|A souvenir that creeped out the teenagers back home.|
My Big Fat Nawlins Vacation continues…
On the balcony at 6 a.m., enjoying it all. Even the street washing.
|He fought with the local drunks, too.|
Watched a hot dog vendor set up. Why noteworthy? Because he sold only three hotdogs during our entire stay. It made us curious as to what was transpiring on our quaint little corner of Bourbon Street.
|View from the balcony, beads beyond reach.|
Breakfasted with Dan, “L” and “M” at restaurant Desire. I had perfectly poached eggs and tender baby asparagus covered in hollandaise. It was a delicious way to put the horribleness of the past 24 hours behind us.
We decided to explore on foot.
Made it half a block before realizing I had ingested gluten. Confined myself to our room for the remainder of the morning.
I watched a pigeon do the moonwalk, then poop on my balcony.
|Celebrity sighting? Who knows!|
I saw a queue of people go by on Segways, a pair of mounted police, and heard the familiar clomping of horse-drawn carriages after the street closed to traffic for the evening.
|I want one!|
The giant margarita slushie my fellow travelers brought to me was most welcome.
They had been shopping, road both trolleys (including the one that had no a/c), saw the Garden District, and hit the casino.
They sampled the regional cuisine of beignets, po-boys, crawfish, etouffee, and muffaletta.
|Rev. Zombies Voodoo Shop|
Our big event for the day was the ‘Haunted History Tour” that began at Rev. Zombies Voodoo Shop. It was 102f degrees, sunny, and 6 p.m.
While waiting, I had to stop Dan from giving money to one of the con men that prey on tour groups – even though I had coached him on “bet I know where ya got dem shoes at”. There was even a plaque on the sidewalk that detailed the hustle, word for word.
Two in our party quit after ten minutes of walking through the old French Quarter; we stuck it out for two hours in the heat.
|Dan thinks her name was Vicki, I remember it as Annette, and she called me "Fleur de Lis"|
Our guide (pictured above) nearly fainted, but she spun tales that we hadn’t heard before - and we are longtime fans of haunted lore. She also said not to be surprised if our cameras picked up images that weren’t visible at the time of the photo.
After the conclusion, she indicated which streets to take in order to avoid the grifters. I thought that advice alone was reason to tip generously.
|Gator Bar and Strip Club "Stilettos"|
Our return was quick-paced. Bars and strip clubs beckoned, doors open, cooling breezes flowed from extreme air conditioners enticing the weary and the overheated.
There were in particular some “girls” that looked underfed, under-aged, and – oh heck - they were full-on skanky messes.
Ate raw oysters for supper (safe food), and hung out on the balcony with Dan. I found the predicted mystery image when reviewing the day’s photos. Curious? It’s here.
|Turned out to be just a bad photo, and not ghosties - which is weird, because all the others came out fine.|
|I want to know where she got dem shoes at!|
Before retiring, we noticed the female “entertainers” of the club next door hanging out in the doorway, chatting up passerby.
But really, if Big Ass Beers $3 wasn’t pulling the punters in, conversation with someone who badly needed a pair of pants and a double-cheeseburger wasn’t going to seal the deal.
Next up, the finale (days 3 and 4).