The original plan was to go down to New Orleans around late August or early September, but through one reason or another it didn't happen, so when December strolled around I found a good deal on hotel and air travel for the woman and I. Instead of a direct flight from New York to New Orleans, we flew out of Newark with a connecting flight in North Carolina, as per the package I signed up for. It would be my first time back on a plane since December 2011. The layover in North Carolina was only supposed to a brief be forty-five minutes, but due to a water leakage we didn't take off for about two hours. I really didn't mind the flight going down because I was able to see land and each hop was only an hour and thirty minutes at a clip; total of three hours in the air. It turned out for the better because we needed to kill some time before showing up to the hotel too early for check-in.
The weather was a surprising 55 degrees, in which we were hoping for some warmer weather as a break from the New York freezer. We stayed at an old fashioned hotel called Le Pavillon that was built back in 1907. Going inside the place was like stepping inside a museum of the Old South in terms of interior design and hospitality. The rooftop contained a great lounging area; complete with a heated swimming pool and jacuzzi. Too bad the weather couldn't be nicer to appreciate the lounge chairs, but the pool heated at 65 degrees made wintertime outdoor swimming very comfortable. Le Pavillon also had a fitness center, but most of the equipment is still stuck in the 1980's. I met a guy from Tennessee in the gym who informed me that the pool was heated, but he spent most of the other time telling me about places in New York that I should eat at, even though we were in New Orleans. According to him, he worked in New York for about ten years and comes back to visit with his family every now and then. After we got settled in we were hungry from having no real breakfast, so we found a small luncheonette around the corner from the hotel. In addition to ordering a bowl of gumbo, it was my first introduction to a New Orleans staple - The Po' Boy sandwich. I've heard the phrase many times before, but never understood what it contained. Basically its some form of fried seafood (oyster, shrimp, fish) on simple toasted white bread, dressed with lettuce, coleslaw, and tomato if desired. Most commonly, it appears fried oysters are used as the anchor, and naturally I didn't want any lettuce or tomato on mine.
Le Pavillon is only a few blocks away from Bourbon Street and the infamous French Quarter, and overall the town is quite small with many attractions within walking distance of eachother. There's also plenty of convenient streetcar(trolley) and bus lines under the RTA System to get people around. It's a bargain at only $1.25 per ride, and for only three bucks one can purchase an all-day pass to ride the bus and streetcars as much as they want in a 24-hour period. Most (if not all) of the streetcars are vintage and still in operation from when they first hit the rails back in the 1920's/30's. Cabs are also available and frequently on the streets in search of fares. They're reasonably priced - unlike the twenty-dollar charge for going two feet in a yellow NYC cab. Speaking of which, the manner in which many New Yorkers have never been to the Statue of Liberty or Times Square, many true New Orleanians never really go to "Bourbon Street". It's seen as a tourist trap and sells itself as a party-atmosphere with its blocks of bars, novelty shops, and stripclubs. People are allowed to walk around with alcoholic beverages, as long as its in a cup and not in a (glass) bottle or some type of glass mug. Even on a non-discript Monday afternoon when he were there we saw the bars were starting to percolate with their live bands and low-price drink offers. A popular novelty drink is the Hand Grenade with is an unknown mixed of liquors served in a long plastic green tube. As one of the locals told us, many times when someone is arrested by police its a case of someone who drank too many Hand Grenades. Those stretch of blocks are the center of the Mardi Gras partying scene with the beads and women lifting their tops that occurs around February each year. While we didn't see women lifting their tops, we did notice the old French architecture still alive in the buildings and homes in the area with his rows and rows of balconies that these women usually flash onlookers from. The fact Louisiana spent time under Spanish and French rule gives's the French Quarter a unique European flavor that probably can't be found anywhere else in America.
After an afternoon of walking our appetites did build up and we stopped into a quiet place that had $3 cocktail specials and ordered up a dozen wings to go with them. Naturally the bars have age restrictions to keep people under twenty-one out, but not only for alcohol reasons, I noticed many bars also have video gambling machines inside. Going back to the 1930's the underworld crime figures of the day in New Orleans kept slot machines and various other gaming items inside most bars and stores as a normal stream of revenue. As the decades went on most other cities eradicated the practice, highlighted by the image of New York City Mayor LaGuardia dumping machines into the East River, but it appears the practice never ceased in New Orleans. She actually knew two people who lived down there and later that night we met up with one of them with his group of friends to all go walking around together. We mainly stayed in the French Quarter, but visited the local spots on the outskirts rather than the touristy places on Bourbon St. The gorup was able to give us some valuable tips and where or where not to go, plus what we should do with our time down there. As the night went on we saw more of more crowds built up, but it was still a slow Monday night and nothing even close to the amount of frenzy that sparks when its Mardi Gras. Before the night was done I did manage to sample a Hand Grenade and was able to understand why a few of them could make a person act immortal.
The following morning I walked around a little by myself in search of a cup of coffee and it took a while before I was able to find one. I'm used to seeing coffee available every five feet in New York with Dunkin Donuts, Starbucks, 7-11, McDonald's, and the ten million deli stores, but in 'Nawlins coffee isn't part of the culture. It goes along with the laid back style that's quite evident among the people there, along with the friendliness. As I was walking many strangers would say "hello" or "good morning", even panhandlers and beggers were kind in their response if you didn't give them any money. There is a subculture down there of young people who like to live on the streets or squat in vacant buildings. They're easily identifiable with their grimy appearance, pitbulls, and large bags they carry around all day. Most seem to be drug users, but its not a case that all of them are poor necessarily. Alot of them carry credit cards supplied by their wealthy families, and for some reason they yearn for a tough life on the streets - playing an instrument and living in filth. For lunch we agreed to meet up with the group from the night before and they took us to a place outside of the main area called the Rum House. It's a fairly new place compared to the long list of old eateries in New Orleans and its biggest hook for midday business is their Taco Tuesdays - any taco is just two dollars during lunch. Afterwards we checked out a string of vintage clothing and antiques stores which lined up on Magazine St.
We parted ways from the group when various people had to go home and took the streetcar back towards our hotel. Before leaving one of them told us to stop by a place called Luke's that was right near Le Pavillon and had $1 oysters and half-priced drinks before 7pm. The oysters weren't anything special, as what could be expected anywhere for "happy hour oysters", but their drinks were definitely of high-quality. After a short rest, we were back at it to meet the second person she knew in town at a place called Tonique. They too specialize in their cocktails, but at a whole other level. They had the most extensive drink menu I ever recall seeing, but funny enough it was a basic vanilla soda made from scratch that I enjoyed the most. As we were told by the friend, more and more people have learned about Tonique and it has begun to lose some of that charm of being an unknown spot that only a lucky few have the privilege of hanging out at. She said it would've been so crowded on the weekend that we would've never been able to sit down and enjoy ourselves - which is part of the reason I wanted to see New Orleans without the big Mardi Gras crowds and weekend hoopla.
