindred spirits. When you connect with a kindred spirit on a platonic or romantic level, it is as if your very being becomes magnetic. The draw is undeniable. Kindred spirits will always find a way to one another.

Friendships pick up exactly where they left off even if it has been years in between meetings. Strangers become close friends within one conversation because they can communicate and connect as if they spent a lifetime as friends. Lovers can have the most trying of arguments, swear they will never speak to the other one ever again, go for what seems like an eternity without seeing one another, yet the magnetism of their attraction will draw them back together time and time again. Some people are just meant to be in each others lives. Some people are meant to cross your path and remain on that path.

I believe we can also have an affinity to places. Have you ever visited somewhere and found yourself overcome with this sense that you have been there before? Perhaps it was a dream? Perhaps another life? A spiritual connection from deep inside you pulses through your veins as you take in the view. You close your eyes and breath in the air. You can actually feel the energy emanating from your surroundings. It feels so natural, so familiar. It is as if you have arrived home after a prolonged absence. It's as if you have always belonged to that place. It was your place and it beckoned you home. This is how I felt about New Orleans.

As I turned the corner into Jackson Square I was overcome with feelings of ...it is so hard to describe. And for me to not be able to describe something is unusual. If there is one thing I am not usually at a loss for, it is definitely words. The best I can say is it was a mixture of excitement, euphoria, and nostalgia laced with an undertone of melancholy. I was elated, comfortable but also a little haunted. There is only one other place I have visited where I had felt such a powerful connection to my surroundings. It was Martha's Vineyard and even that paled in comparison.

It took me a moment to compose myself. I was not expecting this rush of emotion. I turn to Michelle, my face beaming. I am determined to experience The French Quarter right to it's core. I do this everywhere I travel. I try to experience as much root aka soul that constitutes my destination as I possibly can within my timeframe. You will see what I mean as the story goes on because I am aware of the fact that I am beginning to talk "Fess-speak" which can be very difficult to translate. Below are pictures of my first views of the French Quarter. They do not do it any justice. I need to invest in a serious camera.

The wisdom tree as I call it. It has witnessed at least 100 years worth of change and visitors to the French Quarter.

Beautiful Architecture- The Upper Pontalba Building

The Stunning St, Louis Cathedral

I was still wearing my winter boots because it was too chilly for my sandals.

What a cute little children's book!

Michelle and I are walking around absorbing our surroundings. There is so much to take in. It is more beautiful than either of us could have ever imagined. We turn another corner. Ahead of us is the Riverfront Park and the Mighty Mississippi. We head towards the park. There are so many people yet I do not feel at all crowded. I am overcome with peace and happiness. I can't help but think of the novelist Anne Rice everywhere I go. She had lived in New Orleans most of her life. I have read the first four books in her Vampire Chronicles. In "Interview With the Vampire" she touches on modern day New Orleans but goes into great detail describing 18th century New Orleans. Everywhere I look I close my eyes for a moment and try to picture what it may have looked like in the 18th century. My mind paints beautiful scenery. I truly am an old soul reincarnated.

We cross Decatur and follow St. Peter to the bank of the Mississippi River. I breath in the cool air breezing off the river. So this is the 2320 mile river that likes to flood its banks I think to myself. This is river that vertically divides almost the entire country in half. East Side/West Side. I note that if I were to cross this river, there would be no Tastykake Cupcakes on the other side. (It's a Pennsylvania thing.) It's an old river. It's seen many changes. At one time only rafts and canoes traveled along it's banks. Now diesel powered ships glide through it's waters. When I think of the Mississippi however, I think of steamboats equipped with fancy balconies lining each deck of the ship and big paddle-wheels calmly rolling through the water.

The view of the Mississippi River from the banks of the Riverfront Park in NOLA.

