the big easy meets the big niedzwieckis

I have returned from my five-day sojourn as a childless free spirit. Got to the aunts' at 6 pm on Wednesday after leaving at 9 am on the Saturday.  Stepped in the door and Ji jumped up and down, shouting "Mumma! Mumma!"  Ah, what a welcome.  We had a great visit, chatting about all the things he had done:  went to the "toy center" with the aunts where he played for 2 1/2 hours, bought a set of golf clubs, tried to buy me a Kinder Egg but the aunts wouldn't let him, watched Dora a million times, ate lots of noodles, and got stickers for being a good boy and so was covered in them when I changed his clothes for bed.  Very funny, stars on his arms, legs, and right in the middle of his forehead like a bindi.  Ji is bubbling all the time with interesting insights - after he said hi to me, he launched into a discussion about the fact that 'in olden times, Mumma, people don't have electric lights'.  So Ji, did they use candles? 'No, Mumma, don't be silly, they had flashlights!'.  I was happy to be home to see him but not to return to stupid Canadian weather after a gorgeous week of sandals and humid breezes.  New Orleans was great.

RIGHT THIS WAY, MA'AM

On Saturday, Emma and Mum and Dad and I got picked up by Mum's friend Nicole to go to the airport.  We zipped along the lakeshore, the flight was at 11:30, and we hit the road at 9:00.  Got to the airport and surprisingly the lineups for Air Canada weren't too bad.  After investigating, I corralled everyone to come over to the Express line up - only 3 people in front of us - and we got all our luggage sorted and IDs and so on, and were raring to go, and then saw the HUGE line up for US customs.  It curled and snaked in switch-backs all through the back of the terminal.  We got into line, ready for the long haul.  But again we were pleasantly surprised when the line actually moved pretty quickly.  We were all sort of in travel-anxiety mode (who has the passports?  I have to pee! Will they let us through in time to catch out flight?  I hate customs!) and worried about the time.  But lo and behold, juuuust as we were crossing through a door to come into another giant line up, we were ushered ahead of everyone else because our flight was leaving so soon.  Yay for us! We zoomed into the speed line up, and it was amazing -- all the staff people were cheery and gregarious and helpful and not angry.  It was such a welcome change.  The customs dude sized us up briefly, asked why we were going to New Orleans, and then just let us slide right by. 

We threw our luggage on the baggage carrier, bought $60 worth of magazines and we were off for our holiday! It was such fun being able to zip through lines, go pee, and board the plane without having to keep up a constant dialogue with Ji!  I burrowed into my Vanity Fair and let the world melt away.  I had very impressively packed, like, 3 outfits in my checked bag and - get this - I had nothing but a wallet, cell phone, and magazine in my carry on!!!  It was like carrying candy floss it was so light. 

On the plane I sat and chatted with Emma and ate my food at leisure and watched the whole movie (lost in translation) and read my magazine.  And it was only a 2 1/2 hour flight. How delightful.

WELCOME TO THE STATES

Upon arrival, we were greeted in a heart-warmingly American manner:  as the plane swooped down towards the run way we could read the giant sign proclaiming "GUN SHOW THIS WEEKEND!!!"  Niiiiice touch for airport security and all.  Off the plane, we sped over to the taxi stand and got in a huge ol' caddy with a very big lady driver who took us to our guesthouse, which was a little distant, about a half hour drive.  When we turned off the highway we entered what we later found out is called a "transitional neighbourhood" - basically a run-down 'hood that had seen better days.  But the houses were neat, all painted different pastel colours, and with funky intricate iron work around the porches, and signs for poboys (subs) everywhere, and old dudes on bikes cycling around, and folks out on their porches, and cruddy sidewalks, and big huge trees, and flowery shrubbery.

Our guesthouse, in the Faubourg-Marigny district (also sort of transitional, but more like old Calgary but with the aforementioned pastel houses), was great.  It was an old plantation house, very big with a double level porch and a nice courtyard 'round back.  There were no lawns in the neighbourhood, which was kind of weird, all houses just right up against the sidewalks.  Emma and I shared a big giant classy bedroom with some funky asian artwork in it, and Mum and Dad got bedrooms out in the ex-kitchen / slave quarters.  Suckers. 

We immediately decided to go for a walk - and it was stunningly gorgeous.  Hot, sunny, fresh, not too humid. Banana tree outside Mum's window, birds chirping, the whole shebang. I spent much of the trip referencing other trips...if Hanoi is the Paris of the Orient, well I'd have to say that New Orleans is the Hanoi of the US.  The downtown, anyways.  Somewhat, a little bit, like Montreal, but more like a mix of Montreal and Hanoi with its own unique touches. 