By this time the tacos and oysters were wearing off and we wanted to get something for dinner. The friend told us about a place on the other side of the Quarter that was very low-key and inexpensive, so the three of us headed over there. It was called Coop's Place and its a very rustic and Cajun atmosphere complete with wooden chairs, loud music, and a sassy waitress with tattoos handling all the tables by herself. One of their specialties is their alligator tail appetizer, which we ordered up. Apparently, the tail of the alligator is really the only part that people eat, the rest must be unedible for whatever reason. The tail is chopped up into tiny pieces and fried in batter like chicken nuggets. I was given the typical phrase, "It tastes like chicken", so I took the plunge, and indeed it does taste like chicken. Actually, I found it to taste more like very tough dark turkey meat. The taste wasn't anything amazing that would sway me either way, so I only tried a few of the "nuggets". My main dish was a mega combo of chicken, rice and beans, and jambalaya (another Cajun New Orleans specialty). I received a bit of a scare when I went to pay for the check - my credit card was missing. I called Tonique and luckily it turns out I left my card there, the bartender knew who I was right away. So after leaving Coop's Place we had to walk all the way back over to Tonique to get my card back. The one good benefit of the New Orleans structure was all the walking we were doing to compensate for all the eating. As a lifestyle down there it seems all people do is eat and eat and eat. I think the only gym I saw in my time there was the old 80's equipment in the fitness center of Le Pavillon. The only progressive form of exercise I saw were the various yoga outlets. Perhaps its all the walking that keeps people from getting too heavy.
With that in mind, the second friend recommended we have breakfast the next morning at a restaurant called The Ruby Slipper. The place stays open until only 2pm during the week and serves breakfast, brunch, and lunch. I had the French Toast with rum-soaked bananas pieces and bacon that was absolutely drowned in syrup. Day Three to was planned out to be museum day, with a little oyster stop in the middle. With the calorie atomic bomb of The Ruby Slipper on our stomachs, we decided to walk to our first stop of the National World War II Museum. Its quite a big compound in itself with several different building and theaters, but for the basic admission we were going into the Louisiana Memorial Pavilion and Boeing Building. The neat thing about the museum that in addition to all the old war materials, weapons, and vehicles, there's actual WWII vets on hand you can ask questions to. It appears they volunteer their time there or something to help pass the hours of the day. When we entered one of them told me where to go to get the best pictures of the large airplanes that were hanging from the ceiling. The whole experience covers everything from soldiers going off to war to how it effected people at home. One room contains original war posters; not only propaganda against the enemy, but warnings to soldiers to keep tight-lipped about ship movements and for workers at home to not get lazy and keep producing materials in the factories for the war effort. The exhibit splits up the war into the European and Pacific theaters. From the sense I got there was much more hatred and animosity against Japan than there was for Germany. Of course, even without the attack on Pearl Harbor, America in the 1940's wasn't too kind to people that looked physically different, but with that sneak attack and the war in general, the negative racial propaganda was multiplied by a hundred. The museum didn't pull any punches; displaying graphic images that occurred both sides of the Pacific conflict that appeared much more brutal than the fighting in Europe.
We could've spent some more time there, but we were running up against the clock with Casamento's closing at 3pm. As with the Ruby Slipper and many other restaurants in New Orleans during the week they close rather early - about 2-3pm. On weekends alot of them may re-open at 5:30pm and then close again about 9pm. It's a work schedule seen in many European countries like Spain or Italy. Even the high-end restaurants in New Orleans are usually done by 10pm, the latest. It's quite a change of pace from New York and having the ability to get any food at almost any hour of the day. The trade off for that are the bars which have no formal closing time mandated and are a result of how the crowds are. For instance, in Boston the bars have to be closed by 2am and in New York its usually 4am. In New Orleans, if its 4am or even 5am and enough people are still there drinking to make it worthwhile, then they'll keep serving drinks until the sun rises and then some. Casamento's was too far to walk so we waited for the No. 11 bus that does the Magazine Street route. The place first opened back in 1919 and stepping inside it looks like not much has changed over the years. They're specialty are their oysters, which we found meaty and of the best quality while we were in New Orleans. They also serve pasta and po-boy sandwiches by the half or whole; I took a half to go with the oysters. It's a cash only establishment, but there's an ATM machine inside for those who go in without knowing that, like me. From people we spoke to they mentioned Casamento's as a place we could've leave New Orleans without knowing about and it turns out they were right.