Ironically as this thought comes to mind I look to my right. There is an enormous steamboat sitting in port. It is the Steamboat Natchez and I am in love with it. I want so badly to take a ride on this steamboat. Riding in boats is one of my most favorite things. It is so incredibly relaxing and restorative mentally for me. There is something about gliding through water in the open air. It is rare you will find me sitting inside a boat. I am usually parked on the deck for the journey. The higher the better. Experiencing sunset on the deck of a boat sailing through the ocean is something everyone must do before they die. There is nothing like it. Unfortunately we did not have the time to ride the steamboat but I put it on my to-do list for my next visit to NOLA. I WILL be returning there. Hopefully many times.

The Lovely Steamboat Natchez that I plan to ride on my next visit to NOLA.

This probably the most beautiful mall I have ever seen. -Toulouse Street Wharf

We start walking along the bank towards Cafe du Monde. I am too excited to be hungry but I know if I don't eat I will get all shaky and dizzy and that is never fun. Besides, the beignets are what inspired this trip. I am reluctant to come down from the banks of the river though. We sit on a little green bench for a while. I just want to be near the water. I have not taken enough of it in. Michelle is talking to her daughter on her cell phone. I just sit quietly, staring at the water, the faint sound of a jazz band drifting through the air behind me.

I had been having mixed emotions concerning the down sizing of my job. I was laid off on December 1, two and a half months prior to my jaunt to the Big Easy. In one sense I looked at it as a great opportunity, but in another sense, it had been a blow to my self esteem. I had worked so hard to be relevant and valuable. I had spent a month training to become a technical support coach. Two weeks before my lay off, I had spent a week learning the technical aspects of our E-Commerce department so I could also coach reps in that department. I had abandoned my business degree to work towards a CIS degree. I had already taken 4 college courses to prepare myself for the technical side of my job. I had also completed two certification courses in php coding (which is like the calculus of the coding world) and effective web design. It was all for not. All that work and my pay off was a lay off.

On the banks of that river I was finally able to admit that I was bitter. I was angry. No, furious. I was absolutely furious. I could actually feel the tears start to well in my eyes. And as soon as those thoughts came to the surface, before the first tear could spill down my cheek, they were gone. I was finally able to face my true feelings instead of just telling everyone and myself I was "fine". I was not fine. However, I knew I would be. A great sense of relief washed over me. I deeply inhaled one more breath, turned to Michelle and told her I was ready.

As we were coming down the stairs from the riverbank there was a little plaza with a fountain. In the middle of the fountain was a colorful, metal sculpture of jazz musicians. My mind immediately drifted to Satchmo aka Louis Armstrong. "And I think to myself....what a wonderful world." The tears welled up again but this time they were good ones. I knew I was going to be okay. I walk towards the fountain to take my picture. I also like to throw change into fountains and make many wishes. As I look down to grab some change out of my purse to make a wish, I notice a five dollar bill at my feet. I pick it up and look around for it's owner but no one is around. Michelle is still at the foot of the stairs.

I think it is Satchmo letting me know good things happen when you least expect them to. They happen when you are least likely to look for them. They happen when you learn to let go and move forward. Michelle walks over. I show her my treasure. I will use this five dollars for my beignets. It only seems fitting. There are no coincidences. Everything happens for a reason. Life runs spherically. Everything comes to full circle eventually. 

Satchmo's Fountain...it is how I will always remember it.

We begin our trek to Cafe du Monde a few blocks over. You can actually smell the sweet, fried dough squares wafting through the air before you even see the restaurant. As you near the restaurant, it smells like a county fair. So Delicious. You could hear the chattering of people as the house band plays another rhythm and blues song. Finally you see the traditional green and white striped awning over the cafe. We are here. Not a moment too soon either since my stomach started rumbling the moment my nose caught wind of the sugary fried dough.

Michelle and I find an empty table along the Decatur Street side of the cafe. Dirty dishes are still laying there from the previous patrons but there are no other clear tables. I take notice that all of the servers and workers are Vietnamese. Reminds me of the Jersey Boards in the summer. Every summer there is a different nationality working in all the seaside resorts of Southern Jersey. Sometimes they are Irish. Sometimes they are Indian. The past few years they have all been Russian. I notice the menu is hanging on the side of the cafe. It is pretty simple and self explanatory.

