The St. Charles Avenue streetcar is an oddity of New Orleans and very popular with the locals and tourists alike. It literally stopped right at our door -- you can see the Maison St. Charles right across the street. Photo by Glenn.
Roni and Ben make their way up Bourbon Street. This isn't smell-o-vision, fortunately, but try to imagine the aroma of a public bus station. Photo by Glenn.
Where's the party? You don't need Mardi Gras to dress the part when you're in the French Quarter. Every shop we visited had beads and masks, some quite elaborate and others simple, like the one Ben dons for the camera. Photo by Glenn.
See, we really were on Rue de Bourbon (cross of Rue de St. Ann) -- that's French for street, of course. We really wanted a good picture of the Bourbon street sign, but sadly all the ones we saw were defaced in some way. This was one of the best ones. Photo by Glenn.
At the corner of Bourbon and St. Ann streets we find this building typical of the French-style architecture, with ironwork balconies and red brick exterior. The hanging baskets are what caught our eye. Photo by Roni.
Another reminder of Hurricane Ivan. Most of the French Quarter businesses were back to normal when we saw them on Monday, but a few, like this one, had yet to take down their plywood window coverings. Photo by Glenn.
Roni and Ben look in the windows of the trinket shops as we walk along the damp sidewalks through the French Quarter. Why are the sidewalks wet on such a splendid day as this?... Photo by Glenn.
...Here's the answer. It is the city maintenance crews hosing down the streets following another weekend of drunken revelry. Apparently they haven't made it all the way to Bourbon Street yet. Photo by Glenn.
No, we didn't save money on car insurance by switching to Geico, but we did find this green gecko sunning itself near a statue of Joan of Arc near the French Market. Photo by Roni.
Glenn on the banks of the Big Muddy. Behind him, the steamboat Natchez takes sightseers on a tour of the Mississippi and the New Orleans shoreline. Photo by Roni.
Glenn gets a taste of New Orleans with his first hurricane. No, it wasn't Ivan, but the drink packed a pretty powerful punch all its own. Photo by Roni.
Look, it's a doughnut! No, it's a funnel cake! Actually, it's a beignet, and Café du Monde in New Orleans is famous for them. Photo by Glenn.
"Mom, I thought you said this was a doughnut." Beignets don't meet with the approval of our resident food critic. Photo by Glenn.
Andrew Jackson's statue towers above us in Jackson Square. Photo by Glenn.
Saint Louis Cathedral is a prominent landmark in the French Quarter, and the most picturesque part of Jackson Square. We didn't go inside. Photo by Glenn.
The window of a voo-doo shop near Jackson Square. Roni really wanted to get a voo-doo doll, but we never did. Photo by Glenn.
Ben plays his Gameboy while waiting for dinner inside the St. Charles Tavern. Photo by Glenn.
Seafood gumbo and red beans and rice. Think the picture looks good, the food was to die for. Photo by Glenn.
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Walking to New Orleans
Monday, September 20 (Day 4) — Before we started this trip our goal was to eat our way across the South. Well, that was my goal. Roni's was to experience New Orleans and Ben's was to, well... Ben's was to improve his Gameboy score. Ben has already had way too much video game time, but today Roni and I both got a bit of what we came for. Today's mission was to explore the French Quarter of New Orleans, a bit of which we had previewed yesterday afternoon on our drive into town. It was a good thing we had, too, because in our exuberance we forgot to bring a street map with us and were flying blind most of the day.
We left our hotel just before 10 a.m. and walked across St. Charles Avenue to the streetcar stop. Streetcars are the way to go in this town, and at $1.25 per ride they are an affordable way to get from one attraction to the next, although General says there really isn't all that much to do in this city. I'm not sure if he really meant that, or perhaps he just meant it in our case -- the Crescent City is famous for a lot of things, but being family friendly isn't one of them. Where do you go with a 10-year-old boy in a city that prides itself on bawdy behavior? Answer: Don't take him to the French Quarter, as we did.
You're never far from a streetcar here. Within five minutes one of the big green monsters rumbled its way up to us and we boarded along with some scruffy woman I can only describe as a street urchin. She might have been a bit stoned or a bit crazy, but she wasn't normal for sure. The ride to the French Quarter took us around Lee Circle, then north on Carondelet Street to Canal Street, which General refers to as the Mason-Dixon Line of the city. Everything to the north of it is, well, the north, while everything below it is considered south. The French Quarter begins at Canal Street, and Carondelet changes names to become Bourbon Street, arguably the most famous street in the United States. To say the place oozes with character would be a generous way to describe Bourbon Street, or Rue de Bourbon as the French call it. It might be where its at for the twentysomething singles and lovers of good jazz music, but there is little to recommend it to a family with young kids. The place reeks of vomit and excrement. Every other storefront is a bar, a strip joint, or a souvenir stand selling adult novelty items. The street is one-way heading north, and far too narrow to accommodate the traffic it receives, vehicular or pedestrian. We were fortunate in that crowds this week have been light in the wake of Hurricane Ivan. Our very first stop was in a souvenir shop that sported "Been there, f---ed that" T-shirts in the front window. Ben noticed that it sold Mardi Gras beads, which was something he had been asking for since we began planning this trip in July. I was thrilled to actually find a store that sold postcards. Ben and Roni picked out a string of beads with little cats on them. They were hanging next to the beads with ceramic breasts and penises. Oh-kay... Next stop! We needn't have worried about finding beads in the French Quarter because they were available in at least one or two hundred other shops we saw. But you live and learn.