We walked through the neighbourhood heading downtown and saw more fabulous houses and apartments.  Nice touches like street names tiled into the sidewalks and secret gardens that you could look at only though peep-holes.  Our skin actually got hot in the sun.  We walked downtown and checked out a market area - I thought it was sort of cheezy, but apparently it's a pretty popular place...they had lots of trinkets and snacks and t-shirts, y'know the deal.  We got a big huge fresh lemonade and then some pralines, which are super famous for New Orleans, and are basically cookie shaped pieces of fudge with pecans.  Tasty, but ridiculously sweet.

We made our way up to the central square of town and checked out a liquor store.  People were walking all around us carrying open drinks cheerfully. At the booze store, a cluster of men sat around drinking beer and smoking just inside the entrance.  There was a curious array of beverages, and then also random chunks of cheese and, like, Twinkies for sale.  I was too overwhelmed to buy anything, but Dad got Em some Praline liquer.  We then went and had lunch at an overly touristy place with so-so food but very delicious cold beer.  The waiter came over to wipe our table, and saw something under the glass table top in front of me, and said, 'let me get that, is it a hair?'  He tried to get it out, but it didn't come out and he said 'I think it's just a crack'.  At which point I said 'Well, it's the hairiest looking crack I've ever seen.'  Then I turned purple as everyone howled in laughter and I had to hide my face in shame.  It was painful to all of us, it was so funny.  I had absolutely, totally not meant t o make any kind of a joke at all and was utterly embarassed.  But the Corona helped me to forget my shame.

Slightly liquored up, we headed over to the church.  Nice, but kind of bland from the outside due to being made of that sort of plaster stuff that's painted.  Inside, nice and tidy and with good-smelling votive candles.  Outside the church were all kinds of buskers and musicians, and little boys tap dancing, and palm readers, and horse drawn carriages, and of course many drunk American tourists.  We walked all through town back to the guest house - stopping for coffee and beignets at the world-famous Cafe du Monde (beignet = square plain donuts heaped on top with icing sugar, really more of a dumping than a dusting, served piping hot and stunningly yummy, "one serving" being three big donuts, and most of the other tables we saw were asking for one order per person, good god the Americans can eat, they are the champion eaters of the universe).

10 PINS, SLIGHTLY OFF CENTER

That evening we had a classy dinner at a place near our guesthouse - Mum and I had tasty crab cakes, Em had roast pork and Dad had steak.  Our waiter, Mark, was very cheery and personable without being obnoxious, which was pleasant.  After dinner we went to celebrate Emma's birthday at the world-reknown Rock 'N Bowl (yes, our trip was full of "'n"s: for example, "the smoke 'n go" drive through cigarette store!).  The Rock 'N Bowl was heartily written up in all the guidebooks and was indeed a neat place.  In the middle of a shoddy strip mall, sandwiched between the Thrift Store and a weirdo place noting "family dry cleaning and real human hair wigs!", the Rock 'N Bowl was up a big flight of stairs, and was a big ol' bowling alley with a bandstand.  There was a rockin' group playing, called the Iguanas, and they were awesome.  Kind of zydeco rock, lots of spanish touches, and a sax player with an Elvis hairdo, and an actually good accordionist.

We, however, were not there to dance:  we were there to bowl!  I was afraid we wouldn't get a lane, but we jumped right up to one and started to roll.  The shoes were the most comfortable bowling shoes I've ever worn.  The lanes and balls, however, left a great deal to be desired.  The lanes actually sloped in several spots, and the balls were so old that the finger holes were chipped and the balls were sometimes dented!  If you are picturing the Big Lebowski bowling lanes, think again.  This one was alot more like the Danforth bowl only less well-taken care of.  Think cracked wood panelling, ripped linoleum, creaky pin re-setters, and a sort of cryptic dirtiness rather than cutesy 50s cheer.  Still, we got out our pencil and played our game, and - ahem! - I beat everyone.  Then we hung out and listened to the music.  Emma and I hadn't drunk enough to dance, but Mum and Dad did us proud out on the dancefloor.  The Iguanas rocked so hard the dancefloor shook. It was excellent.

Two days later I was reading the obits in the New Orleans Times Picayune newspaper - why I don't know, just liked reading the funny southern names - and discovered that the long-time manager of the Rock 'N Bowl had died the very night that we were there.

TOURGUIDE THABA

After a good sleep we got up ready to tour the next day.  I was in charge, but unfortunately my pre-arranged plans didn't quite work out...my breakfast restaurant was closed Sundays, we'd already been to Church, and I thought the aquarium would be too full...so I had to revise.  After stopping for fancy cafe au lait, we walked over to the Charles St. Street car.  Kiiiind of seems like it's mainly for tourists who've never seen a streetcar before.  I was irritated and annoyed by the wait (20 min) and wasn't too impressed by the rickety, creaky streetcar.  But it was a nice ride over to the garden district.