Cafe du Monde hustle and bustle. 

The famous placard with a brief history of Cafe Du  Monde

My beignets...heaven on a little paper plate. 

The beginet was very filling. As much as I would like to eat another one while they were still fresh and warm, I do not want to risk a stomach ache. I put the other two beignets in the bag with my take out, pay the bill and leave a $3.00 tip. I gave that sassy woman almost 50%. I bid au revoir to Cafe du Monde. It is time to explore the French Quarter. We start on Decatur. There are so many interesting shops with very creative names on this street. Some of the wares they were selling were just as creative and interesting. Unfortunately all the alligator meat I find is way too expensive, and canned. Not to keen on canned meat. I grab my dad some shot glasses instead for his collection.

I sometimes call my dad crawdaddy.  LOL!

This store had some really neat stuff.

I would never do what these spices say to do. Punch my daddy and slap my momma? They would both kick my ass! LOL!

Jax Brewery on Decatur. 

As we continue walking down Decatur we come across one of the greatest ideas of all time...an adult slushie bar! Why should kids all have the fun? Michelle and I are more than happy to enter Big Easy Dacquiris to check out the flava! We check out the sizes too. We both have our sights set on the largest one, a 32 oz. beauty. I walk over to the gentleman manning the counter. I explain to him that I would really like to get a large slushie but am afraid of getting brain freeze trying to drink it all in here. Would the cops think we were drinking sodas or would they know they were alcohol slushies?

He gives me a strange look. I said the soda word again. He asks me where I am from. I tell him Pennsylvania. He then asks me if we have to hide alcohol on the streets of Pennsylvania. I tell him it is illegal to openly walk around in public drinking alcohol in Pennsylvania. He starts to laugh.

"Man, you guys need to learn how to party up in the North. What a shame. Here in Naw'leans the party never stops. You can take this drink with you baby and walk all over the place and the cops will not say a thing to you. Welcome to the party baby! What's your poison?"

I smile broadly. When in Naw'leans do as they would. Hell yeah! "I'll have the Hurricane since it originated right here in Naw'leans. Did I say Naw'leans right?"

He tells me I said it perfectly. I'm already a local. Man! The men are so damn charming down here! I may have to move here I mentally note to myself. I begin to giggle like a kid watching him pour my large Hurricane slushie. I order the extra shot of course. Why wouldn't I? Michelle chooses the classic Strawberry daiquiri. She is just as excited to try it. They taste incredible. And just as our friend the server from the casino stated last night, they are definitely generous with the spirits down here. We tip the man and head out into the streets with our enormous styrofoam cups of  loaded icy goodness. I feel like skipping and singing "God Bless America" but I compose myself and slurp away instead. I may have given myself brain freeze a few times but fuck it. It was worth it!

So many choices........

Isn't it so wonderful? I love this bar!!

We wonder back through Jackson Square making our way to the infamous Bourbon Street. As we are taking pics and enjoying the culture of the French Quarter, I hear a man playing a drum. I begin dancing. (I can't help it. Dancing is in my blood.) He sees me dancing and calls out to us. We walk over to the bench where he is sitting. I sit next to him and we strike up a conversation. He is an animated man with a booming, joyful voice. His aura is gold. He is definitely a good soul. He asks us where we are from. We tell him Pennsylvania. He says we are a long way from home however he has us beat. He is from Ghana. He came over to The States with his brother for work. His wife is still over in Ghana waiting for him to bring her over. He comes to the square on his days off from work and plays the drum to earn extra money to send to her. He is very sweet. There is a gentleness in his eyes and a softness in his voice as he tells us more about his family.