There were more museums we planned to see that day, but the hours snuck up on us faster than we anticipated, so we just took the No. 11 back towards the hotel and went our separate ways for a bit. While she visited a bookstore and did some shopping, I did a little digging with my interest in the JFK Assassination (and conspiracy theory). Near our hotel was the corner of Camp and Lafayette Streets, which features nothing more than a wooden telephone poll with the street signs in 2013. Back in the early 1960's before JFK was allegedly killed by Lee Harvey Oswald, this corner served more significance. The building that stood there and had the unique feature of being both 544 Camp St. and 531 Lafayette Street, depending which entrance was used since it was on a street corner. 531 Lafayette served as the office address for Lee Harvey Oswald's Pro-Communist/Pro-Castro 'Hand's Off Cuba Committee' as found stamped on leaflets he handed out. In the very same building, but technically listed as 544 Camp St. was the office of Guy Bannister's Private Eye agency. Guy Bannister was a former Naval Intelligence officer and spent years at the head of the Chicago FBI office. After he retired to New Orleans he opened the private eye firm, but many conspiracy enthusiasts believe he never truly retired from government work and the P.I. firm was nothing more than a cover job, and in fact he was Oswald's "handler". The belief being Oswald wasn't a true communist as advertised, but instead was an agent himself creating that image under Bannister's intelligence tutelage as a method to infiltrate real communist groups later on. Oswald's "later on", without him realizing it until it was too late, would turn out being the patsy of taking the blame as the President's lone assassin once he was relocated to Dallas.With Bannister's background in Naval Intelligence and the FBI, many feel it can't be a coincidence those two had offices in the same building. This became one of the red flags back in 1968 when New Orleans District Attorney Jim Garrison started to investigate a New Orleans connection to a conspiracy, made famous by the 1991 film "JFK". Guy Bannister died in 1964, about eight months after JFK was shot, from "natural causes" at the age of 63, so Garrison wasn't able to uncover much more from that connection. The old corner building with the duel address appears to have been torn down since that time and the property is now in the hands of the Federal Government, serving as the Court of Appeals with its intriguing past conveniently swept under the rug. (For more insight on the JFK Conspiracy, feel free to check out my analysis I wrote back in 2012 titled "On What Probably Happened" found at this URL link http://zeissitworld.blogspot.com/2012/03/on-what-probably-happened.html)
After I picked up that little piece of information my focus went back to my stomach, so I took a stroll over towards the Mississippi River and the infamous Cafe Du Monde. It's a dessert place and all they serve is coffee and beignets. A beignet is a French treat and New Orleans staple - a ball of fried dough with powdered sugar on top, just like an Italian zeppole. I met up with her afterwards and we headed back to the hotel for a rest, but knowing many of the restaurants would be closing soon, we couldn't wait too long until heading back out in search of dinner. On the way towards the Mississippi River a few hours beforehand, I passed a local spot called Mother's Restaurant that seemed nice, but she wasn't thrilled with the menu so we only ordered some soups. I had a crawfish gumbo which was amazing, and she had a standard shrimp gumbo. We then went around looking for another place that had more entree options, but it was nearly 10pm by this time and most of the restaurants had stopped serving customers. This was one of the biggest impact moments of realizing we weren't in New York anymore. We had to settle for the free peanut butter and jelly sandwiches they give out to guests at Le Pavillon. As a tradition that begun in 1988, the hotel provides free sandwiches and hot chocolate to their guests every night at 10pm. The legend goes that back in 1988 a hotel guest wasn't able to get home to his daughter one night, and as a result wasn't able to have peanut butter & jelly sandwiches with hot coco with her as was their norm. A kitchen staff member overheard the predicament and offered to make the sandwich for the guest as a way to lift his spirits. It became such a feelgood story that Le Pavillon decided to keep offering the sandwiches for free each night to their guests and its been going strong since 1988. There's a whole assortment of different breads, peanut butters, and jellies to choose from and guests can design their own sandwich - I just took creamy peanut butter on whole-wheat. For the hot chocolate there's a big bowl of whipped cream and marshmallows to dress up the hot coco with. So for that night, technically, my dinner was a free peanut butter sandwich.
The second friend who showed us Tonique and Coop's Place was supposed to drive us out to the bajou for our final day, but a last minute job interview (that ended up getting cancelled) and a sick boyfriend stopped those plans in their tracks. The silver lining with that was it then gave us the opportunity to catch the rest of the museums we missed the day before. For a quick breakfast we headed over to the Streetcar Cafe and the lady behind the counter immediately informed us they barely have anything to serve until their delivery truck shows up. I kept it simple with a bowl of grits, but it seemed this lady put half a stick of butter in the grits. I had to use my spoon to get all the fatty yellows oils out before finally digging in. Before arriving in New Orleans I did want to see at least one of their world-renown cemeteries, so taking everything into consideration we selected the nearby Saint Louis Cemetery #1 (there's two other St. Louis'). It was within walking distance and the popular folklore is that its the final resting place of Marie Laveau, who was a famous Voodoo practitioner in the 1800's and popular celebrity, so to speak, in the French Quarter. The mystery surrounding her grave that she is believed to have been buried in the Paris Family gravesite, while others believe her remains are in other unmarked graves in the cemetery. Nobody seems to know for sure, which makes it very mystical and very entertaining. The cemetery is on the surrounding streets of Saint Louis, North Rampart, and Treme, guessing where they got the name for the current show on HBO about New Orleans of the same name. It's not a big cemetery at all, but some of the graves go back to the 1700's and unlike most other cemeteries, the remains are "buried" above ground. Some people believe that's because of the closeness to the Mississippi River and water that would be underground, but the real reason had to do with the years the land was under Spanish and French influence. As was customs in those countries, people weren't buried underground, but instead were interred in crypts and mausoleums, so they just kept those traditions going in the New Land. Even when Louisiana officially became part of the United States, those old customs were so ingrained in the culture that they remained the burial norm.
Most of the old crypts and ovens, as they're referred to, are in very bad shape and those without any family support seem on the brink of total collapse. Back in 1977 the Archdiocese of the New Orleans Catholic Church stepped in and led a movement of maintenance and repair for these final resting places. The graves marked with a plaque labelled "Perpetual Care" are taken care of, the rest have been left to wither way with each passing year. Most the damaged graves don't even have a name on them anymore, while some others are only marked with a number and no other identification. Early on in our visit I was surprised as some of the offbeat items found in the cemetery, such as a random shopping cart or a key that was carefully placed on a crypt. We weren't able to find the Paris Family mausoleum that is the most regarded resting place of Marie Leveau, but we did find a crypt that was unmarked and seemingly must have been of some significance because it was covered in all sorts of offerings and XXX marks scratched into the sides. Part of the folklore is that if you scratch a XXX mark into the grave then Marie Leveau would grant you a wish or favor, as well as if you left an offering. There were offerings of coins, dollar bills, cigars, candy, jewelry, and plenty of XXX marks all over the crypt. Whether that's Marie Leveau's gravesite or not will probably never be known, but alot of people seem to think so. The other two Saint Louis Cemeteries weren't far away, but we figured that was enough grave action for one day and wanted to get at some of those museums. The first was the Civil War Museum, located a short block away from the World War II museum we visited a day before. The Civil War Museum used to be called the Confederate Museum, but as a result of the times of political correctness we live in, or perhaps a motivated councilman, the name was changed to the Civil War Museum. Once inside its clearly focused on the Confederates and they still have their old sign laying down in the basement outside the men's bathroom. There's no picture taking allowed inside (though I snuck one of the old sign) and its a very short, but very interesting exhibit of old uniforms and weaponry. It's a bargain at eight dollars admission and the whole thing is done in about an hour.