The garden district is about 15 min from downtown.  Here's the deal: New Orleans was originally a spanish owned colony in the late 1700's.  Then the French took over.  They settled the downtown area around the Mississippi river, setting up the Vieux Carre, Faubourg-Marigny, etc. When, after the Lousiana purchase, the Americans took control from the French, the French didn't really want them in their neighbourhoods.  So the Americans said Au Revoir suckers and built up a big area of mansions in the Garden District.  The houses are stunningly, superbly gorgeous, all big birthday-cake type houses, with huge 10 foot tall windows across all the floors, and big ol' wooden shutters, and iron gates and curlicues, and jacaranda trees and magnolias and hibiscus, and lush grass, and greek columns, and serious drapes, and cupolas and so on. 

Interestingly, alot of the houses are built quite close to the sidewalk so you can peer at them and check them out as if they were houses on good old Monarch Park. We snapped some pics at Anne Rice's house, and then went to check out her neighbourhood book store.

For lunch we went to "one of the best restaurants in america", Commander's Palace, a big rambling restaurant across from Pere Lachaise cemetary.  It was cheery and nice - bright paint, and instead of flowers, each table had a bunch of balloons on it.  Sort of like an upscale prom. We were well amused by a roving band with a trumpeter and singer who serenaded tables (but fortunately not ours, since we're all sort of shy with that kind of thing).  Our waiter, D'Anthony, was suave and happy, and brought us many treats including butter soaked garlic bread served with butter on the side (!). 

The appetizers really were superior - I had a great shrimp salad with spicy sauce, Em had excellent oysters.  We checked to see if Em could eat the fish and D'Anthony said sure, but when Em's fish arrived it was suspiciously encrusted with pecans and what appeared to be flour.  We checked, and yes, sure enough, it was flour.  D'Anthony came back and claimed to have asked the cook who had supposedly said "there was only a little flour in it."  Oh good.  Please, send just a teeny bit of reese's peanut butter cup to the kid who's allergic to peanuts.  And how about just one little bee sting for the kid carrying the epi-pen? Please???

Still and all the food was interesting, creole-y, and yummy, except for an elaborate-looking but dull-tasting bread pudding.

We then headed for the guesthouse on the streetcar where we had fun listening to a lady telling the driver, "why you make such a mess wiping your window?  I'ma go out there and wipe it myself when I get off the streetcar, Baby!".  We wandered for a bit in the rain before happening upon (ack!) the casino.  Dad won $12 and promptly lost it and another $30 to boot.  Mum and I found a machine someone had left without claiming their money from, and so we made a free nine bucks, whoo hoo!  After getting smoky and delirious, and after drinking several free diet cokes, we headed home. For dinner, we were all still done in by Commander's Palace, and so we went out walking in the evening and found the grocery store in the "transitional" neighbourhood and brought home some snacks and played bridge.  Emma and I won big time, rah rah!

OUTSIDE THE BIG CITY

On Mum's tour day, Monday, we rented a car and zoomed out of the more picturesque areas of town, out into the American hinterland.  The car rental place was great - free pick up!  An employee named Neville (pronounced neh-VILLE)!  Some Israeli tourists!  As soon as we hit the highway we looked for a place to satisfy my desire for Popeye's biscuits. A bare 5 minutes later, and we'd found what we were looking for...only there weren't any biscuits ready yet.  Several more miles and we pulled in to another Popeye's and HURRAH we got our fantastic, hot, butter-soaked, salty biscuits 'n chicken 'n ice tea.  The iced tea was the ultimate: fresh, cold, southern tea (no sugar) served with packets of lemon juice and sugar.  Mmmm!  How I love thee, biscuits 'n tea.

Driving around, the landscape looked much like anywhere in the random US: very very big signs, waaay up, "Waffle House!", "Exxxon!", "Abortion Kills!", "Fred 'Boffo' Jackson for state representative!". 

We headed out to Avery Island, home of Tabasco. Avery Island, for those of you who don't know, is made of pure salt!!  16 feet below the ground!!  Mum and Emma and I were ready to lick our way to China.  Unfortunately, we discovered the old salt mine (the largest ex-salt mine in the US) was closed since 1924.  Boooo.  We had to make do by touring the Tabasco factory.  It was prety funny.  The "tour" consisted of:  looking at 3 display cases, watching a 10 minute video about Tabasco (in which we learned that peppers are now brought in from south america so as to 'share the wealth' around the world, NOT because labour is cheaper down there, no sir), and then looking through a glass to see Tabasco being bottled for sale.  In France.  However, the Tabasco store had the BEST gifts I've ever seen at a tourist shop. And Avery Island is ALSO home to a big park filled with birds and alligators. We checked out the alligators (small but still scary), the birds (white, long-necked), and the giant Buddha from Beijing that looked out over a pond in the park (???). 

