On a summary of my trip to N'awlins
Surprise! I was in New Orleans last weekend. It involved a very tame bachelor's party (tame, mind you). Lots of...fun, but I am going to pick on the airline industry and the extra adventures that resulted.
I managed to snag a discounted pass from an employee of an airline to fly to New Orleans Friday night and get back Sunday. To do this I had to make one connection. When I paid for the pass, I found out I might not be leaving Sunday. Okay, I planned to leave Monday morning early so I figured I'd just find a hotel Sunday night. Going to board the aircraft, I found out I might not make my connection Friday night, putting me in Saturday, and that Sunday was all but impossible, though there were several seats empty on Monday's flight. OK, that's the risk I take flying standby. Fortunately, I make my connecting flight Friday. Fun follows.
Sunday around 2(pm) my friends leave to hit the airport. I look at my bags, think about the $200/night hotel rooms near the French Quarter, and realize they're not going to get any cheaper because of the Association of preOperative Registered Nurses (AORN). Why they're not the APRN, I don't know. You would think that's just going to raise issues with the organization of operative nurses if they ever become an association. Maybe they'll just unregister. Regardless, I thought it would be a good idea to check my bags in with the bellman at the hotel we just checked out of and wander the streets until 5 am, when I could get my bags and grab a shuttle to the airport.
And wander I did. I may actually make a map of my wanderings for post purposes. I left the Sheraton and walked through the Harrah's, crossing over to the Hilton Riverside. I wandered through the lobby to the Riverwalk mall, which was all things considered pretty cool. The deck had lots of those museum-style information plaques that made for very interesting reading. I left when a gaggle of preOperative nurses descended, which some may say was just in time (those who were going to undergo surgery might disagree). Leaving Riverwalk, I just about stumbled onto a free shuttle to the D-Day museum. I shrugged my shoulders, got the address, and debated about whether or not I wanted to go...It was close to 3:00 Sunday, after all. And I was getting hungry. After the driver stared at me for what must have been a full minute, knowing my internal dialogue, he closed the door and left. Damn. No D-Day museum for me. Or maybe...Well, address in hand I started marching down Magazine street. Fortunately, it wasn't too far. And what a museum. More details another time, but it was awesome.
After getting kicked out, crying like someone spilt a 500 gallon tank of milk and I've never heard the cliche', I hoofed it back to the French Quarter and wandered there pseudo-aimlessly for awhile. Mufalettas for dinner, or so I thought. Central Grocery closed a good half hour before I got there. So, I went to Fiorellas, great restaurant, and had Jambalaya. Mmmmm...And then a set of beignets and Cafe' au lait, which I still maintain is bad coffee made drinkable through the addition of coffee pollutants. Some more wandering preceded the use of the St. Charles streetcar to get down to Tulane, a pretty ride through the Garden District. I walked around campus and found some locals to direct me to a few local bars, armed with the foreknowledge that the trolley runs all night. At least, that's what I was told by two police officers. I walked for awhile, and decided to forego the bars seeing as they were recommended by Tulane undergraduates and I had the sneaking suspicion they were very..."campusy" bars. I pulled into a Starbucks and consumed a massive amount of water while reading the comics instead. Talking to some grad students, I found my suspicions confirmed and was pointed towards some bars more my age. I was also warned the trolley runs about once an hour after a certain time. Great.
I hoof it back to St. Charles and start walking towards the Quarter. It took about 20 minutes to get out there by trolley, so I am comfortable in the knowledge that a trolley will be along before I get there. Sure enough, within 15 minutes I'd say a trolley came along and spirited me towards Lee Circle, home of the Circle Bar. I heard a local band, who was hit-or-miss, and met up with Marcy and some other locals. Marcy was the band's promoter. I decided she needed to find a new band, but some of his songs were really good, so I dunno. I'll post a link when I figure out who it was again. Anyway, I found out about some other local hangouts (though I highly recommend the Circle Bar) and again prodded the locals for the bad areas of town. You know, so I can avoid them. To those of you out there who thought I was seeking them out...I've changed over the past few years. No more looking for trouble. Besides, trouble seems to pretty much know where I am most of the time. It's like getting the paper delivered to your door, or perhaps having a stray dog always following you home. A black cat is probably more appropriate.