Right next door to that is the Odgen Museum, which is five floors of modern works of art such as paintings and sculptures. It just happens in that week a well-known artist passed away and in recognition of him, the museum granted free admission. We spent about two hours in that one before taking a walk over to Cochon, a popular Cajun restaurant with neighboring sandwich shop. We elected for the restaurant and shared plates of ribs and grilled oysters (garlic parmesan cheese sprinkled over a grilled oysters). Even though that friend wasn't able to take us to the bajou during the day, that night we were to meet up with her at an old church that's more recently being used as a concert hall, to watch a local musician she knows play. Getting there we had to take three different streetcars and walk a stretch of lonely industrial blocks that got a little creepy, but we made it there in one piece. Afterwards we all went out together that final night to a local bar that served lamb and steak plates that turned out to be some of the most surprisingly best food we had while in town. The streetcar we needed to get back stopped running by 10:30pm, so we had to take a cab back to Le Pavillon and start packing for our early flight back to New York. There's were other things we wanted to see in New Orleans, such as the old plantations and the bajou, but for the time we were there we managed to experience alot!! We told the hotel the night before to have a cab ready to go by 5:30am, but when we got down to check-out the guy behind the counter was asleep and there was no car out front. The way the cab reservation worked was the guy sprinted out to the front of the hotel and let out a sharp whistle that half of New Orleans must have heard once he spotted a cab coming down the block. There's alot of oil drilling which occurs down in the Gulf Region, and as we approached the airport in the darkness of the morning hours, in the background I was able to see an oil rig of some sort shooting flames of fire high into the air. With the angle I was looking at this it gave the illusion a plane had crashed onto the runway and was in flames. Once we were inside the terminal there weren't any news flashes or cancellations, so I figured it must have been an oil rig, but the imagery itself got the return trip going on the wrong foot.
The reason I didn't mind the trip going down too much was that I was able to see the ground, but on our first hop up to North Carolina there was nothing but thick clouds under us. It looked like we were flying over Antarctica and frequently we would fly into clouds ourselves and the plane would have a good shake. When there weren't as many clouds and I was able to see some ground again, I was greeted by another plane that flew right by us - going in the opposite direction a few thousand feet under our path. Still, I was always under the impression these flight paths weren't even supposed to come within sight of eachother, meanwhile this plane was so close I was able to read the US Airways off the side. I saw other planes on the way down, but they were so far in distance from eachother that I thought nothing of it; this one had me wondering if someone was asleep in the air traffic control room. With the fires, clouds, head-on collision planes, turbulence, and the fact I had taken three plane rides in one week after none in two years, I told myself if I could make it to North Carolina then I'll just take a bus the rest of the way to New York. It would be a case of ninety minutes of terror versus ten hours of boredom. Since it would be the world's longest ninety minutes for me, I picked the bus as to not break my self-promise. We went out separate ways at the North Carolina airport as she caught the connecting flight back to Newark and I found a Charlotte airport bus line that would drop me off a block away from the North Carolina Greyhound Bus Station. Luckily, there was room on the bus for that day, but I had to wait six hours before it was scheduled to leave for New York. I caught up with the Ms. Pac-Man /Galaxy arcade unit I played with when I visited the bus station back in August on my way to Memphis. To this day, there's something about the calibration of the joystick on that machine that allows me to perform the best there than on any other Pac-Man arcade I ever played on. With many more hours to kill, I figured I would use the opportunity to walk through Charlotte and get to know a place I would probably otherwise never have a reason of visiting.
My initial impression wasn't too great as there was nothing for blocks and blocks, except parking garages. In the distance I could see buildings and other construction jobs underway as a rapid method to develop the small city even further, but I never got a sense I was in a real city-city. It wasn't until I got a few more blocks inward that I began seeing normal city things like banks and restaurants, and not just more parking garages. The greyhound bus rides, especially those long trips like ten hours, usually result in meals made up of granola bars and peanuts. I wanted to make sure I had a full meal in my stomach before the trip got underway. I came upon a pizza and pasta joint called Vapiano that looked intriguing enough from the front to go inside. When I entered there was a cashier girl who asked if I ever been there before, I said no. She handed me a food card and explained how the place works. Basically, you go to the food station or bar you want to get something from, and they hand you the food/drink after swiping the card. Then at the very end when you're done, you simply go to the cashier and pay for the total charges on the card. They have a similar workflow at Katz Deli in NYC. They cook the food right in front of you so everything is nice and fresh. I had the ravioli with a glass of sangria, and then afterwards a cup of coffee at the bar. There were some great-looking slices of cheesecake also at the bar behind a display case, but I had to put on the brakes there based on all the binge-eating I performed in New Orleans. Obviously, it would've been nice to be home already by that time, but usually when things don't go as planned, that's when I tend to uncover little gems, such as places like Vapiano.
I recognized the bus driver right away, she was the maniac I had on my way down to Virginia back in August when I was going to Memphis. Because of her, a near riot almost started at the New York Port Authority and I ended up missing my connecting bus to Charlotte. It was a chaotic scenario in which she was lining people up and forgetting why she was doing it in the first place. Then she started picking arguments with riders and was shouting back and forth. Eventually a few police officers had some stand by to make sure nothing got out of hand. This time around in December the boarding process was much smoother, but the burly bus driver managed to act condescending towards an elderly woman who spoke no English and was taking up the seat next to her with a thick quilt. My last bus ride was very tough with an obese rancid smelling individual as my neighbor, this time around was a step down from that initially. Not as obese and not as smelly, but his clothes were dirty and it didn't seem he showered in a while. He was around my age and had no luggage, but I didn't think he was totally homeless. There must be something with these stinky riders that they spend a few nights marooned in a town until they can collect enough money to buy a bus ticket to get to another town. Luckily, when we stopped for a layover in Virginia, the guy took an empty seat towards the front of the bus and I was able to get a new riding buddy. This time it was a thin person with a long black trench coat and he had his hair in a ponytail. He too was about my age, maybe a few years younger, but he was definitely clean, which was a nice change of pace. Every couple of hours he would take out an orange to eat and the scent would add a sense of pleasantry to the dank air inside the bus.
There was one wacko on the bus that made his presence known in the middle of the night when everyone was trying to catch a few winks of sleep. I saw him in Charlotte at the bus station and he looked a little off-keel. Basically he would yell out and curse for no reason, but it wasn't a case of tourette syndrome in my judgement. It was as if he woke up from a dream or was angry he couldn't fall asleep. The rest of the ride he was as quiet as a church mouse, it was only when he wanted to doze off that his anger spurred. He punched the back of the chair in front of him a few times, and amazingly none of the other riders said anything back to him. It got to the point the bus driver had to pull over to the side of the road and turn the lights on; she asked if anyone was having a problem. Nobody said a word, so the driver put the bus back into motion. I found it quite humorous, whatever his problem was, and was overjoyed with not having someone that didn't smell terrible next to me.
Once in a while you gotta stop and appreciate the smell of oranges.....