He asks me if I like the drums. I tell him it is my most favorite instrument because my father is a drummer. He lets out a hearty laugh, his face beaming. Drummers are the best people in the world he exclaims. He asks if I will dance if he plays me a song. I tell him I will gladly dance for him if he allows me to take his picture. He flashes his bright smile. He begins playing his song. I have a blast dancing in Jackson Square. Others join in. After his song, I tip him and give him a big kiss on the cheek. We tell him that we hope he and his wife are reunited soon. He thanks us, tells us to enjoy our time in New Orleans and wishes us safety. With that, we continue our trek to Bourbon.

The park in Jackson Square.

Our drummer friend in Jackson Square.

We are still in awe of the decor and architecture in this city. The Historic French Quarter has a shabby chic style mixed with ornate 17th and 18th century French architecture mixed with a splash of Colonial influence. Everything is vintage and resplendent. I look to the sky and give thanks that Katrina had spared the French Quarter. This area is inveterate. It cannot be replicated. The old bones are what make it so special.

Cute little Mardi Gras trees.

Finally! We are on Bourbon. Mardi Gras beads are still hanging from many of the street signs. I want to climb up and grab them but even Michelle cannot reach them.

The infamous Bourbon Street!

The corner of Orleans and Bourbon.

I would love to live here! I would sit on those balconies all day!

Bourbon Street is definitely hopping. Jazz and Zydeco music is thumping from the open doors and windows of all the bars, restaurants and shops.

Tropical Isle on Bourbon.

I enjoy carriage rides. Perhaps next visit I will take one.

After doing the tourist thing on Bourbon, we are starting to get hungry. We began our search for an awesome hole in the wall bar with some great Cajun/Creole cuisine. We found ourselves back on Decatur. There are two younger kids standing outside the Walgreen's tap dancing while a crowd of admirers check out their moves. Somehow I end up being a street performer.

I talk about it here.


After displaying my mad skills as a tap dancer, we made our way around Krazy Korner and spot a bar that looks really cool. We walk in to check it out. Unfortunately they do not serve food til after 4PM but we get a kick out of what is written on their drink special sign. We find ourselves on St. Peters Street. I see the word crawfish outside of a bar and am instantly drawn to it. Michelle is looking for a really good burger. We decide to go in and check out the menu. Yo Mama's turns out to be a great choice.

Drink specials for all the cheap bastards! Nice!

Cool Mardi Gras Decor on St. Peters Street.

And the band played on......

There are so many things I will take away from this road trip. I got to experience one of the most beautiful and coolest cities on the planet. I delved into and experienced the root of this ethereal, mystical place. I wouldn't have had it any other way. In the brief time I was here, I connected with this city heart, mind and soul. This city belonged to me. I belonged to this city. We are kindred spirits, old souls. We know how to have a damned good time. We appreciate all the little things life presents to us. We do not judge. We wear our heart and our scars on our sleeves. We have weathered many storms. We have many more yet to be weathered. Somehow I think we will both stand the test of time.

New Orleans will always hold a special place in my heart. I thank her for pulling me from the depths of the woes I was experiencing at that time and lifting my spirits so very high. Upon returning from my trip a friend of mine told me I was the definition of life. It was one of the best compliments I have ever received. I told him my eyes are wide open. I will not allow it to pass me by anymore. I only have this moment. None of us are promised another tomorrow. I tell him about a quote by Oscar Wilde that struck me pretty deep. A quote I hold close to my heart. "To live is the rarest thing in the world. Most people exist. That is all." I do not want to just exist. I want to live. New Orleans is living.....

I take one more deep breath before we get into the car and head towards the Superdome. We drive through the city in the daylight. We pass Canal Street and the casino. We yell our goodbyes out the window. As we pass the Sheraton I may have flipped it off. I may have.... Up ahead we see the Superdome. It is home of the World Champion New Orleans Saints. I snap a few pictures. Michelle turns to me.

"Are you ready?" She asks.

"I was born ready." I reply. Florida here we come!



Chrissy