NOLA V

Wednesday – mid-week. Time to prioritize. We have a 6:15 dinner reservation at Brennan’s on Royal.

How do we maximize the rest of the day? The river tour on the sternwheeler, The Natchez seemed to keep rising to the top in our discussion. The 11:30 cruise included lunch and live New Orleans style jazz as well as narration of the character of the area beyond the border of The French Quarter. We would return to dock by 2:00 to have much of the afternoon to further explore.

This time, we walked the few blocks south and caught the levee’s edge streetcar, getting off at the boat dock. The line was short at the ticket window where we put our senior discount tickets on plastic, but the line was long to get on the boat. Each passenger—or group of passengers—had a photo taken before boarding. The crew (and photo people) said it was for security… and, today that may be true, but having been photographed before, we knew there would be a packet to purchase awaiting our departure. (We have a rather sizeable collection of these.)

The steam whistle blared for boarding from the depths of the authoritative smoke stacks and we headed for the top deck railing for the best view.

The seating was great… in the shade, with a cooling breeze, but good sunlight for photos. As we pulled away from the dock, it was quickly observed that the architecture was markedly different from the historic Vieux Carre. Along the river, we were to see a mix of old and new, humble and grand, all part of New Orleans history.

The view of Jackson Square from the freedom of the river had a new and delightful perspective… one not attainable from the street.

There is much marine traffic on the mighty Mississippi… mostly commercial, much of it tow boats and barges, tug boats and tankers, but some of it quite large, such as the huge roll-on cargo ships docked and waiting to be loaded with stacks of box cars from long, cross-country, freight trains. The Port of New Orleans, alone, handled 31 million short tons of cargo in 2014. That does not include the tonnage shipped by individual industries along the river banks.

Part of the colorful fabric of the Mississippi is the blend of industry, history, and modern use. Domino Sugar and Exxon have huge, age-old, yet still producing plants along the water’s edge… continuously shipping their products world-wide from these long-established ports.

Although Katrina was 10 years ago, and much of the damage has been repaired, there are still pockets of damaged properties with the identifiable blue roof coverings. This grand building, just beyond the levee, was once a private school and has yet to be fully recovered.

A bit further along the river, the historic Jackson Barracks were built in 1834, and originally called New Orleans Barracks. The name was changed to honor Andrew Jackson in 1866 and the site was entered on the National Register of Historic Places in 1976. It was destroyed by hurricane Katrina in 2005, but was rebuilt and reopened in 2013. Today, it is the headquarters of the Louisiana National Guard.

About 7 miles outside of New Orleans is the site of The Battle of Chalmette… final battle of the war of 1812. Andrew Jackson’s small group of intrepid soldiers, with the help of Jean Lafitte and his fearless followers defeated a much larger British army on January 8, 1815. (Most references say only that the British were “numerically superior.” Some believe that there were as many as 20,000 British.) The Americans fought better in the swampy, foggy morning, and lost fewer than 50 soldiers. The British lost 2600.

Although the War of 1812 had ended with the signing of the Treaty of Ghent in December of 1814, the news had not yet reached this part of the world, nor had it yet been ratified, so the Battle of New Orleans is considered to be one of the last decisive battles of the war.

Every year on the weekend nearest January 8 and 9, the National site holds a reenactment of this prestigious battle for the public to observe or experience. Back in the early 1980s, I was privileged to join the members of the staff of first-person interpreters from Historic Fort Wayne (Indiana) in this reenactment. Chalmette holds a special place in my memory.

At this point, the boat turned around and headed back upstream. We headed for the buffet. It was a good decision. The interior of the ship was air-conditioned, the jazz ensemble was in full bloom, and the food on the buffet was excellent. We spent the remainder of the cruise eating gumbo, red beans and rice, fried cat-fish, great tasting okra, and all the creole trimmings. Dessert was a luscious bread pudding… small portion, but the best ending to a memorable meal.

We stayed in the cool environment until we docked. Upon disembarking, we collected our packet of photos and headed for the French Market.

(Photos to accompany this blog can be found on the facebook page The Untethered Tourist.  Click on Photos and again on Albums.)

NOLA VIII

Friday – How much can we cram into our last day in New Orleans? Usually we have a tentative plan for what we want to see and do, but today we decided to wing it. We would take the city as it unfurled its opportunities, its challenges, and its unexpected.

We cleared the room, put our luggage in the hotel storage, checked out, and left the building. (All this had been prearranged.)

As we started toward the center of the French Quarter, we noticed that not only were the professional musician tour buses still lining the sidewalk, but now there were people in sleeping bags and makeshift accommodations lining the sidewalks as well. Some were still asleep, others were up and appeared to be awake. I asked one who they were waiting to see. “Hanson” was the reply.

Hmmm. I do consider myself fairly well informed… especially when it comes to music, but this one was not ringing any bells. “Oh?” I tried not to look TOO out of it. “Yes,” she said. “You know, from the 80s”.   “OK.” I said. “Well, have a great time!” I smiled and threw out the parting remark, “We are old, you know. If it isn’t Tony Bennett or Tom Jones, we aren’t in the loop.” She nodded with a look of sad acknowledgement.

The really surprising part is that none of us recognized the name. I had to ask my children about them when I returned home.

Undaunted, we continued on our way. One of the places we had walked past… several times…was the courtyard with the bronze statues of 20^th century musicians. New Orleans is synonymous with music. It has ragtime, zydeco, blues, and of course, its own recognizable style of jazz.

During the 1940s jazz was strong and popular, even beyond the city. But, in the 1950s, Rock and Roll became more prevalent.

When we think of jazz in New Orleans we think of Preservation Hall. Actually, I thought that was where the whole movement began. But, that is not so. Preservation Hall, located on St. Peters Street, began as an art gallery. Its owner, missing the freedom to attend jazz sessions because of business, invited jazz musicians to rehearse at his venue.  Brilliant idea, that!

These sessions occurred randomly at first, but in time grew to occur nightly. Today Preservation Hall holds three concerts a night—except for some holidays.

The French Quarter pays homage to its musicians, not only with statues, but also by naming parks, programs, and concert sites after them. Those of us from an earlier era recognize the names of Jelly Roll Morton, Ella Fitzgerald, Al Hirt, Pete Fountain, Fats Domino, and, of course, the great Satchmo, Louis Armstrong. But, the tradition and the talent live on today with the Marsalis Family, Harry Connick, Jr., and Irvin Mayfield to name just a few.