New Orleans
The weather was a surprising 55 degrees, in which we were hoping for some warmer weather as a break from the New York freezer. We stayed at an old fashioned hotel called Le Pavillon that was built back in 1907. Going inside the place was like stepping inside a museum of the Old South in terms of interior design and hospitality. The rooftop contained a great lounging area; complete with a heated swimming pool and jacuzzi. Too bad the weather couldn't be nicer to appreciate the lounge chairs, but the pool heated at 65 degrees made wintertime outdoor swimming very comfortable. Le Pavillon also had a fitness center, but most of the equipment is still stuck in the 1980's. I met a guy from Tennessee in the gym who informed me that the pool was heated, but he spent most of the other time telling me about places in New York that I should eat at, even though we were in New Orleans. According to him, he worked in New York for about ten years and comes back to visit with his family every now and then. After we got settled in we were hungry from having no real breakfast, so we found a small luncheonette around the corner from the hotel. In addition to ordering a bowl of gumbo, it was my first introduction to a New Orleans staple - The Po' Boy sandwich. I've heard the phrase many times before, but never understood what it contained. Basically its some form of fried seafood (oyster, shrimp, fish) on simple toasted white bread, dressed with lettuce, coleslaw, and tomato if desired. Most commonly, it appears fried oysters are used as the anchor, and naturally I didn't want any lettuce or tomato on mine.
Le Pavillon is only a few blocks away from Bourbon Street and the infamous French Quarter, and overall the town is quite small with many attractions within walking distance of eachother. There's also plenty of convenient streetcar(trolley) and bus lines under the RTA System to get people around. It's a bargain at only $1.25 per ride, and for only three bucks one can purchase an all-day pass to ride the bus and streetcars as much as they want in a 24-hour period. Most (if not all) of the streetcars are vintage and still in operation from when they first hit the rails back in the 1920's/30's. Cabs are also available and frequently on the streets in search of fares. They're reasonably priced - unlike the twenty-dollar charge for going two feet in a yellow NYC cab. Speaking of which, the manner in which many New Yorkers have never been to the Statue of Liberty or Times Square, many true New Orleanians never really go to "Bourbon Street". It's seen as a tourist trap and sells itself as a party-atmosphere with its blocks of bars, novelty shops, and stripclubs. People are allowed to walk around with alcoholic beverages, as long as its in a cup and not in a (glass) bottle or some type of glass mug. Even on a non-discript Monday afternoon when he were there we saw the bars were starting to percolate with their live bands and low-price drink offers. A popular novelty drink is the Hand Grenade with is an unknown mixed of liquors served in a long plastic green tube. As one of the locals told us, many times when someone is arrested by police its a case of someone who drank too many Hand Grenades. Those stretch of blocks are the center of the Mardi Gras partying scene with the beads and women lifting their tops that occurs around February each year. While we didn't see women lifting their tops, we did notice the old French architecture still alive in the buildings and homes in the area with his rows and rows of balconies that these women usually flash onlookers from. The fact Louisiana spent time under Spanish and French rule gives's the French Quarter a unique European flavor that probably can't be found anywhere else in America.
After an afternoon of walking our appetites did build up and we stopped into a quiet place that had $3 cocktail specials and ordered up a dozen wings to go with them. Naturally the bars have age restrictions to keep people under twenty-one out, but not only for alcohol reasons, I noticed many bars also have video gambling machines inside. Going back to the 1930's the underworld crime figures of the day in New Orleans kept slot machines and various other gaming items inside most bars and stores as a normal stream of revenue. As the decades went on most other cities eradicated the practice, highlighted by the image of New York City Mayor LaGuardia dumping machines into the East River, but it appears the practice never ceased in New Orleans. She actually knew two people who lived down there and later that night we met up with one of them with his group of friends to all go walking around together. We mainly stayed in the French Quarter, but visited the local spots on the outskirts rather than the touristy places on Bourbon St. The gorup was able to give us some valuable tips and where or where not to go, plus what we should do with our time down there. As the night went on we saw more of more crowds built up, but it was still a slow Monday night and nothing even close to the amount of frenzy that sparks when its Mardi Gras. Before the night was done I did manage to sample a Hand Grenade and was able to understand why a few of them could make a person act immortal.
The following morning I walked around a little by myself in search of a cup of coffee and it took a while before I was able to find one. I'm used to seeing coffee available every five feet in New York with Dunkin Donuts, Starbucks, 7-11, McDonald's, and the ten million deli stores, but in 'Nawlins coffee isn't part of the culture. It goes along with the laid back style that's quite evident among the people there, along with the friendliness. As I was walking many strangers would say "hello" or "good morning", even panhandlers and beggers were kind in their response if you didn't give them any money. There is a subculture down there of young people who like to live on the streets or squat in vacant buildings. They're easily identifiable with their grimy appearance, pitbulls, and large bags they carry around all day. Most seem to be drug users, but its not a case that all of them are poor necessarily. Alot of them carry credit cards supplied by their wealthy families, and for some reason they yearn for a tough life on the streets - playing an instrument and living in filth. For lunch we agreed to meet up with the group from the night before and they took us to a place outside of the main area called the Rum House. It's a fairly new place compared to the long list of old eateries in New Orleans and its biggest hook for midday business is their Taco Tuesdays - any taco is just two dollars during lunch. Afterwards we checked out a string of vintage clothing and antiques stores which lined up on Magazine St.
We parted ways from the group when various people had to go home and took the streetcar back towards our hotel. Before leaving one of them told us to stop by a place called Luke's that was right near Le Pavillon and had $1 oysters and half-priced drinks before 7pm. The oysters weren't anything special, as what could be expected anywhere for "happy hour oysters", but their drinks were definitely of high-quality. After a short rest, we were back at it to meet the second person she knew in town at a place called Tonique. They too specialize in their cocktails, but at a whole other level. They had the most extensive drink menu I ever recall seeing, but funny enough it was a basic vanilla soda made from scratch that I enjoyed the most. As we were told by the friend, more and more people have learned about Tonique and it has begun to lose some of that charm of being an unknown spot that only a lucky few have the privilege of hanging out at. She said it would've been so crowded on the weekend that we would've never been able to sit down and enjoy ourselves - which is part of the reason I wanted to see New Orleans without the big Mardi Gras crowds and weekend hoopla.