I will say that the French architecture here is absolutely breathtaking. Some buildings have been lovingly restored and preserved while others are in a suspended state of decay. They are garishly painted in colors that would get you evicted from a property owners association in most states today. The wrought iron balconies are covered with hanging plants in some places. Truly an architecture lover's paradise. It was easy to get caught up in the scenery and forget what it was we had come for, which in this case was breakfast. We were in search of a place Roni had read about called Café du Monde that is famous for its beignets, which are described as French doughnuts covered in powdered sugar. We were eager to try these, so we held out as long as our appetites would allow. Of course, we had no idea where the bakery was located, and without a map we had to ask directions from people who were helpful but didn't always provide information we could follow. We walked up one street and down the next. From Bourbon Street we turned east onto St. Ann Street and walked a block to Royal Street. Royal was about a PG to Bourbon's R rating. There were souvenir shops and cafés, but not so much of the raunch and none of the odor. I guess you have to wonder about a city that has to hire crews who go around on ATVs carrying big tanks of cleaner to hose down the sidewalk each morning, as we observed on one street.
At last we were all feeling lightheaded from lack of food and the rising temperature, so we popped into a coffee shop where we purchased cranberry muffins and a fudge brownie (guess who had the brownie?) and some bottled fruit drinks. Roni said that would tide us over until we finally found the beignets. We wandered some more. As I fell behind Roni and Ben to take a photo, I was approached by a fast-talking street hustler who offered to tell me "the exact state, city and street where you got your shoes" if I'd be willing to put up $20 against his success. Of course I didn't want to wager because I knew I was about to get hustled, but I went along with it. When he told me "you got your shoes on this street in New Orleans, Louisiana, right now" and tried to get me to cough up some cash for agreeing to the "bet," I gave him a couple bucks for the entertainment value. That's such a damned old con that I'm sure I've heard it before, and I can't believe I actually let him play me for cash. Roni reminded me that I should learn to say "not interested" with more authority. I'm sure he probably went back and told his buddies he'd found a sucker, but we never ran into anyone else of his ilk. As long as he didn't drink my two bucks in one sitting I suppose it wasn't a total waste. I'll get the cash back and then some if I use him in a best-selling novel one day!
After some more time wandering and wondering where the French Market was, I thought I remembered how to get there from yesterday's drive. Fortunately I did, and within a few minutes we had reached the market which sits on a sliver of land between Decatur and North Peters streets. It wasn't exactly what we'd expected, but it was perfect for tourists like us. The place is a giant flea market of souvenir items and novelty food products such as "Osama Burn In Hell" hot sauce. And yes, there were Mardi Gras beads at just about every stall. In no time we had filled Roni's handbag with crap, much of it bead strings. Ben found a string with footballs that he liked, and I had to buy the Ryan Newman #12 beads. We found Jeff Gordon beads later. And I wanted the ones with the alligator heads to hang in the writing sanctuary at home to remind me of our bayou visit. We found T-shirts at three for 10 bucks and bought five. All in all we overspent on souvenirs, but hey, that's one of the highlights of a touristy trip to the big city for us.
We ventured away from the French Market long enough to check out the River Walk, which gave us a great view of the Mississippi river. There was a huge cargo ship making its way upriver, and the paddlewheeler Natchez was just pulling out of port when we arrived. We had talked about walking the entire length of the River Walk, but decided that would have to wait for another time. Our feet were growing tired, by now, so we sat at the Gazebo Café and ordered drinks while we rested up. I was excited because they were selling hurricanes, which is basically light rum mixed with triple sec, fruit juice, some other alcoholic beverage and topped with another splash of rum. On an empty stomach in 85-degree heat it had the expected result. I was tipsy after just a few sips. Powerful stuff, but very tasty. Roni had a strawberry daiquiri, while Ben played it straight and had a Sprite.
After the drinks it was clear we needed a real meal. We finally located the Café du Monde a couple of blocks away. At last, the beignets! It was far past breakfast time, but beignets are edible any time of the day, or so it seems. We ordered one for each of us and were surprised to discover that they are essentially the same as funnel cakes that you can get at the county fair -- deep-fried batter coated with powdered sugar. Heck, we didn't have to come to Louisiana for this.
Despite lower temperatures and less humidity than we had experienced the past couple of days we were still pretty winded by this time. We took some photos in Jackson Square with its huge Saint Louis Cathedral and statue of Andrew Jackson, then we made our way back to Canal Street to catch the streetcar back to the hotel. It deposited us just a few yards from the entrance. We took some time to rest us in the room before heading out in search of dinner. Ben really wanted to go swimming, but he also had a very loose tooth that had decided it was time to come out. We waited an hour while he tried to coax it out, which it finally did. Now maybe he'll stop wiggling his teeth for the rest of the vacation.
We went to dinner at the St. Charles Tavern, a Cajun-style bar and bistro a few doors down from the hotel. The food was some of the best I've tasted. We wanted to try several items from the menu and spent entirely too much, but it was worth every penny. I had a gumbo and red bean jambalaya and rice dish. Roni had a dish that featured a crawdad etouffee sauce. We ordered crawdad cakes as an appetizer. We were stuffed but ate every scrap of food.
We let our dinner settle, then took a swim in the hotel pool. Roni enjoyed the hot tub while Ben and I played our own version of water polo using the ball he had yesterday. It felt good to go swimming for a change. I am very sore and tired tonight, but as I wrap this up at 1:03 a.m. I hope to get some rest tonight for our planned exploration of the swampland tomorrow.
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