After Katrina hit in 2005, Harry Connick, Jr. and Brandon Marsalis joined with Habitat for Humanity to rebuild an area in the upper ninth ward into a community called Musician’s Village for musicians who had lost their homes to the devastating hurricane. A Musician’s Relief Fund was created to provide grants, instruments, and gigs to assist musicians in getting back on their feet.

New Orleans is alive with music, from early morning to early morning. Its providers appear on the streets, in the bistros, and in the concert halls. Sometimes it is a lone saxophonist, sometimes an ensemble, sometimes a full orchestra. As one walks along enjoying whatever his interest may be, one is accompanied by omnipresent music. Not a bad place to be.

Another site we had not yet stopped in to see was the National Park’s Jean Lafitte museum. Today was the day. I did have my National Park pass with me, but it turned out that it was not needed.

What a treasure! Tucked away off a courtyard, through a loggia is a small, but very well presented museum of New Orleans… its cultural histories, its geographic sections, its varied topographies, its amalgamated idiosyncrasies, its languages, its celebrations. So much information in such a small space… and a gift shop.

It even presented a thorough understanding of the enigmatic Jean Lafitte… buccaneer, privateer, businessman, and ruler of Barataria… an island in the labyrinth of bayous and far from the reaches of early rules and regulations.     (We had hoped to be able to take the tour of Jean Lafitte’s bayous, but will have to save it for next time.)

While listening to zydeco music on an audio receiver, I could hear Janet’s voice in the background. She was having a conversation with someone new. Hmmm. Will have to meander in that direction.

The couple with whom she was enjoying a lively tete-a-tete turned out to be from Australia. They were touring America by train, plane, pedi-cab and practically an ox-cart (had one been available to rent). They were seeing America from the grass roots route. No hopping from airport to airport for them. It was great fun listening to their experiences to date. Now they would spend a few days in New Orleans before heading for the northeast (which was our old stompin’ grounds). We had to share our opinions on the things they should not miss.

During the conversation, Janet mentioned that one of her ancestors was Cotton Mather (pronounced with a broad New England A… rhyming with father) and that they might come across his name in their travels in Boston.

The wife picked up on this and asked how that name was spelled. Janet said M A T H E R.

“Oh My!” she said. “That surname is in my lineage as well! Except we pronounce it Mather (with a long A… as in bather). Perhaps we are distantly related!”

It was agreed that it was destiny that had brought them together and that, for all intents and purposes, they should consider themselves cousins. So, hugs all around!

What a way to get a day started!

Our goal today was to eat our way through the French Market. Is this when we use the cliché that our eyes are bigger than our bellies?   Well, we tried.

Janet and Sandra hadn’t had hurricanes yet, so while they ordered the well-known New Orleans cocktail at one booth I ordered a muffaletta half (divided into thirds) at another… now that took some calculating.

For those who are not familiar with a muffaletta, it is very much like an Italian grinder (sub) except it is served on a round bread loaf with a floor of olive tapenade and a LOT of olive oil… and compressed Panini style.

This one was terrific… a little more hot pepper than I usually enjoy, but then, this is New Orleans. The olives were exceptionally good and the olive oil was unlike anything in the neighborhood grocery… more Williams- Sonoma.

Nearby were small, round ice cream tables and their accompanying wire chairs. We were fortunate enough to grab one just being vacated. Nearby, a couple (looking very much our age) were scanning the area for a table of their own. Families with small children and carriages, couples with friends, older folks with younger relatives were occupying every table in sight… and showing no indication that they would be leaving soon.

We invited the couple to join us, if they could find one more chair somewhere. As luck (and agility) would have it, there was one nearby.

We all gathered around this tiny table to enjoy our ala carte morsels. It turns out this couple was from London. They also were planning to spend 5 weeks here in the States, their first stop being New Orleans.

What a great time we had chatting with them… sharing our memories of visits to their country and giving them suggestions on what to see in ours. We laughed over pronunciations and perspectives. The wife couldn’t see paying exorbitant prices for porridge, even if it was called Grits. We pointed out that in Italy it was called Polenta and the prices were even higher.

We stayed way too long enjoying their company. (It is an easy thing to do in New Orleans… stay too long enjoying food and folklore.) But there was more to see and do, so we bid our farewells and went our jolly ways.

Previously, I mentioned the block-long flea market. This time it was serious. We were there to dicker and purchase. It was time to think about Christmas gifts and birthday gifts and hospitality gifts and gifts to ourselves. By the time we exited the far end, we had done pretty well. Some of it would be worn home, some of it would be folded extra small to fit in the carry-on, and some of it would have to put up with being scrunched in the big bag for a short plane ride home.

It was late afternoon, by now, and we were running out of steam. We headed for the end of the line platform and waited for the doors to open on the streetcar. One last $1.20 for three.

We rode the river-front line as far as Bienville and headed for Decatur. Decatur Street is narrow. Bienville Street is narrower. It was crowded with large trucks with media equipment, people who looked like they knew what they were doing scurrying about, sight seers, policemen – and women- directing traffic. When asked what was happening, a smiling policewoman explained that they were taping an episode of NCIS on the block.   Ahhhh.

Our last meal of our vacation in New Orleans was to be oysters. There was an Oyster bar on Bienville not far from our hotel. We bantered with the sidewalk staff about the excitement on the street, entered, and prepared to be pleased. Janet and Sandra ordered a cup of Gumbo and a half dozen oysters on the half shell. Simple enough. I, on the other hand, had not had Jambalaya or fried oysters all week and felt it would be remiss not to have them now.

Big mistake. My memory was full of the lightly coated, lightly fried, briny tasting, plump oysters we had had last year on the outer banks of South Carolina. I saw no reason not to expect the same quality here in New Orleans in a restaurant with the name Oyster Bar. Au contraire mon chere.

It need not be discussed at length. I will merely offer that the Jambalaya was tasteless and dry and the oysters resembled a plate full of corks. It was too close to plane time to complain or send them back… I ate some, paid the bill and left a disappointed diner.   Oh well, I still had the wonderful memories of all the great meals we had enjoyed.