By this time the tacos and oysters were wearing off and we wanted to get something for dinner. The friend told us about a place on the other side of the Quarter that was very low-key and inexpensive, so the three of us headed over there. It was called Coop's Place and its a very rustic and Cajun atmosphere complete with wooden chairs, loud music, and a sassy waitress with tattoos handling all the tables by herself. One of their specialties is their alligator tail appetizer, which we ordered up. Apparently, the tail of the alligator is really the only part that people eat, the rest must be unedible for whatever reason. The tail is chopped up into tiny pieces and fried in batter like chicken nuggets. I was given the typical phrase, "It tastes like chicken", so I took the plunge, and indeed it does taste like chicken. Actually, I found it to taste more like very tough dark turkey meat. The taste wasn't anything amazing that would sway me either way, so I only tried a few of the "nuggets". My main dish was a mega combo of chicken, rice and beans, and jambalaya (another Cajun New Orleans specialty). I received a bit of a scare when I went to pay for the check - my credit card was missing. I called Tonique and luckily it turns out I left my card there, the bartender knew who I was right away. So after leaving Coop's Place we had to walk all the way back over to Tonique to get my card back. The one good benefit of the New Orleans structure was all the walking we were doing to compensate for all the eating. As a lifestyle down there it seems all people do is eat and eat and eat. I think the only gym I saw in my time there was the old 80's equipment in the fitness center of Le Pavillon. The only progressive form of exercise I saw were the various yoga outlets. Perhaps its all the walking that keeps people from getting too heavy.
With that in mind, the second friend recommended we have breakfast the next morning at a restaurant called The Ruby Slipper. The place stays open until only 2pm during the week and serves breakfast, brunch, and lunch. I had the French Toast with rum-soaked bananas pieces and bacon that was absolutely drowned in syrup. Day Three to was planned out to be museum day, with a little oyster stop in the middle. With the calorie atomic bomb of The Ruby Slipper on our stomachs, we decided to walk to our first stop of the National World War II Museum. Its quite a big compound in itself with several different building and theaters, but for the basic admission we were going into the Louisiana Memorial Pavilion and Boeing Building. The neat thing about the museum that in addition to all the old war materials, weapons, and vehicles, there's actual WWII vets on hand you can ask questions to. It appears they volunteer their time there or something to help pass the hours of the day. When we entered one of them told me where to go to get the best pictures of the large airplanes that were hanging from the ceiling. The whole experience covers everything from soldiers going off to war to how it effected people at home. One room contains original war posters; not only propaganda against the enemy, but warnings to soldiers to keep tight-lipped about ship movements and for workers at home to not get lazy and keep producing materials in the factories for the war effort. The exhibit splits up the war into the European and Pacific theaters. From the sense I got there was much more hatred and animosity against Japan than there was for Germany. Of course, even without the attack on Pearl Harbor, America in the 1940's wasn't too kind to people that looked physically different, but with that sneak attack and the war in general, the negative racial propaganda was multiplied by a hundred. The museum didn't pull any punches; displaying graphic images that occurred both sides of the Pacific conflict that appeared much more brutal than the fighting in Europe.
We could've spent some more time there, but we were running up against the clock with Casamento's closing at 3pm. As with the Ruby Slipper and many other restaurants in New Orleans during the week they close rather early - about 2-3pm. On weekends alot of them may re-open at 5:30pm and then close again about 9pm. It's a work schedule seen in many European countries like Spain or Italy. Even the high-end restaurants in New Orleans are usually done by 10pm, the latest. It's quite a change of pace from New York and having the ability to get any food at almost any hour of the day. The trade off for that are the bars which have no formal closing time mandated and are a result of how the crowds are. For instance, in Boston the bars have to be closed by 2am and in New York its usually 4am. In New Orleans, if its 4am or even 5am and enough people are still there drinking to make it worthwhile, then they'll keep serving drinks until the sun rises and then some. Casamento's was too far to walk so we waited for the No. 11 bus that does the Magazine Street route. The place first opened back in 1919 and stepping inside it looks like not much has changed over the years. They're specialty are their oysters, which we found meaty and of the best quality while we were in New Orleans. They also serve pasta and po-boy sandwiches by the half or whole; I took a half to go with the oysters. It's a cash only establishment, but there's an ATM machine inside for those who go in without knowing that, like me. From people we spoke to they mentioned Casamento's as a place we could've leave New Orleans without knowing about and it turns out they were right.
There were more museums we planned to see that day, but the hours snuck up on us faster than we anticipated, so we just took the No. 11 back towards the hotel and went our separate ways for a bit. While she visited a bookstore and did some shopping, I did a little digging with my interest in the JFK Assassination (and conspiracy theory). Near our hotel was the corner of Camp and Lafayette Streets, which features nothing more than a wooden telephone poll with the street signs in 2013. Back in the early 1960's before JFK was allegedly killed by Lee Harvey Oswald, this corner served more significance. The building that stood there and had the unique feature of being both 544 Camp St. and 531 Lafayette Street, depending which entrance was used since it was on a street corner. 531 Lafayette served as the office address for Lee Harvey Oswald's Pro-Communist/Pro-Castro 'Hand's Off Cuba Committee' as found stamped on leaflets he handed out. In the very same building, but technically listed as 544 Camp St. was the office of Guy Bannister's Private Eye agency. Guy Bannister was a former Naval Intelligence officer and spent years at the head of the Chicago FBI office. After he retired to New Orleans he opened the private eye firm, but many conspiracy enthusiasts believe he never truly retired from government work and the P.I. firm was nothing more than a cover job, and in fact he was Oswald's "handler". The belief being Oswald wasn't a true communist as advertised, but instead was an agent himself creating that image under Bannister's intelligence tutelage as a method to infiltrate real communist groups later on. Oswald's "later on", without him realizing it until it was too late, would turn out being the patsy of taking the blame as the President's lone assassin once he was relocated to Dallas.With Bannister's background in Naval Intelligence and the FBI, many feel it can't be a coincidence those two had offices in the same building. This became one of the red flags back in 1968 when New Orleans District Attorney Jim Garrison started to investigate a New Orleans connection to a conspiracy, made famous by the 1991 film "JFK". Guy Bannister died in 1964, about eight months after JFK was shot, from "natural causes" at the age of 63, so Garrison wasn't able to uncover much more from that connection. The old corner building with the duel address appears to have been torn down since that time and the property is now in the hands of the Federal Government, serving as the Court of Appeals with its intriguing past conveniently swept under the rug. (For more insight on the JFK Conspiracy, feel free to check out my analysis I wrote back in 2012 titled "On What Probably Happened" found at this URL link http://zeissitworld.blogspot.com/2012/03/on-what-probably-happened.html)
After I picked up that little piece of information my focus went back to my stomach, so I took a stroll over towards the Mississippi River and the infamous Cafe Du Monde. It's a dessert place and all they serve is coffee and beignets. A beignet is a French treat and New Orleans staple - a ball of fried dough with powdered sugar on top, just like an Italian zeppole. I met up with her afterwards and we headed back to the hotel for a rest, but knowing many of the restaurants would be closing soon, we couldn't wait too long until heading back out in search of dinner. On the way towards the Mississippi River a few hours beforehand, I passed a local spot called Mother's Restaurant that seemed nice, but she wasn't thrilled with the menu so we only ordered some soups. I had a crawfish gumbo which was amazing, and she had a standard shrimp gumbo. We then went around looking for another place that had more entree options, but it was nearly 10pm by this time and most of the restaurants had stopped serving customers. This was one of the biggest impact moments of realizing we weren't in New York anymore. We had to settle for the free peanut butter and jelly sandwiches they give out to guests at Le Pavillon. As a tradition that begun in 1988, the hotel provides free sandwiches and hot chocolate to their guests every night at 10pm. The legend goes that back in 1988 a hotel guest wasn't able to get home to his daughter one night, and as a result wasn't able to have peanut butter & jelly sandwiches with hot coco with her as was their norm. A kitchen staff member overheard the predicament and offered to make the sandwich for the guest as a way to lift his spirits. It became such a feelgood story that Le Pavillon decided to keep offering the sandwiches for free each night to their guests and its been going strong since 1988. There's a whole assortment of different breads, peanut butters, and jellies to choose from and guests can design their own sandwich - I just took creamy peanut butter on whole-wheat. For the hot chocolate there's a big bowl of whipped cream and marshmallows to dress up the hot coco with. So for that night, technically, my dinner was a free peanut butter sandwich.