Anyway, point being I was trying to stay far away from troublesome areas since it was getting nigh on 1 am at this point. I had the bartender call me a cab and I hauled it to the corner of St. Charles and Canal, which is a safe place any hour of the day or night. I made my way around some of this area and then headed down Bourbon slowly. Though the city never really shuts down, most of it does take a nap at night, so there's a lot less to do between 2 am and 7 am. I hit Patty O'Brien's, and crashed in the dueling pianos lounge with a cup of coffee. Two sets of performers played, and in both occasions the women were good and the men really sucked. I mean, it was bad. And I'm not saying that because they were women. They were pretty darn good. Mildly entertaining. I stayed until they kicked us out a little before 3 am, no crying this time, and made my way back up Bourbon Street, sticking my head into the more active bars occasionally to look around. The thought occurred to me I should be inebriated, walking down Bourbon Street, but the thought also occurred to me, no, I really shouldn't. Especially not on Bourbon Street. When I got back to Canal I still had time to kill, so I went down to Decatur and hit up Coyote Ugly. It couldn't possibly be worse than Bourbon.
Oh, how right I was. Coyote Ugly was hands down the most entertaining bar I was in all weekend, and it had the cheapest drinks too. Now, on the shlock scale, it ranked very highly. It's obvious that the bar had something of a cult following, became famous, got a movie, and now is artificially recreated. Did you know they have choreographers who design the dances they do on the bar? Yeah. Shlock. But fun shlock, it's not a big tourist bar (it's the only thing open on Decatur at this hour) and that always proves interesting. Though the bartenders were very coarse (again, they were playing shticks) I had a good conversation with the one about the D-Day museum and World War II. Before leaving, I made sure to leave my permanent mark on the bar. If you head down there, let me know and I'll tell you what to look for. Thanks to the bartender who gave the assist. I think I'm the only guy who got away with getting the bartenders to actually do something for me, since they are usually cruel to men. I watched one guy lose his duster-style hat to a statue high up on the bar. Cruel.
Okay, back to the Sheraton for my bags and to await the shuttle to the airport. I didn't know at the time, but I went back later and mapped out my walk, because that's what I do, make maps. I know between 2 pm and 4 am I did 10 street miles, plus whatever I did inside buildings (such as the D-Day museum). N'awlins is all flat, that's for sure, but my dogs were barkin' to use the phrase. Part of that's because my boots are ancient and need new soles, in and out. But I certainly got all over the place. To the airport!
After miscommunications with the airline staff and security, I managed to get to the gate without a body cavity search. What I did not manage to do, however, was get on a flight out. The planes were booked, and people were given one, and eventually two, free round-trip domestic tickets and a night's hotel stay if they would volunteer to fly home Tuesday. I called my friend and confirmed my suspicion that I wasn't leaving N'awlins, at least not Monday. I fought through all the other airline lines, but nobody wanted to give me a reasonable fair. I would later find out that not only the AORNs but the kids partying for Spring Break really cramped airline travel's style on Monday. Now, I recall a time when kids pooled together and paid for gas to get a car somewhere so four guys could party on $100 total, but maybe today's kids are just rich. Probably part of the No Child Left Behind act.
I finally resigned myself to failure and had a Sonic lunch, the first food I had eaten since Fiorella's the previous night. I had eaten half a powerbar earlier, but whichever flavor it was (I can't remember) it was so unpalatable that even my extreme hunger couldn't outwill my cast iron stomach which wanted nothing to do with the masticated results of what was a bad-tasting, old, warm, mushy Powerbar. Shoulda stocked up on Vanilla. With my stomach full of burger and chili cheese fry goodness, I booked a hotel with a free airport shuttle, checked in and showered. All they had was smoking, but they offered to put an ionizer in the room. I shurgged my shoulders and thought to myself as long as I can take a shower and sleep, I'm cool. By the time I got there, I could not tell it was a smoking room. The tabletop ionizer hummed in the corner, providing a cool breeze, and the room smelled, well, really fresh. Like a spring morning. Seriously. I wanted to stuff the ionizer in my bag and take it home, but it was rather large compared to my bag, which was regretably insufficient to the task. That, or thankfully insufficient. I'd hate to know what an official hotel ionizer would add to my bill. After the shower, I was refreshed and decided to go back to the D-Day museum without a nap. Yes, it was that good. I hit the French quarter again after the D-Day museum for a mufaletta, and I missed them by five minutes. Foiled again! I went to the market instead, and had an apple and an 8 oz. Dr. Pepper in a glass bottle. Best Dr. Pepper ever. I hit Coyote Ugly for happy hour, $1.50 beers, and drank two. I left at 7, considering that my nightcap, and headed back to the hotel, where I vainly tried to stay awake through 24 (which I did remember would come on at 8 central). The trip ended more with a whimper, as I crashed 'till 5 am and then packed my stuff, hit the airport and got on the first plane back, which was maybe half-full.
All in all, a good trip. The airline was quite an adventure...As they say in Kingdom of Loathing, the "fun" house, but I got what I deserved flying standby, nothing more, nothing less. However, having seen a lot more of how airlines do business, I'm not surprised that Delta's whining about going out of business. I have a rant for that in mind, but for another day. This is long enough.
