We had some frequent flyer miles to burn, so we chose New Orleans. We considered maybe not coming home, and instead just buying a little place and opening a bar there. We had a bonus trip across the Gulf Coast to Mississippi and Alabama, too!
(The entire photoset is here on Flickr.)
Read from the beginning below, or jump to each day:
Our flight left Minneapolis around 5:15, but was delayed a bit. We met a couple at the gate who were headed to Jazzfest, so we talked to them about the effects of the hurricane on the city (the guy had gone to college there). When we landed in Atlanta, they asked people to let those with a short connection off the plane first, but of course that didn’t happen. We ended up rushing with the same couple to another terminal. We made it with plenty of time, and were glad to be in a row with only a pair of seats. It was such a small plane that they were checking all the roller bags at the gate.
We landed in New Orleans shortly before 11, picked up my bag, and got a cab to the Intercontinental Hotel. It’s conveniently located about 4 blocks from the French Quarter.
We quickly unpacked and then headed into the quarter, as we were hungry. Since it was late, most of the regular restaurants were closing (and they’re not great at catering to vegetarians, either). We’d made it halfway down Bourbon Street before realizing we were also way too sober for New Orleans, so we stopped at a walk-up window to get a hand grenade. We asked the guy there if he could recommend somewhere to get food quickly, and he suggested the Clover Grill. He said it’s where he always stopped at 4am after work.
The place was awesome. It’s a tiny greasy spoon right on Bourbon. We got seats at the counter and had to wait a bit to order, but it was worth it. Plus we had drinks to tide us over in the meantime.
After eating, we headed further down Bourbon Street to Lafitte’s Blacksmith Shop. It was exactly as described: candlelit and definitely haunted-looking. The bar, however, did not look like the kind of place where one could order what was described as their signature drink, the Obituary (gin, vermouth, absinthe); it appeared to be more of a Captain-Coke or shot of Jager kind of place. But when I asked the bartender for an Obituary, he didn’t blink an eye.
Holy jesus, the Obituary is something. We took our drinks to a table (one should never be allowed martini glasses in a bar that’s dark and has uneven flooring, yet somehow we managed) and watched the guy singing at the piano in the back. I was impressed that we’d been in New Orleans for less than two hours and were already drinking absinthe.
I was a little nervous about using the bathroom in a bar known to be haunted, but the toilet showed no signs of spirit activity. In fact, it was quite clean.
Around 2am, we wandered down to the Old Absinthe House at the other end of Bourbon Street. While I intended to indulge in the traditional absinthe drip and figured that was the place to get it, I was by no means going to be having two absinthe drinks after 1am on our first night there. Again, it looked to be the kind of bar where you could only order the most basic drinks, but the ancient list of cocktails on the wall suggested otherwise. To test this, I ordered a Sazerac, and was again shocked when the bartender didn’t even balk. There aren’t many cities where you can wander into an average bar and order a high-end cocktail; I’ll usually only even attempt ordering a Manhattan if the bartender looks to be over 50.
People were coming in and ordering shots of absinthe (at $15 apiece). It was impressive. As was my Sazerac… I still couldn’t get over the fact that you could order a drink like that at a regular bar!
We got go cups (another indication of a truly awesome city) and headed back to the hotel. Matt couldn’t finish his beer, so I insisted that he put it in the fridge in case he wanted it in the morning.
What? It made perfectly good sense at the time.
Friday morning, we got up at 10 and walked over to Canal Street, then down toward the river.
It was windy and overcast, but still warm outside. We walked along the river past the aquarium, then to Jackson Park before making the obligatory stop at Cafe Du Monde for beignets and coffee.
Bally may have ended up with some powdered sugar on him!
We walked down Decatur, checking out the sights and shops along the way, noting things we wanted to return to. Our plan was to go over to Cafe Negril in Marigny for lunch, but when we got there, it was closed. So we found Marigny Brasserie instead, and were quite happy with that indeed. We sat at the bar and had an awesome lunch.
That sign was on the corner outside the restaurant. It’s particularly close to me, quite literally.
We wandered back toward Decatur, and stopped into the French Market to shop. Everyone we talked to there was pretty much the friendliest person ever. I love New Orleans for that!
As we were about the leave the French Market, the skies opened up. There was an epic downpour that sent people running for cover, and the wind was amazing. We stood there under the awning trying to decide where to wait out the storm, and, really, the answer was obvious: Margaritaville. It’s a silly tradition we’re incapable of resisting. We ran around the corner and bellied up to the bar.
The storm lasted a couple of hours, and we were happy to sit there and drink and talk to other people about Jazzfest. We were very glad to not be there, because the park had to have been a giant puddle by that point. Jazzfest people are hardy, though, because the same thing had happened the previous year as well.
Once the rain died down a little, Matt and I went over to catch the trolley to the Riverwalk Marketplace. We rode a stop too far, and ended up walking what seemed a very long way to get there. We’d already walked a few miles that day!
Our destination at the Marketplace? The Museum of the American Cocktail, which is located inside the American Food and Beverage Museum.