We arrived at the hotel, called for our luggage from the storage room, said more good-byes to the staff who had been so helpful, and waited for the cab that the concierge had called.

The trip to the airport was pretty routine. The cost was $15 per person for two or more. Something to remember if you need to decide between the Airport Shuttle and a taxi. Remember the shuttle cost $20 per person.

We were flying different airlines and deposited at different departure gates. Hugs and good-byes all around and promises to text when we arrived home.

As much as we had enjoyed our excitement-filled week in the Crescent City, already, our thoughts were on where we would spend next year’s Girls’ Getaway.

(Photos for this escapade can be found on the facebook: The Untethered Tourist.  Click on PHOTOS on the header, then again on ALBUMS)

NOLA VII

Thursday– The last day for our Hop-on Hop-off tickets. But, we still had Emeril’s to experience. Such a decision.

If we could get to Emeril’s at an early hour, we could still enjoy the rest of the afternoon on and off the bus. Maybe even make the walking tour of the Garden District.  We now had the outline of a plan.

So, off we trekked to Emeril’s for lunch. The route would be Decatur Street to St. Louis, turn left. Emeril’s NOLA is about in the middle of the block.

Decatur Street is not a very wide street… actually, none of the streets in the French Quarter is very wide. They were laid out when the width was ample if two horse and carriages could pass. As we left our hotel, we encountered much ado on the street and sidewalk near one of the jazz clubs. A HUGE tour bus was parked adjacent to the sidewalk… much larger than any horse and carriage. Behind it was yet another bus pulling a HUGE utility trailer from which men were unloading all sorts of electronic apparati… a very busy scene and a very crowded street.

It was another beautiful day to walk and enjoy the people, the shops, and the street performers.

We arrived at Emeril’s about noon. The dining room was not crowded, so we were able to be seated right away. It was too early in the day to enjoy a cocktail for me, but Sandra ordered the Milk Punch. She had seen it on other menus and had wondered all week what it tasted like. When it came, we all shared a sip. It tasted a great deal like a thin egg nog.

The menu was lovely. One expects no less from Emeril. (We have eaten at several of Emeril’s restaurants on our travels.) It is always difficult to make a decision at Emeril’s, everything promises to be outstanding, but today we all chose the simple Shrimp and Grits.

This peasant dish is anything but simple. The complex flavors are presented almost as garnishment, giving you the opportunity to taste the savory individual ingredients. But, by the last bite, everything has been blended into the most astonishing tastes. His choice of Applewood smoked bacon over Tasso ham gave an unexpected complexity to each bite of toasted shrimp and buttery, cheese enhanced grits. It was a culinary moment.

By the time we were through, the dining room had filled. It was about 1:30, so we had our waiter take our perfunctory photo in front of the blackboard wall and went on our merry way.

Next door to NOLA is the New Orleans Cooking School. In the front window a woman was making pralines. Now, nothing says New Orleans like pralines. We had to go inside to taste the aromatic free samples. It turns out that these pralines were the best we had tasted… so fresh… and were also the best priced. So, now it is not just tasting, it is buying… and mailing home when it becomes too much to fit in the carry-on. More than pralines are sold in this cook’s paradise.

One can also take cooking classes here. Either by reservation, or, if there is room, by walk-in. We were invited to learn how to cook Cajun style dishes, but we had just waddled out of Emeril’s too full to think about food, so we didn’t stay.

Besides, there was still time to get to the Hop-on, Hop-off and perhaps get to the walking tour of the garden district. So, we put it in gear and headed for stop #6.

Donna was, once again, our bus guide. And, once again we climbed to the top deck to enjoy the view and the breeze. At stop #11 we departed to join the 3:00 (and last for the day) walking tour of the Garden District.

Stop #11 is on Market Street in the area called the “Lower Garden District.” Our guide took us two blocks north into the “Upper Garden District” where the gorgeous homes are located.

The homes in this district are a study in architecture… a real mix of styles and sizes. The first home we enjoyed was a classical New Orleans with a front two storied gallery. It was pointed out to us that the columns on the first floor were Doric and those on the second floor gallery were Corinthian… not unusual for New Orleans.

It was also pointed out that, although these spacious homes were originally owned and lived in by one family, today there could be as many as 6-8 apartments inside. Each one renting for the equivalent of a first-born child.

After walking three blocks, or so, going north, we turned west. The street became more narrow and the pavement more broken. But, we watched our step while we watched the variety of homes.

One home, with its still-attached slave quarters, looked large enough to be a hotel… or at least a large bed and breakfast. However, it was lived in by just two brothers. We wondered how often they saw each other… maybe on weekends, or holidays.

Another block held the smaller homes of seven sisters. A father had wanted his daughters to remain close, so he built each one a home side by side by side. The facades were similar to matching, but the interiors were quite different reflecting each daughter’s taste. The guide pointed out that either the father couldn’t count, or there was something his wife had neglected to tell him, because there were not seven houses, but eight.

As we walked on, the houses seemed to become larger. Some taking up an entire corner lot approaching an acre or more… quite a bit of real estate in this compact residential section.   One corner home claims to be the first to have running water and indoor plumbing. The boast becomes a matter of discussion when the reason for this early amenity was the result of cisterns on the roof that collected rainwater and gravity did the rest. By the way, this house can be purchased for 9.5 million, if you are in the market for a large home in the Garden District.

Who lives in the Garden District? Anyone who can afford it. Among the owners are celebrities of the sports world and the entertainment world. The Manning brothers, John Goodman and Sandra Bullock, among others, all own beautiful homes here.

At the end of one block there stood THE MOST COLORFUL house of all. Painted with wide, bright Turquoise and white stripes, it stands in great contrast to those of more modest decor.   Upon approach, one sees the proud sign “THE COMMANDERS PALACE.”   So that is where we are… at the corner of Washington and Coliseum. This is the patriarch of all restaurants in New Orleans, being the finest since 1880. This is the restaurant that I remembered as “Out of the area” when we dined there in the 1960s. It is still going strong.

Emeril Lagasse began here, as did Paul Prudhomme… sharpening their chef’s knives and culinary skills as well as learning from the best.

It is recommended that you come for lunch… the same menu doubles in price for dinner.   And the martinis are practically given away, if you can drink that much in the middle of the day and still function.

Across Washington Street is the Lafayette Cemetery, one of the largest above ground burial areas in New Orleans. The tours are free if you have a “Hop-on Hop-off” ticket.