I managed to snag a discounted pass from an employee of an airline to fly to New Orleans Friday night and get back Sunday. To do this I had to make one connection. When I paid for the pass, I found out I might not be leaving Sunday. Okay, I planned to leave Monday morning early so I figured I'd just find a hotel Sunday night. Going to board the aircraft, I found out I might not make my connection Friday night, putting me in Saturday, and that Sunday was all but impossible, though there were several seats empty on Monday's flight. OK, that's the risk I take flying standby. Fortunately, I make my connecting flight Friday. Fun follows.
Sunday around 2(pm) my friends leave to hit the airport. I look at my bags, think about the $200/night hotel rooms near the French Quarter, and realize they're not going to get any cheaper because of the Association of preOperative Registered Nurses (AORN). Why they're not the APRN, I don't know. You would think that's just going to raise issues with the organization of operative nurses if they ever become an association. Maybe they'll just unregister. Regardless, I thought it would be a good idea to check my bags in with the bellman at the hotel we just checked out of and wander the streets until 5 am, when I could get my bags and grab a shuttle to the airport.
And wander I did. I may actually make a map of my wanderings for post purposes. I left the Sheraton and walked through the Harrah's, crossing over to the Hilton Riverside. I wandered through the lobby to the Riverwalk mall, which was all things considered pretty cool. The deck had lots of those museum-style information plaques that made for very interesting reading. I left when a gaggle of preOperative nurses descended, which some may say was just in time (those who were going to undergo surgery might disagree). Leaving Riverwalk, I just about stumbled onto a free shuttle to the D-Day museum. I shrugged my shoulders, got the address, and debated about whether or not I wanted to go...It was close to 3:00 Sunday, after all. And I was getting hungry. After the driver stared at me for what must have been a full minute, knowing my internal dialogue, he closed the door and left. Damn. No D-Day museum for me. Or maybe...Well, address in hand I started marching down Magazine street. Fortunately, it wasn't too far. And what a museum. More details another time, but it was awesome.
After getting kicked out, crying like someone spilt a 500 gallon tank of milk and I've never heard the cliche', I hoofed it back to the French Quarter and wandered there pseudo-aimlessly for awhile. Mufalettas for dinner, or so I thought. Central Grocery closed a good half hour before I got there. So, I went to Fiorellas, great restaurant, and had Jambalaya. Mmmmm...And then a set of beignets and Cafe' au lait, which I still maintain is bad coffee made drinkable through the addition of coffee pollutants. Some more wandering preceded the use of the St. Charles streetcar to get down to Tulane, a pretty ride through the Garden District. I walked around campus and found some locals to direct me to a few local bars, armed with the foreknowledge that the trolley runs all night. At least, that's what I was told by two police officers. I walked for awhile, and decided to forego the bars seeing as they were recommended by Tulane undergraduates and I had the sneaking suspicion they were very..."campusy" bars. I pulled into a Starbucks and consumed a massive amount of water while reading the comics instead. Talking to some grad students, I found my suspicions confirmed and was pointed towards some bars more my age. I was also warned the trolley runs about once an hour after a certain time. Great.
I hoof it back to St. Charles and start walking towards the Quarter. It took about 20 minutes to get out there by trolley, so I am comfortable in the knowledge that a trolley will be along before I get there. Sure enough, within 15 minutes I'd say a trolley came along and spirited me towards Lee Circle, home of the Circle Bar. I heard a local band, who was hit-or-miss, and met up with Marcy and some other locals. Marcy was the band's promoter. I decided she needed to find a new band, but some of his songs were really good, so I dunno. I'll post a link when I figure out who it was again. Anyway, I found out about some other local hangouts (though I highly recommend the Circle Bar) and again prodded the locals for the bad areas of town. You know, so I can avoid them. To those of you out there who thought I was seeking them out...I've changed over the past few years. No more looking for trouble. Besides, trouble seems to pretty much know where I am most of the time. It's like getting the paper delivered to your door, or perhaps having a stray dog always following you home. A black cat is probably more appropriate.
Anyway, point being I was trying to stay far away from troublesome areas since it was getting nigh on 1 am at this point. I had the bartender call me a cab and I hauled it to the corner of St. Charles and Canal, which is a safe place any hour of the day or night. I made my way around some of this area and then headed down Bourbon slowly. Though the city never really shuts down, most of it does take a nap at night, so there's a lot less to do between 2 am and 7 am. I hit Patty O'Brien's, and crashed in the dueling pianos lounge with a cup of coffee. Two sets of performers played, and in both occasions the women were good and the men really sucked. I mean, it was bad. And I'm not saying that because they were women. They were pretty darn good. Mildly entertaining. I stayed until they kicked us out a little before 3 am, no crying this time, and made my way back up Bourbon Street, sticking my head into the more active bars occasionally to look around. The thought occurred to me I should be inebriated, walking down Bourbon Street, but the thought also occurred to me, no, I really shouldn't. Especially not on Bourbon Street. When I got back to Canal I still had time to kill, so I went down to Decatur and hit up Coyote Ugly. It couldn't possibly be worse than Bourbon.
