As Joseph mentioned at the end of his post, we have moved on from New Orleans to Austin. But since, due to his lazer like focus on the truth, he neglected to actually say anything about New Orleans, I will. But first, I have a few pictures from the beginning of the trip to share, having finally found the cord to get said pics off of my camera.
Number 1:
The warning that I'm sure stands next to the original in Greece as well.
Number 2:
The monument itself, in all its concrete glory. With Joseph lending some scale.
Number 3:
At the swimming hole...
But back to New Orleans. It's an interesting city. One with character, one might say. Of course, I instinctively reacted to that statement with: "when people say a city has character, they just mean it has a lot of buildings that are falling down and interesting to look at." But New Orleans really does have character. Some of it is from ruined buildings, some of it is from the seediness on display on Bourbon Street (more on that in a minute), but a lot of it really is from the unique cultural heritage of the city, as cliched as that may be. We didn't get to see much, just the Garden District, the French Quarter and Frenchmen's Street, but everything that we did see had its own unique flavor, which was really cool.
Let's take the big one head on to begin with. The French Quarter was exceptionally touristy, of course, but despite that, beautiful to walk around in with all of the old French architecture, and full of unexpected treasures. We walked into a store full of French antiques worth many thousands of dollars to escape the heat, and one of the salesmen took twenty minutes to show us around and explain where all the chandeliers and tables and desks came from, and why they were special, despite the obviousness that two sweaty, bearded, t-shirt wearing twenty-some year olds were certainly not in the market for $95,000 tables. And I found a cool little bookstore in the shadow of a cathedral just after sampling some chicory coffee, which of course made my day.
But cheek by jowl with those delights were the more earthly delights of Bourbon Street. We walked down it once, and I turned off hoping to never walk down it again. I'll summarize the experience with the following, which needs a warning for explicit language and an x rating. Children, cover your eyes. As we walked past one of the many strip clubs, the recruiter outside yelled after us, "I've got pussy's so wet, they make New Orleans after Katrina look dry." To some extent, I had to admire the inventiveness of his lure. But I was not at all sad to turn my back on Bourbon.
We did see a bit of music in New Orleans, but unfortunately for us, the band at our chosen bar went on an hour and fifteen minutes late, so we only stayed a few songs. They were pretty good songs, but by that point, my bedtime was long past, so we bounced.
A final note. Today we stopped in Lake Charles, Louisiana for lunch. Our waiter, Devin, highly recommended the Boudin (pronounced boo-dan) Balls. Joseph asked "What exactly are Boudin Balls?" Devin, "They're deep fried balls of boudin" as if this would obviously help. Joseph responded "What exactly is boudin? We're not from around here." Devin's face crinkled into a look of innocent confusion, "You guys have never had boudin before? Where are you all from?" Apparently, we were missing out on something great. Boudin egg rolls (deep fried boudin, essentially) soon followed, and proved to be a delicious combination of brown rice, shredded meat, and a bunch of spices fried to greasy goodness. I'll do you all a favor, and leave you with visions of boudin fairies dancing in your heads...
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