This was also the end of the walking tour of the Garden District. We now were faced with the option of walking 8 blocks in one direction to ride a red, double-decker bus or 4 blocks in the opposite direction to St. Charles Street to ride a street car.   You guessed that one right… we took the streetcar.

Now, this was the end of the day. The streetcar was already standing room only, but they squeezed and pushed until the dozen folks waiting were aboard. The three of us had offered to wait for the next car, but the driver said, “Oh, we still have plenty of room.” So, we paid our $1.20 for three and pushed our way in.

Janet ended up in the front right next to the driver, so she was able to get the transfers we needed at Canal Street. Sandra, after a stop or two, was able to get a seat at the very front. I held on for dear life to a pole AND a strap and fairly cuddled the man in front of me. He didn’t seem to mind, but his wife kept an eye on us. She was up front next to Janet.

It was miles of stops and people exiting and entering before I was able to sit down. The driver had actually passed some stops where folks were waiting because there was no room. The car behind us had some space, apparently, but they seemed to be bulging at the sides as well.  It brought to mind the image of sightseers hanging off the cable cars in San Francisco, but here all were tucked inside closed doors.

At Canal, the streetcar nearly emptied. The sidewalk became a circus. We headed across the esplanade that was Canal Street to wait for the transfer. Again, from across the far four lanes, Fro Yo beckoned. Again, I sat on the bench holding the packages while Sandra and Janet braved the traffic to select yummy smoothies. This time mine was a Cappuccino. I can not tell you how good it tasted!

Our transfers took us to Decatur Street. Our weary limbs took us to our hideaway. Our plan tonight was to clean out the refrigerator, but the smoothies were not leaving much room or desire.

Friday, our last day in NOLA, we would catch the remnants of missed attractions and eat our way through the French market before leaving town. Tonight, we would rest our weary bones…..

(Photos can be seen on the facebook page: The Untethered Tourist.  Click on “photos” in the header and again on “albums”.

NOLA VI

Brennan’s

Reservations were for 6:15, but we arrived a bit early. Brennan’s was established in 1946. That earns the respect to be early. Brennan’s was originally located on Bourbon Street. That is where Breakfast at Brennan’s and Bananas Foster were born. That was the location back in the early 1960s when I first visited. This location on Royal Street is not only new, but also stunningly renovated. We looked forward to our dinner.

We gave our names and apologized for being early. The Maitre d’ said she had no reservation for us. Surprised, we explained that our concierge had made the reservations by phone on Monday. We were sure they should be there. Well, they weren’t. What should we do next? Make reservations for another night? We were running out of time.

The Maitre d’ said she would seat her 6:00 O’clock people and come back to help us. O.K. We found seats and settled in to wait.

When she returned, she offered that there were several Brennan restaurants in the neighborhood, perhaps our concierge had called a different restaurant. We assured her that we had asked for THE Brennan’s and had stood by while the call was made. She said it was of no matter, she could seat us now. Would the courtyard be satisfactory?

YAH! The Courtyard would be great! The night was lovely, the palm trees offered shade and, as soon as the sun set, the cool night breezes and twinkling stars would make the ambience spectacular.

Our waiter introduced himself as Rob and handed us the cocktail menu. Now, I am a Scotch on the Rocks sort of person. Although these cocktail choices sounded exotic, they all sounded too sweet or too complicated. I told him I was leaning toward the Classic Sazerac Cocktail, but had no reference about the taste. It was red. I liked Campari… it was red, and bitter. But this was Sazerac Rye. I knew Rye, from my youthful Rye and Ginger days. It mentioned bitters. I was familiar with bitters, Manhattan days, and Absinthe… which tasted like licorice. But I couldn’t get my taste buds around the combination.

Rob explained that the glass was kissed (rinsed) with the absinthe, the rye was gentle and the bitters broke the sweetness. If I was not happy with the taste, he would bring me a Campari cocktail. Now, that sounded accommodating, so I ordered the classic cocktail of Brennan’s of old… the Sazerac. It was splendid. Dinner at Brennan’s had begun.

For appetizers Sandra ordered the Turtle Soup. Janet said her daughter (who has a pet turtle) would never forgive her, so she ordered Gumbo. My choice was blue crab remoulade with jicama, avocado, and a mango vinaigrette. Scrumptious!

Dinner was more difficult to decide. Everything on the menu sounded exquisite. Janet chose the Smoked Pepper Seared Tuna, Sandra ordered Sauteed Flounder, and I finally decided on the Creole Spiced Lamb Rack. While we waited with great anticipation and sipped our cocktails, we watched other guests being pampered with the table-side preparation of the classic Steak Diane. Such culinary theater! Such rich aromas of brandied beef! Such flaming flare… especially after dark. It was great entertainment for all the senses.

Our dinners arrived in due time. They were magnificent. We were not disappointed that we had not ordered Steak Diane. However, we were able to experience the table-side flambe when we ordered—again a classic—Bananas Foster for dessert.

Bananas Foster was created at Brennan’s in 1951 by Chef Paul. It was named for a frequent diner and close friend of then owner Owen Brennan. The dish has become well known world-wide, but at Brennan’s alone thirty-five thousand pounds of bananas are served each year. It was the perfect finish to a beautiful evening.

As we left the restaurant, we again thanked the Maitre d’ for seating us.  We did wonder if, somewhere elsewhere another Brennan’s was still waiting for us to show up.

(Photos can be found on the facebook page for The Untethered Tourist.  Click on PHOTOS in the header, then click on ALBUMS.  Enjoy!)

NOLA IV

Tuesday was to be a bright, sunny day with the possibility of an occasional shower. It sounded like the perfect day to take the tour of the city on the “Hop-On Hop-Off” Bus. We had picked up the brochure at the concierge desk, but had seen them all over town.

To stay on the bus for an entire tour would take two hours. Emeril’s was open for lunch from 11:30 – 2:00. We could see the Central Business District with the Super Dome, the Arts District with several museums, the Garden District including Magazine Street Shopping, and the French Quarter and end with lunch at Emeril’s.   Well, it sounded like a good plan.