Then it was, of course, time to eat again, so we went to look for a seafood place in Lafayette. On the way we stopped to call to book a tour with the well-known Annie the swamp boat tour guide, only to be told that the tour guide had DIED the year before.  Oh no.  So, we carried on, looking for CRAWFISH TOWN USA (a restaurant, not an actual town).  And did we find it in Lafayette, 2 hours later, around 4 pm, when we were all staaaaarving?  Nope:  we learned that it had BURNED DOWN earlier that year. 

Gr... We had to keep driving onwards, and Mum told us to follow these cheapo yellow plastic signs to some place called Pat's.  On, past rickety trailers.  Past a grocery store with NO WINDOWS.  Past run-down heaps of cars piled up on lawns.  Past a dollar store.  Past many shacks that said "fresh bait" but that were boarded up with 2 by 4s.  Ahhh, Cajun Country! I actually got scared.  I didn't want to eat in this area.  I didn't even want to park in this area.  I wanted to go back and find a shop where there were real live people, a busy place, a cheery place.  But oh no, we had to keep going to Pat's.  We found it just on the nether side of a mucky old river.  Brown water, overcast skies, scary parking lot with weird old buildings and Mum saying, "oh isn't this nice, we can eat by the water!". 

Pat's was TOTALLY empty except for 2 other tables, but the waitress was nice and Mum ordered tequila shots and they turned out to be, like, triples, and all of a sudden the edges softened and things started to look a lit tle brighter. 

Then a lady from the table next to us leaned over and said, "Y'all from out of town?  Y'all have picked the right place to come to!" She and her husband were from New Orleans and told us Pat's was terrifically famous and well known and was always packed on weekends, and they often came there to eat.  We patted ourselves mentally on the back and ordered us some tubs o' crawfish. Mum and Dad and Em each had "one order". 

I think that what Americans consider to be one order would be seen in any normal country as "one meal for four" or "enough food to choke a horse".  The crawfish tubs were, like, a foot and a half long, and there were oh about 200 crawfish per tub.  I had seafood gumbo and counted myself lucky.  By all accounts, the crawfish were superb and delicious, and spicy as hell.  Unfortunately, Emma ate all the brains of her crawfish, which later did NOT sit well with her and she was sick all night and then next day, but at the time we didn't know that was going to happen and so left Pat's fat and happy.

Emma noted as we drove to Baton Rouge that all the shops and businesses seemed sort of trashy due to the preponderance of first names used:  we saw Missy's and Tammy's and Bobby's and Danny's and Jeff's and Jim's and Sally's, but no Smith's or Johnson's or Jones'.  We stopped at the dollar store (of course!) and Emma bought a set of walkie talkies, so we spent the 2 hour drive back to New Orleans inventing secret identities - I'm Sarah, she's Bluebell, Mum's Twilight, Dad's Dark - and singing walkie talkie karaoke.  We also stopped at 8:25 pm at the discount mall and I bought 2 pairs of shoes.

THE CADILLAC OF BACON

So, all that night, Em was sick.  The next day, which was supposed to be her day, she was in bed recovering, so we had to go on without her.  We were rewarded by perfect weather and perfect timing all day.  We started out with breakfast at a little cafe called Elizabeth's (slogan:  'real food, done real good', and yes it was) where we had the ultimate in culinary splendor, PRALINE BACON. 

Yes sir, it was damn good.  Bacon, crispy, with a layer of brown sugar and crushed pralines baked on top. Holy freaking heart attack it was good.  Dad and I are going to have a praline-bacon-cooking-contest.  I say fry first then bake, but I think Dad is going to bake the whole time.

We walked home from Elizabeth's and saw some open houses that a gaggle of real estate agents were touring, and 2 old firehouses, and a bear (so Mum and Dad say), and a big scary truck outside a place called Hubig's pies. We walked down the street named Desire.  There are wicked awesome streetnames in New Orleans.  South of us there was a whole neighbourhood of streets named after philosophers (Socrates, Plato, etc), right around the corner from which there were streets named "Prancer" "Dancer" and "St Nick". 

After our monster breakfast, we headed to the Aquarium of the Americas, where we saw jellies and alligators, piranhas and sharks, and some fantastically bizarre seahorses.  In the afternoon we went really American and shopped at Target and ate at the Acme oyster grill where Dad had deep fried pickles (!) and I had hush puppies and artichoke soup.  Yum!

On our last day, I made sure we had more biscuits and then we drove through the fancy schmancy district over to the very beautiful Tulane, and then up past Lake Pontchartrain to the airport. And a good time was had by all. [On The Road-19-March-2004]