The second friend who showed us Tonique and Coop's Place was supposed to drive us out to the bajou for our final day, but a last minute job interview (that ended up getting cancelled) and a sick boyfriend stopped those plans in their tracks. The silver lining with that was it then gave us the opportunity to catch the rest of the museums we missed the day before. For a quick breakfast we headed over to the Streetcar Cafe and the lady behind the counter immediately informed us they barely have anything to serve until their delivery truck shows up. I kept it simple with a bowl of grits, but it seemed this lady put half a stick of butter in the grits. I had to use my spoon to get all the fatty yellows oils out before finally digging in. Before arriving in New Orleans I did want to see at least one of their world-renown cemeteries, so taking everything into consideration we selected the nearby Saint Louis Cemetery #1 (there's two other St. Louis'). It was within walking distance and the popular folklore is that its the final resting place of Marie Laveau, who was a famous Voodoo practitioner in the 1800's and popular celebrity, so to speak, in the French Quarter. The mystery surrounding her grave that she is believed to have been buried in the Paris Family gravesite, while others believe her remains are in other unmarked graves in the cemetery. Nobody seems to know for sure, which makes it very mystical and very entertaining. The cemetery is on the surrounding streets of Saint Louis, North Rampart, and Treme, guessing where they got the name for the current show on HBO about New Orleans of the same name. It's not a big cemetery at all, but some of the graves go back to the 1700's and unlike most other cemeteries, the remains are "buried" above ground. Some people believe that's because of the closeness to the Mississippi River and water that would be underground, but the real reason had to do with the years the land was under Spanish and French influence. As was customs in those countries, people weren't buried underground, but instead were interred in crypts and mausoleums, so they just kept those traditions going in the New Land. Even when Louisiana officially became part of the United States, those old customs were so ingrained in the culture that they remained the burial norm.
Most of the old crypts and ovens, as they're referred to, are in very bad shape and those without any family support seem on the brink of total collapse. Back in 1977 the Archdiocese of the New Orleans Catholic Church stepped in and led a movement of maintenance and repair for these final resting places. The graves marked with a plaque labelled "Perpetual Care" are taken care of, the rest have been left to wither way with each passing year. Most the damaged graves don't even have a name on them anymore, while some others are only marked with a number and no other identification. Early on in our visit I was surprised as some of the offbeat items found in the cemetery, such as a random shopping cart or a key that was carefully placed on a crypt. We weren't able to find the Paris Family mausoleum that is the most regarded resting place of Marie Leveau, but we did find a crypt that was unmarked and seemingly must have been of some significance because it was covered in all sorts of offerings and XXX marks scratched into the sides. Part of the folklore is that if you scratch a XXX mark into the grave then Marie Leveau would grant you a wish or favor, as well as if you left an offering. There were offerings of coins, dollar bills, cigars, candy, jewelry, and plenty of XXX marks all over the crypt. Whether that's Marie Leveau's gravesite or not will probably never be known, but alot of people seem to think so. The other two Saint Louis Cemeteries weren't far away, but we figured that was enough grave action for one day and wanted to get at some of those museums. The first was the Civil War Museum, located a short block away from the World War II museum we visited a day before. The Civil War Museum used to be called the Confederate Museum, but as a result of the times of political correctness we live in, or perhaps a motivated councilman, the name was changed to the Civil War Museum. Once inside its clearly focused on the Confederates and they still have their old sign laying down in the basement outside the men's bathroom. There's no picture taking allowed inside (though I snuck one of the old sign) and its a very short, but very interesting exhibit of old uniforms and weaponry. It's a bargain at eight dollars admission and the whole thing is done in about an hour.
Right next door to that is the Odgen Museum, which is five floors of modern works of art such as paintings and sculptures. It just happens in that week a well-known artist passed away and in recognition of him, the museum granted free admission. We spent about two hours in that one before taking a walk over to Cochon, a popular Cajun restaurant with neighboring sandwich shop. We elected for the restaurant and shared plates of ribs and grilled oysters (garlic parmesan cheese sprinkled over a grilled oysters). Even though that friend wasn't able to take us to the bajou during the day, that night we were to meet up with her at an old church that's more recently being used as a concert hall, to watch a local musician she knows play. Getting there we had to take three different streetcars and walk a stretch of lonely industrial blocks that got a little creepy, but we made it there in one piece. Afterwards we all went out together that final night to a local bar that served lamb and steak plates that turned out to be some of the most surprisingly best food we had while in town. The streetcar we needed to get back stopped running by 10:30pm, so we had to take a cab back to Le Pavillon and start packing for our early flight back to New York. There's were other things we wanted to see in New Orleans, such as the old plantations and the bajou, but for the time we were there we managed to experience alot!! We told the hotel the night before to have a cab ready to go by 5:30am, but when we got down to check-out the guy behind the counter was asleep and there was no car out front. The way the cab reservation worked was the guy sprinted out to the front of the hotel and let out a sharp whistle that half of New Orleans must have heard once he spotted a cab coming down the block. There's alot of oil drilling which occurs down in the Gulf Region, and as we approached the airport in the darkness of the morning hours, in the background I was able to see an oil rig of some sort shooting flames of fire high into the air. With the angle I was looking at this it gave the illusion a plane had crashed onto the runway and was in flames. Once we were inside the terminal there weren't any news flashes or cancellations, so I figured it must have been an oil rig, but the imagery itself got the return trip going on the wrong foot.