The brochure map indicated that the closest stop for us was on Canal Street at the Marriott… practically around the corner. The buses came every half hour. So off we trotted to stop #6 to be in time for the next bus. However, when we approached the Marriott, nearly to Bourbon Street, the greeting staff outside said the stop had been changed and was really across the street at the Sheraton (which was actually even closer to Decatur). So we backtracked one block to cross Canal Street just in time to watch the tour bus arrive at the Sheraton and leave before we could get there. OK. Now we have another half hour to wait.

We crossed Canal Street… no small feat. The street is actually a boulevard with at least 4 lanes of traffic going each way with a wide oasis in the center for two sets of streetcar tracks plus waiting areas. It even has palm trees.  It is its own neighborhood.

Canal Street is the dividing street between the Historic Vieux Carre with its French named streets and the new (as of 1803) city with its English named streets… and the streets change names at Canal.

The good news is: the traffic lights are pedestrian friendly and tell you when it is safe to cross this boulevard and transportation hub. We arrived on the west side of the street safely.

A large sign at The Sheraton informed us that we could buy our tickets there before boarding the bus… and we certainly had time. So, we entered the small anteroom. The pleasant lady behind the desk apologized that the brochure had not yet been updated to indicate stop #6 had been moved and that a couple of stops had been eliminated… #1 at Jackson Square (our second choice for nearest) and #12 on Magazine Street in the Garden District. (Thanks for that heads-up).

She gave us the senior discount which turned our frowns into smiles, and we forgot that our feet already hurt. We paid her the first $10 and would pay the balance on the bus. The ticket was good for three days, so she explained that we could use it any of those days for the free tours of the Garden District, the French Quarter, and the Lafayette Cemetery in addition to all the attractions that were accessible from the working stops. Much more than we would be able to schedule in our few remaining days.

We thanked her for all her help and left to stand by the red sign that indicated the bus stop. There was a lot of congestion and construction here and we wondered how the bus could safely stop to pick up and deposit passengers when we found the sign that said the stop had been moved further down the street. So, once again, we walked until we found the new red sign and realized we were nearly directly across the street from our hotel. Note to self: the next time will be easier.

Folks were gathering now. We could see the top of the double decker red bus above the traffic as it approached our stop. There were several empty seats on the open-air top deck, so we climbed the narrow, steep steps and settled near the railing. As the tour guide greeted us and explained how the tour worked, the assistant gathered the balance of the ticket price and off we went for our two hour tour.

The guide was very nice, very informative, and very accommodating when anyone had a question. Her name was Donna.

I will not narrate the tour. It really is well worth the price of the ticket to have this experience for yourself. There are a few photos on The Untethered Tourist facebook page, though.

Well, we had a delightful time. Needless to say, by the time we were through, Emeril’s was closed for lunch. We would go there later in the week. But the question loomed…where to eat lunch at 2:30 in the afternoon? Did other restaurants close as well? Landry’s wasn’t far and we had enjoyed our meal there, so we walked the block and hoped that it would be open. It was.

This time I ordered the cedar planked Salmon and Janet chose the Crawfish Etoufee. Sandra enjoyed a cup of Gumbo and a Shrimp Salad. All was delicious.

After lunch, we explored the shops along N. Peters, then turned toward the levee bordering the mighty Mississippi River. We picked up brochures for the sternwheeler, Natchez, and headed for the streetcar stop.

Now, there are three streetcar routes. One runs east and west along the levee from the far end of the French Market to behind Harrah’s casino. One runs north and south from one end of Canal Street to the cemeteries at the other. The third runs the length of St. Charles west from Canal. They are building a fourth route that will run along Rampart Street at the north end of the French Quarter. We did not hear a completion date for that one.

The cost for one streetcar ride for adults is $1.25, transfers are .75. Seniors ride for .40 and transfers are free. Exact change is needed. Although the streetcar is driven by a human, they move folks off and on in a very timely manner, as if it ran automatically. Rather than hold up the line digging for change, we took on the practice of paying $1.20 for 3 seniors… it was easier on everyone.

We rode this car to its end, asked how to get to the St. Charles route, accepted the transfers and the information on how to use them and left for the nearby, approaching streetcar that would take us to Canal Street and then, after a transfer, to the end of the world.

The transfer worked for the Canal Street car. When it stopped at Decatur, we had to get off, cross the tracks and get on a new car… paying another $1.20 and getting another transfer. The transfers are good for 3 separate changes as long as it is all the same ride.

At St. Charles, we got off, entered a convenient CVS pharmacy to purchase bottles of cold water, then waited on the corner of St. Charles and Canal, along with at least 400 other people to board the streetcar. We were able to get seats, but many were only able to stand.

The seats are wooden, polished from constant use… and close. When the car is full, the aisles are crowded with folks holding on to straps or poles. It can be quite uncomfortable.

But, the windows were all open and the cool breeze was welcome. If it rained anywhere in the vicinity that day, we were not affected.

This route goes out of town through the garden district, past the zoo, past Loyola and Tulane Universities, and past many beautiful homes. It is always crowded, no matter the hour of the day. There is no guide, nor narrative – unless someone within earshot is telling a guest what they are passing. But, nonetheless, it is a fun ride.

We rode it to the absolute end. When the car came to a halt, the driver disengaged the power. We all got off. The driver got off. He locked the door. Then we all walked around to the other end of the same streetcar, the driver unlocked that door and we all got back on. This took another $1.20 and three more transfers.

It was late. The sun disappeared. The only light was the occasional streetlight. The same street looked very different on the ride back, but we were glad that we had made the decision to ride the St. Charles streetcar.

When we arrived at Canal Street, we got off, crossed to the median and sat on one of the benches. In front of us, on the far side of Canal Street, was a FroYo store beckoning to us. I offered to stay with the bundles while Janet and Sandra went into FroYo to make delicious choices. They brought back filling Frappes of various flavors and we enjoyed their coolness while we awaited the next streetcar.

By the time we rode the few blocks to Decatur, we had finished our tasty treats. When we climbed to our fourth floor retreat, we decided we didn’t really need supper. We were quite satisfied… with the entire day.

(Photos can be found on facebook page for The Untethered Tourist.  Click on PHOTOS in the header, then click again on ALBUMS.  Enjoy!)

NOLA III

Janet had been extraordinarily busy since we were together in Sedona in the Spring, so there was quite a lot of catching up to be done.

