New Orleans, Day One
I have come to the conclusion that I am not a morning person. In fact, I know that I am not a morning person - hell, I am not even an afternoon person - I am, by and large an evening person. If I wake up, and the suns up, I become automatically hostile and heaven help the person who has to wake me up. That's the worst part really, waking me up - I've been known to growl, snap, and question the validity of anyone who has to wake me up. That being said, I generally get a lot better after I have had at least an hour to "wake up." Depending on how much sleep I got the night before I can be down right silly/witty. I get what I call "Slap happy" which means that I am only a few steps away from hysteria, and generally tee-tering on the edge of lucidity.
I say that because I came up with what I wanted to write about New Orleans this morning when I got about two hours of sleep and was wondering how God could create two periods of time for five o'clock. Isn't five o'clock pm enough? Why must there be two? At that point I was also getting that familiar ache in my chest that comes with leaving a loved one - the tightness, the shiny eyes that threaten tears but never really follow through. It's that feeling of not doing enough, regret and wondering when I am going to be able to see that person again. Because surly, once you spend enough time in a place - and you fall deep enough under it's spell that place isn't just a place, it's a living thing. Ever changing, evolving and full of new surpries. It has a soul.
Of course this deepness of thought only goes so far - don't let me fool you with my poetic prose, shortly after this line of thought came: "What is it with airport stores?! This is highway robbery!" Honestly, three seventeen for a bottle of coke and a small candy bar? Jesus Christ, what am I made of? Money? Anyway - on with the story.
How should this story start? I guess from the beginning - but that's so mundane, so classic - so boring I feel bad starting off a story about a city that is anything but normai the old fashioned way. I don't want to tell you about O'Hare, and the Chinese food at the food court, the two hour flight or the fact that I couldn't get a decent amount of sleep on it the whole damn time.
Maybe I'll give you basic facts - we landed and it was rainy, muggy and how I always know New Orleans is going to be. You step off the plane and know your there. You can just smell it, the whole Louie Armstrong airport smells like it - the mixture of Mississippi river, humidity, and crawdaddies. It's not an unplesant smell, but it's one that you have to get use to. Especially after coming from Sterile, air-conditioned pumped in oxygen of O'Hare and most Chicago buildings. The smell always makes me uneasy, but I get use to it soon enough - it's like going home and all those familiar smells that you had forgotten. They seem forgein but you realize quickly how much you missed them. You adapt quickly.
We stayed at Holiday Inn New Orleans in the French Quarter (or simply "the quarter" according to the locals.) It was a nice place, no central air - but the rooms had their own AC system. Now, I've been to Holiday Inn's before and they are generally not the lap of luxery. In fact, many of them just down right suck. They boarder on between being suspiciously filthy and decently clean. I was kind of surprised by our room.
(Notice the gray. It was really gray that day - but then again we got there around 6:30ish so it was almost dark to begin with.)
(The room, notice the seperate beds. Hello, Ward and June Cleaver. I felt like we were being filmed for a 1950's TV show. Though, if my mom ever stumbles on to these pictures, I'm covered.)
(This is Jackson square - the little guy in the Horse is Andrew Jackson, and the square is dedicated to him for saving the City of New Orleans from the British in the war of 1812. The Battle of New Orleans was the last battle of the war of 1812 - considering that they had reached a truce before the battle even began. The news didn't reach them in time.)
(Deciding against going to Margaretaville and being total tourist we decided to go on to Fiorella's. Which turns out to be a wonderful choice, as you'll see in the pictures below. The service is okay, but it's a total neighborhood hang out. The place is small, dark, and looks like a cross between an old sea-side crabshack and . . . Lord, words escape me. I didn't take a picture of the interrior because I didn't know if that would be polite or not.)
(THEY HAVE FRIED PICKLES! That is a fried pickle. Notice how happy dave looks. That was also his second beer.)
In fact, they have a LOT of fried food. There are Onion rings, crawfish, fried pickles, and meat pies on that plate. Yes, yes, it was as good as it looks and no, we didn't even make a dent in it.
Onion ring, notice daves plate in front of him - Fried chicken and Mac and Cheese. This place is known for their fried chicken. Damn, I am hungry.
MY plate, mashed potatos, and fried chicken (mine was dark meat, dave's was white - which leads mew to believe that he's a hater.) Right next to the plate is a bowl of Remoulade sauce and Jesus Christ was it good. Mmm, okay, now I am really hungry.
After gorging ourselves on fried food we have to walk it off, there is no other choices - and thankfully the French quarter is great for walking. We head towards the river and walk down it - back towards Jackson square.
This is a picture looking from the New Orleans side of the river, to Alger's point (which is directly across the river). There is a ferry that is free that you can travel back and forth from one side to another.
When you look away from the river you look on Jackson Square, this is a picture of the park at night. There you see little Andrew Jackson and the large white building behind it is St. Louis Catheral.
From Jackson Square you can see the front of St. Louis Cathedral, and this is the back. The statue is of Jesus, and his shadow is casted on to the white building by a HUGE flood light. I don't think I truly captured how creepy this sight is.
I like to think all the white spots and glowing orbs are spirts or ghosts. They may as well be for all I know, or it could be slowly falling drops of rain. I don't know - the ghost Idea seems a lot better for a place like New Orleans
All the travling and eating leaves me tired and weary, so I pass out around this time. Dave did some more wandering, but didn't take the camera. Thus ended our first day in New Orleans.