Oh, how right I was. Coyote Ugly was hands down the most entertaining bar I was in all weekend, and it had the cheapest drinks too. Now, on the shlock scale, it ranked very highly. It's obvious that the bar had something of a cult following, became famous, got a movie, and now is artificially recreated. Did you know they have choreographers who design the dances they do on the bar? Yeah. Shlock. But fun shlock, it's not a big tourist bar (it's the only thing open on Decatur at this hour) and that always proves interesting. Though the bartenders were very coarse (again, they were playing shticks) I had a good conversation with the one about the D-Day museum and World War II. Before leaving, I made sure to leave my permanent mark on the bar. If you head down there, let me know and I'll tell you what to look for. Thanks to the bartender who gave the assist. I think I'm the only guy who got away with getting the bartenders to actually do something for me, since they are usually cruel to men. I watched one guy lose his duster-style hat to a statue high up on the bar. Cruel.
Okay, back to the Sheraton for my bags and to await the shuttle to the airport. I didn't know at the time, but I went back later and mapped out my walk, because that's what I do, make maps. I know between 2 pm and 4 am I did 10 street miles, plus whatever I did inside buildings (such as the D-Day museum). N'awlins is all flat, that's for sure, but my dogs were barkin' to use the phrase. Part of that's because my boots are ancient and need new soles, in and out. But I certainly got all over the place. To the airport!
After miscommunications with the airline staff and security, I managed to get to the gate without a body cavity search. What I did not manage to do, however, was get on a flight out. The planes were booked, and people were given one, and eventually two, free round-trip domestic tickets and a night's hotel stay if they would volunteer to fly home Tuesday. I called my friend and confirmed my suspicion that I wasn't leaving N'awlins, at least not Monday. I fought through all the other airline lines, but nobody wanted to give me a reasonable fair. I would later find out that not only the AORNs but the kids partying for Spring Break really cramped airline travel's style on Monday. Now, I recall a time when kids pooled together and paid for gas to get a car somewhere so four guys could party on $100 total, but maybe today's kids are just rich. Probably part of the No Child Left Behind act.
I finally resigned myself to failure and had a Sonic lunch, the first food I had eaten since Fiorella's the previous night. I had eaten half a powerbar earlier, but whichever flavor it was (I can't remember) it was so unpalatable that even my extreme hunger couldn't outwill my cast iron stomach which wanted nothing to do with the masticated results of what was a bad-tasting, old, warm, mushy Powerbar. Shoulda stocked up on Vanilla. With my stomach full of burger and chili cheese fry goodness, I booked a hotel with a free airport shuttle, checked in and showered. All they had was smoking, but they offered to put an ionizer in the room. I shurgged my shoulders and thought to myself as long as I can take a shower and sleep, I'm cool. By the time I got there, I could not tell it was a smoking room. The tabletop ionizer hummed in the corner, providing a cool breeze, and the room smelled, well, really fresh. Like a spring morning. Seriously. I wanted to stuff the ionizer in my bag and take it home, but it was rather large compared to my bag, which was regretably insufficient to the task. That, or thankfully insufficient. I'd hate to know what an official hotel ionizer would add to my bill. After the shower, I was refreshed and decided to go back to the D-Day museum without a nap. Yes, it was that good. I hit the French quarter again after the D-Day museum for a mufaletta, and I missed them by five minutes. Foiled again! I went to the market instead, and had an apple and an 8 oz. Dr. Pepper in a glass bottle. Best Dr. Pepper ever. I hit Coyote Ugly for happy hour, $1.50 beers, and drank two. I left at 7, considering that my nightcap, and headed back to the hotel, where I vainly tried to stay awake through 24 (which I did remember would come on at 8 central). The trip ended more with a whimper, as I crashed 'till 5 am and then packed my stuff, hit the airport and got on the first plane back, which was maybe half-full.
All in all, a good trip. The airline was quite an adventure...As they say in Kingdom of Loathing, the "fun" house, but I got what I deserved flying standby, nothing more, nothing less. However, having seen a lot more of how airlines do business, I'm not surprised that Delta's whining about going out of business. I have a rant for that in mind, but for another day. This is long enough.