In the midst of it all, we decided to have dinner at Brennan’s Red Fish Grill on Bourbon Street. Now, before I go on and on about the great food, let me say a word about the Brennans. Their first restaurant was The Commanders Palace in the Garden District. Their second, and most recognizable, is Brennan’s on Royal Street in the French Quarter. But, as 20^th century businesses vacated, the Brennan Boys acquired the buildings and created new restaurants with a variety of names, expanding the ability for diners to enjoy fabulous food.

The Red Fish Grill (by Ralph Brennan) is located at 115 Bourbon Street. La Pension is at 115 Decatur Street. Therefore, it was appealing to walk the three blocks on nearby Canal Street and take in another aspect of the city’s personality… the high-rise hotels, the up-scale department stores, VERY wide sidewalks, traffic lights with walk indicators, etc.

We arrived at our dining destination 6-ish and were immediately seated. By seven o’clock folks were patiently waiting on the street for availability – on a Monday evening.

The building, itself, is an interesting structure speaking loudly to repurposing and renovating, while paying homage to the historic homes of by-gone businesses. The illustrated wall that separates the cocktail lounge from the dining area was a pre-existing, perhaps exterior brick wall of a building of a much earlier time. It was awesome.

The extensive menu was also awesome. Again, I was hoping to narrow the options down to two or three with the help of our server. Janet and Sandra were able to decide more quickly. Janet ordered the Alligator Sausage and Seafood Gumbo as an appetizer with the Blackened Flounder for her entree. Sandra followed with the same Gumbo and the Blackened Yellowfin Tuna. With our server’s assistance, I chose the Wood Grilled Red Fish and Lump Crabmeat with Tasso and Wild mushroom Pontalba Potatoes, garnished with Lemon/ Rosemary/ Worcestershire sauce. Although I had talked with fishermen who braved the eastern shore dawn to catch Red Fish, I had never tasted it. This seemed to be a fine opportunity.   Oh yes, and a cup of that splendid sounding Gumbo.

The Gumbo came promptly… along with that evil crusty bread. It was delicious… and filling. When my entrée arrived, I was able to eat only half of it. A box would be summoned to enjoy the remainder at home another evening.

We did stretch all good sense, however, and ordered one decadent piece of Bourbon Pecan Pie with Jack Daniels ice cream and three forks. We were going to have to walk the LONG way home.

Making our way through the ravenous mass waiting to be seated, we turned away from Canal Street into the French Quarter when leaving the restaurant. Bourbon Street was all that the commercials promised. It didn’t have to be Mardi Gras to laissez les bon temps roulez.

The vehicle street by day became a pedestrian mall after dark. The rare mode of transportation being the pedi-cab or horse and carriage. The only illumination the brightly blinking neon signs and occasional gas streetlight.

The streets were filled with music… each block sporting its own ensemble of accomplished musicians playing for monetary appreciations… and glass bead bearers bestowing their gifts on the ever-present tourists hoping for paper money in return.

While Sandra popped into an inviting shop, Janet and I waited in the center of Bourbon Street. It wasn’t a minute before Janet was wearing a gold bead necklace and I a brilliant blue one. We were told that now it was our turn to return the favor with cash… preferably paper. Janet reached into her pocket and pulled out a handful of change… mostly small coins. I had to confess that I didn’t carry cash – only plastic – so I would have to return my necklace. The hustler stomped off muttering that a man just can’t make a living anymore.

Sandra returned and we continued our walk home. We only ventured as far as Conti and turned toward the River… saving the rest for the days to come. The side streets are not as well lighted and the pavement not as even, but we were able to find our way past the impressive, block-long Supreme Court Building without a mishap.

Decatur Street was not quite as festive as Bourbon, but still had atmosphere. The music was coming through the open doors of intimate jazz clubs and the neon signs were smaller, but our weary feet didn’t mind. We reached our fourth floor haven quite satisfied with our evening.

Photos for this story can be found on the facebook: The Untethered Tourist.  Click on PHOTOS in the header, then click on ALBUMS.  Enjoy!

NOLA II

Monday, we arose late-ish… happy to rest the bodies weary from walking the miles of airport concourses and sitting the hours of tight, semi-comfortable airplane seats. The biggest decision to make as we ate our scrambled eggs… cooked on our full stove with oven… was how to spend our day until Janet arrived in the late afternoon.

We perused the brochures and rack cards, sorting them by location. We explored the internet to ascertain where reservations were needed and whether credit cards were accepted. (We do travel by plastic, these days.) Final decisions would be made after we were all together, but we thought it would be nice to go to Brennan’s that night for dinner, as a welcome to Janet.

So, noonish, we headed out the door, stopping at the concierge desk to make reservations for dinner at Brennan’s.  And a good idea it was, too. The concierge looked on the website for reservations and found that tonight was full. O.K. Tuesday night… “yes,” she said, “6:15, 6:45, or 7:00 PM is available.” Being from Eastern Time, we chose 6:15. Then, just as quickly realized that Janet was from the west coast and that would be 4:15 her time… probably too early to have dinner. So, we asked if the time could be changed to 7:00. Just that fast, all reservations were gone. Now what?

What about Wednesday? The concierge called on the phone this time and we were able to get a dinner reservation at Brennan’s for Wednesday evening at 6:15. We took it. Now, we would plan Wednesday around that plan. We would only be in town until Friday, so we had to squeeze in as much as possible.

Sandra and I started out to see the world… or, at least, the French Quarter. We walked Decatur Street toward the market (away from Canal St.) to Iberville where we turned left toward Bourbon. Sandra was hoping she would remember where her restaurant, Oysters Desire, was located.

Iberville is not an exciting street… mostly delivery docks and such. We crossed Chartres. (Although a French name, it does not have the courtesy of French pronunciation. Here, it is called Charter.)

Toward Royal, Iberville becomes more interesting and by Bourbon St. it actually has character. We turned right onto Bourbon Street where, although early in the day, the atmosphere became lively. Street musicians were setting up to entertain, neon signs were already flashing, pedi-cab drivers were staking their corners, many shops were opening their front doors.

Having walked several blocks already and not seeing Sandra’s restaurant, we found a small, but beckoning bistro that said (I swear) NOLA.   Could it be? We went inside. It was small, made to look larger by having its long wall blessed with full-length mirrors. Several tables were occupied. We sat down, about in the center (hard to tell with the mirrors). We ordered a cup of Gumbo and a dozen raw oysters.