The reason I didn't mind the trip going down too much was that I was able to see the ground, but on our first hop up to North Carolina there was nothing but thick clouds under us. It looked like we were flying over Antarctica and frequently we would fly into clouds ourselves and the plane would have a good shake. When there weren't as many clouds and I was able to see some ground again, I was greeted by another plane that flew right by us - going in the opposite direction a few thousand feet under our path. Still, I was always under the impression these flight paths weren't even supposed to come within sight of eachother, meanwhile this plane was so close I was able to read the US Airways off the side. I saw other planes on the way down, but they were so far in distance from eachother that I thought nothing of it; this one had me wondering if someone was asleep in the air traffic control room. With the fires, clouds, head-on collision planes, turbulence, and the fact I had taken three plane rides in one week after none in two years, I told myself if I could make it to North Carolina then I'll just take a bus the rest of the way to New York. It would be a case of ninety minutes of terror versus ten hours of boredom. Since it would be the world's longest ninety minutes for me, I picked the bus as to not break my self-promise. We went out separate ways at the North Carolina airport as she caught the connecting flight back to Newark and I found a Charlotte airport bus line that would drop me off a block away from the North Carolina Greyhound Bus Station. Luckily, there was room on the bus for that day, but I had to wait six hours before it was scheduled to leave for New York. I caught up with the Ms. Pac-Man /Galaxy arcade unit I played with when I visited the bus station back in August on my way to Memphis. To this day, there's something about the calibration of the joystick on that machine that allows me to perform the best there than on any other Pac-Man arcade I ever played on. With many more hours to kill, I figured I would use the opportunity to walk through Charlotte and get to know a place I would probably otherwise never have a reason of visiting.
My initial impression wasn't too great as there was nothing for blocks and blocks, except parking garages. In the distance I could see buildings and other construction jobs underway as a rapid method to develop the small city even further, but I never got a sense I was in a real city-city. It wasn't until I got a few more blocks inward that I began seeing normal city things like banks and restaurants, and not just more parking garages. The greyhound bus rides, especially those long trips like ten hours, usually result in meals made up of granola bars and peanuts. I wanted to make sure I had a full meal in my stomach before the trip got underway. I came upon a pizza and pasta joint called Vapiano that looked intriguing enough from the front to go inside. When I entered there was a cashier girl who asked if I ever been there before, I said no. She handed me a food card and explained how the place works. Basically, you go to the food station or bar you want to get something from, and they hand you the food/drink after swiping the card. Then at the very end when you're done, you simply go to the cashier and pay for the total charges on the card. They have a similar workflow at Katz Deli in NYC. They cook the food right in front of you so everything is nice and fresh. I had the ravioli with a glass of sangria, and then afterwards a cup of coffee at the bar. There were some great-looking slices of cheesecake also at the bar behind a display case, but I had to put on the brakes there based on all the binge-eating I performed in New Orleans. Obviously, it would've been nice to be home already by that time, but usually when things don't go as planned, that's when I tend to uncover little gems, such as places like Vapiano.
I recognized the bus driver right away, she was the maniac I had on my way down to Virginia back in August when I was going to Memphis. Because of her, a near riot almost started at the New York Port Authority and I ended up missing my connecting bus to Charlotte. It was a chaotic scenario in which she was lining people up and forgetting why she was doing it in the first place. Then she started picking arguments with riders and was shouting back and forth. Eventually a few police officers had some stand by to make sure nothing got out of hand. This time around in December the boarding process was much smoother, but the burly bus driver managed to act condescending towards an elderly woman who spoke no English and was taking up the seat next to her with a thick quilt. My last bus ride was very tough with an obese rancid smelling individual as my neighbor, this time around was a step down from that initially. Not as obese and not as smelly, but his clothes were dirty and it didn't seem he showered in a while. He was around my age and had no luggage, but I didn't think he was totally homeless. There must be something with these stinky riders that they spend a few nights marooned in a town until they can collect enough money to buy a bus ticket to get to another town. Luckily, when we stopped for a layover in Virginia, the guy took an empty seat towards the front of the bus and I was able to get a new riding buddy. This time it was a thin person with a long black trench coat and he had his hair in a ponytail. He too was about my age, maybe a few years younger, but he was definitely clean, which was a nice change of pace. Every couple of hours he would take out an orange to eat and the scent would add a sense of pleasantry to the dank air inside the bus.
There was one wacko on the bus that made his presence known in the middle of the night when everyone was trying to catch a few winks of sleep. I saw him in Charlotte at the bus station and he looked a little off-keel. Basically he would yell out and curse for no reason, but it wasn't a case of tourette syndrome in my judgement. It was as if he woke up from a dream or was angry he couldn't fall asleep. The rest of the ride he was as quiet as a church mouse, it was only when he wanted to doze off that his anger spurred. He punched the back of the chair in front of him a few times, and amazingly none of the other riders said anything back to him. It got to the point the bus driver had to pull over to the side of the road and turn the lights on; she asked if anyone was having a problem. Nobody said a word, so the driver put the bus back into motion. I found it quite humorous, whatever his problem was, and was overjoyed with not having someone that didn't smell terrible next to me.
Once in a while you gotta stop and appreciate the smell of oranges.....
New Orleans
Le Pavillon
P&G Restaurant - Bar
Bourbon Street and The French Quarter
(.....darn, just missed it.....)
(.....breakfast anyone?....)
(...you call this coffee?..)
The Rum House
Luke's
Tonique
Coop's Place
(.....really does taste like chicken.....)
The Ruby Slipper
The National WWII Museum
(Rare during WWII to show a dead US Soldier to public)
Casamento's Restaurant
(Lee Harvey Oswald shared a building with Guy Bannister on this corner)
Mississippi River
Cafe Du Monde
Mother's Restaurant
Peanut Butter and Jelly Sandwiches with Hot Chocolate at Le Pavillon
Just Peanut Butter - No Jelly
Streetcar Cafe.......enough butter in the grits?
Saint Louis Cemetery #1
Civil War Museum
Ogden Museum
Charlotte
(....4 months ago en route to Memphis....)
(...back in real time...)
Vapiano