When asked if this was Emeril’s NOLA, the waitress wasn’t sure. She said it was the second time today she had been asked that question. She would have to find out. Sandra and I shared a look that would have flattened a bison, but the waitress went on her way to the kitchen.

The food was quite good, and the service quite timely. We were keeping track of the time since we wanted to get all the way to the market and back before Janet arrived. Then, we made our big mistake. We ordered dessert. Now, I know that sounds innocent enough, but we ordered Pecan Pie. The waitress asked if we wished to have it warm or cold. We preferred warm.

I think they baked a new one. We sat and we sat and we sat and were just ready to forego the goodies and leave when the huge chunk of warm Pecan Pie smothered in ripples of whipped cream was placed in the center of the table… one large plate of gooey goodness with two forks. Oh Yeah!

OK, so now we are running a bit tight on time, but we should still be alright if we keep things moving along. Janet was going to text us when she boarded the shuttle for town and call us when she got close. I wanted to be at the hotel to greet her when she arrived.

Bourbon Street was even more lively, now. Tourists were appearing with their street maps and brochures. A group of diners marched out of a restaurant into the center of the street which had been blocked off by a police cruiser with its blue lights flashing… either for safety or for attention… not sure which, maybe both. They paraded down the street following a trio of musicians playing New Orleans flavor jazz. Great Mardi Gras atmosphere, but it was only 1:00 in the afternoon…on Monday,  in October.

As I walked Bourbon Street, I was transported to an earlier time. When I was first married, in the early 1960s, my husband’s family had attended a convention here. We tagged along… the newly-weds… all wide-eyed and innocent. It had been a magical time, and now I was once again seeing familiar restaurant names… Arnaud’s, Pat O’brien’s, The Court of Two Sisters, Absinthe House, Galatoire’s, Antoine’s… it was like seeing old friends. After Katrina, I wondered if any of them still existed. I was delighted to see they did and wondered if we would get to experience them again.

The only other restaurant we enjoyed on that visit was The Commander’s Palace, but I knew it was away from the French Quarter and we probably wouldn’t be going there.

Finally, we found Oysters Desire, but it was too late. We did make note, in case we could fit it in later. We walked on, past all the cast iron grill work and rounded-cornered galleries… peeking down each side street to see what excitement it offered… until we arrived at St. Peters Street where we turned right, toward the river, to get to the grocery.   Outside the grocery, in the center of Royal Street, was a group of musicians, so while Sandra picked up a few items inside, I enjoyed the music outside.

We were now just a couple of blocks from Jackson Square and Café du Monde (and iconic beignets). The time seemed ample. We walked on. However, by the time you look in every window, and enjoy the artwork exhibited on the ornate, cast iron railings, and walk the distance, time can fugit.   The cathedral was beautiful. The Cabildo is still grand. The Pontalban Apartments are still going strong. The trees in Jackson Square have grown. We crossed the congested street to the Café du Monde.

It is legend. It is huge. It is crowded. First you scout the area to see who might be ready to leave, then you saunter their way pretending you don’t want their table, then you have to be quick before the other stalking group gets to it first.

Now, you sit amongst the dirty dishes and half-filled coffee cups and crumpled paper napkins and hope all that mountain of powdered sugar stays on the top of the table and doesn’t cascade into your lap when you sit down.

The menu – beignets and café au lait – and prices, are listed on the napkin holder, so really all you need now is a waiter… and they are everywhere, just not near you. I finally caught the eye of one waiter who was in the next row… he turned his head and ignored me. Apparently, this was not his table. He busily cleared nearby tables, took orders from folks who sat down after we did…(snarl) and disappeared.

A few minutes later a short, round, wizened woman wearing a white apron and well-worn oxfords appeared in our row. I waved at her and pointed at our table, which was still a sugar-coated mess. She nodded and stopped to clear another table… (snort). Four people sat down at the table next to us, but closer to her. She took their order. (Grrrrrr.)

I waved again. She cleared their table. I said, perhaps a bit loudly, “Ma’am, could we order, please?” She came our way. By this time, Sandra and I had bussed our own table, putting everything on the next table which was already loaded with several other table’s leavings, took napkins from the holders, dipped them into the left-behind, half-filled water glasses and had made a valiant effort to de-sweeten our table surface.

Now, she came with her tray and damp towel and wiped our table, rearranged the sugar container, retrieved her pad and pencil and indicated that she was ready to take our order. We quickly obliged. She turned and shuffled off toward the mysterious place where beignets grow.

Do you remember Tim Conway’s secretary, Mrs. HWiggins, on the Carol Burnett Show? Well, this woman was her grandmother.

It had to be 20 minutes before she returned. The row of tables beside us (the one with the waiter who ignored me) turned around at least once and he was back again for 5 more folks.

The table behind us was on their fourth shaggy dog story about another visit to New Orleans. We asked to borrow their napkin holder, since ours had gone to another table and we needed it so we could have our money ready to pay Grandma Hwiggins when she brought the food… lest we never saw her again. They were happy to share. They didn’t have any plans to leave for awhile.

The only saving grace for the misspent affair was the lone sidewalk saxophonist who played beautiful jazz the whole while.

Well, she finally returned… to deliver to the next table first, then to ours. Then, back to theirs to collect money, then to ours. The bill was $5.25 per person, after tax. We each gave her $6.00 which she tucked into her pocket and left…no thank you, no offer for change. (We were not offended, only amused. We had planned for it to be her tip. How long would it take to get change anyway?)

In the middle of all this Janet texted that she was on the ground. It was time to roll and we were 7 blocks from the hotel. Oh, and we had forgotten to get her soda at the grocery.

Where is a hovercraft when you need one?

Well, I won’t burden you with the pounding walk back. We inquired about a horse and carriage, but it was $90. There wasn’t a Pedi-cab to be seen. At $1.00 per person per block it would be $14… as much or more than a taxi and taxis only come for concierges. So, we hoofed it, carrying groceries and a six-pack of soda. (They can get heavy, you know.)

Janet was waiting in the lobby when we arrived.

(Photos are on fb: The Untethered Tourist.  Click on PHOTOS in the header, then click on ALBUMS…  enjoy!)

NOLA

After a chaotic and strenuous year, it was once again time for our Girls Getaway. This year it was to be New Orleans. Flight and lodging arrangements had been made a year ago, so it was time to reconnect, review, and refresh.   We would be staying at La Pension on Decatur Street at the southwest corner of the Vieux Carre (French Quarter). Sandra, coming from Hartford, would arrive first about 10 AM. I was due in about 4:00 PM from Atlanta, and Janet would arrive from Las Vegas on Monday around 2:30 PM. Margaret, in the midst of estate dishevelment in Indiana, would not make it this year.

Since Sandra would arrive first, she would scout the unit for kitchen facilities and shop for breakfast groceries. We knew we had two bedrooms, 1.5 bathrooms, and a “partial” kitchen. From experience, we knew that could mean anything from a microwave and a mini-fridge to a hot plate and a small sink. There would be no sense in buying eggs for breakfast if we could not cook them.

About one o’clock at the airport, I received a phone call from her. I had checked my luggage, had eaten a bowl of soothing soup, and was lounging in the boarding area with a hot game of free cell on my tablet.

“I got us a full kitchen!” Sandra said. “I just got back from the food store, which is about half way ’round the world, but the taxi driver helped me into the lobby with the groceries. From there I was able to get them to our unit on the fourth floor.”

I listened, impressed that she had been able to get us a full kitchen.

“You take the elevator to the third floor, then you wind your way hither and yon and up and down a series of steps until you come to our entrance. Now, it isn’t too bad. There are only 5 or 6 steps for each flight until you get to the 4^th floor. But our unit is great! See you when you get here!”

WAIT A MINUTE!!!  “Did you drop bread crumbs, so I can find you?” I asked.

“No, when you register, the bellman will bring you up.”  You bet your sweet bonnet he will. I have two rather heavy pieces of luggage and a purse that requires a license plate.

“Oh, and I got you some Scotch.”

Oh well, then. That makes it better. So, I congratulated her on her good fortune, we hung up and I waited to board my flight.

The flight was short… only an hour and 10 minutes… but, I swear it was another hour and 10 minutes before my luggage came around on the carousel and the shuttle for the French Quarter pulled up in the arrival lane. I had time to make three new friends and two new enemies.

The ride into town cost $20 and took about a half hour. The time was spent in idle chatter and watching a video of all the exciting sites to visit in New Orleans. It was pleasant enough.

We stopped several times somewhere in the French Quarter depositing folks and their luggage in front of various hotels and B&Bs. But, when it came to me, the shuttle driver parked on Canal Street and walked me the half block on Decatur Street to La Pension. He said at this time of day it would take another 40 minutes for him to drive around the block to park at the front door. So, he put me inside the double doors then went about his business of delivering wide-eyed tourists.

I checked in, listened to instructions on where things were and how things worked, and smiled appreciatively when my bellman gathered up my luggage and led me to the elevator. I entered, the doors closed, and he disappeared. Hmmm.   The doors opened at level 3, I departed the elevator and started my trek along the corridor, up and down the many mini steps, turning here and there following the signs to my room number until a door opened on my left and there appeared my bellman with my luggage…. Hmmm… does he have his own secret bellman elevator?

Well, by now we had reached the base of the climb to the fourth floor. I led, he followed with the bags… Up and turn and up and turn and up and turn… A landing appeared bearing two doors… the one straight ahead was the door to our unit. YAY!!! We are here!!! Now, that wasn’t too bad.

Opening the door, I hallood for Sandra. All the lights were on and the TV was hosting a football game, but no Sandra appeared. I thanked and tipped the bellman and he left.

The unit was a great surprise. I do believe we were in the repurposed attic of a warehouse… It had great, trussed, vaulted ceilings with beams to the floor, narrow dormer windows and new wide board wooden floors. The living/dining/play area was open. The two bedrooms were at either end of the unit joined with a Jack and Jill bathroom with a large tile and glass stand-up shower, two sinks, a wide mirror, a linen closet, a stool and LOTS of linens. The walls of the bedrooms were about 9 feet high, but were not closed at the top allowing for great circulation of air. I could see that Sandra had already claimed the King bed room and made it homey.

The eating area was rather funky with a barstool high table with a psychedelic-painted kitchen chair hanging upside down from the corner of the ceiling.

Oh yes, and that half bath… actually, I have been in front hall coat closets that were larger.

While I was taking all of this in, Sandra came bounding in the door.

“Oh, you are here! I was hoping to get back with the ice and have a drink ready for you, but the ice machine was somewhere on the other fourth floor and on the way back I got lost! Did you bring any string?”

She put down the ice bucket and we hugged our hellos. We hadn’t seen each other since last year’s getaway on the Outer Banks of North Carolina.

I put my luggage in the Queen bedroom. Sandra fixed us drinks and we settled in to get caught up on family news until it was time for dinner.

Sandra had eaten a ceremonial lunch of raw oysters and gumbo at Oysters Desire on the corner of Bourbon and Bienville and recommended that we go there for supper. But, that seemed a bit of a hike, so we compromised and walked about half the distance to Landry’s on the corner of Conti and N. Peters… just a block from the mighty Mississippi. Our hips and knees thanked us.

The evening was warm with a lovely breeze. With large, arched windows, hanging greenery, and humming ceiling fans, Landry’s had an openness and atmosphere that said “garden”.  We went in.  There was no wait. We were seated toward the center back in a cooling cross breeze.

Our waiter, William, brought us menus and tall waters with lemon. Now, I am terrible when it comes to making a menu decision. I want it all… especially the first meal in a new town. But, I am happy if I can narrow it down to 2 or 3 and ask assistance from my server. Tonight, it was between the cedar planked Salmon and the Crawfish Etouffee. Sandra was having the same undecidedness. The solution was simple. Sandra chose the Salmon and I ordered the Etouffee.

A refreshing green salad came first with a light balsamic vinaigrette on the side… and that sinful warm-from-the-oven crusty bread and sweet butter. (I know better, but I can’t keep from eating that bread!)

There was little conversation while we ate our entrees. Each was SO well prepared. Of course, we shared tastes, since each was our alternative choice.   When the meal was finished, we lost ALL sense of moderation and shared a decadent Crème Brulee.   Completely satiated, we paid our very friendly bill and walked home in the cool river darkness, happy diners.

(Photos for this trip are on fb:The Untethered Tourist)