Matt was in heaven, of course. Both museums were great, and so were the shops!!
After touring the museums fully, we cut through Harrah’s and headed down to the Quarter in search of dinner. We wanted something Cajun, but of course it’s tricky to find that plus vegetarian options.
old absinthe house
We ended up at Arnaud’s Remoulade, and I was very happy to just sit down and relax for a while. Also, watching the crowds in the French Quarter establishments is always highly entertaining.
We decided to go back to the hotel, drop off our stuff, and take advantage of the rooftop pool before going out for the night. It was dark when we got up there, and there was only one couple out on the pool deck, not even swimming. They hung around for a bit, then left. Another couple came in and lingered for a while, clearly also wanting the pool to themselves. I guess we got lucky! We swam for an hour or so, then went back to the room and changed for more New Orleans adventure.
Back in the Quarter, we stopped in at Arnaud’s French 75 for their famous cocktail. We were thrilled to have the same bartender who was featured in the article where we’d first learned of the place, and he was fantastic.
We were planning to go to a reggae show at Cafe Negril, so we decided to head that direction. It was a long walk, so of course we had to stop in at one of the thousand-or-so Mango Mango shops for a to-go drink. We got to Cafe Negril shortly before midnight and found it crowded, but not terrible; we were able to get seats at the bar to watch the show, at least.
When we emerged from the bar after the show, we found a crowd gathered around a brass band who’d just set up on Frenchmen. They’d come from Jazz Fest, and just picked a street corner to play on afterwards. Have I mentioned that New Orleans is awesome?? I loved it.
Even though it was a very long way to our hotel, we decided to walk it and see what was up in the French Quarter. We wandered into Pat O’Brien’s around 2am, expecting some kind of fratboy disaster, but found the back bar to be very relaxed. The bartender was great, too, and we noticed that the drinks were actually priced cheaper in that bar than in the courtyard.
After our drinks there, we went over to Chris Owens’. I’m not sure what compelled us to go in there in the first place (I’m sure it was my idea, because of the blaring dance music), because the place was neon-lit inside even in the middle of the night, and was mostly empty. We got drinks, though, and sat on a couch watching the highly entertaining people on the dance floor. Also, Matt saw a rat run across the bar. So yeah. We’ll probably just enjoy Chris Owens from the outside next time.
We got back to the hotel around 3:30am, this time sans morning beer.
Saturday, we again walked down to Decatur and found lunch at a restaurant called the Crescent City Brewhouse. Matt’s meal looked especially delicious:
From there, we walked back over to the Marketplace and got tickets for a tour on the Creole Queen. It would take us up the Mississippi to the Chalmette Battlefield and back.
It threatened to rain a few times, but did little more than sprinkle. The boat was great, and the captain’s narrative was way more interesting than I expected. He of course talked a lot about Katrina, and we saw some of the damage from the river.
At the battlefield, we all climbed off and went to walk around. The place was very calm and picturesque.
I learned what ramparts were. I’d never really thought about it before.
We stopped to visit the gift shop, then climbed back onto the boat. Walking on the levee was kind of exciting, too!
The steamboat had us back in New Orleans around 5pm. We hopped off and decided to go get the streetcar down St Charles to see the Garden District. I wanted to show Matt the haunted house we’d stayed in last time!
The cemetery was unfortunately closed, but we got a good view of it. We’ve both visited New Orleans cemeteries before, too. Also, the Castle Inn of New Orleans is now a private residence, and is for sale!! What will all the ghost-hunters do?
We did some more wandering about the Garden District, and headed cityward in search of food. We were slowing down a bit; it was hot, and we’d walked a lot.
I love that you’ll find beads EVERYWHERE in New Orleans. A constant party reminder.
We found a place called Igor’s Bar that was recommended, so we went in for lunch/dinner. After sitting there for a while with no service, however, we got up and left. We headed down St Charles a little further, and wound up at the Avenue Pub. That place was awesome. We had food and beers and enjoyed watching the locals. Then we hopped on a streetcar and rode back to Canal Street.
We dropped our stuff off at the hotel, freshened up (it’s critical in a city that’s constantly hot and 90% humidity!), and headed back out again. At that point, I’d developed some amazing blisters on my feet, so I had to half-limp. How do you get blisters in flipflops? Especially when you wear them 6 months out of the year?
Our next stop on the list (yes, we had a classic bars list – there are a lot of famous places in New Orleans!) was Sazerac. Inventors of the… yep, you guessed it.
It’s the hotel bar at the Roosevelt, which means it was full of people with far more money (and much better dressed) than us. We hardly cared about that, though, because we probably knew way more about its history than they did. The place was pretty full, but we managed to get seats on a coach as people were leaving. Some ladies came in a bit later and asked if they could sit at the remaining chairs at our table; we said yes, but it was a little bit awkward. A couple seats finally opened at the bar, so we left the table to the ladies and took those instead. It’s way more awesome when you can watch the bartenders working, anyway.
We left there with a glass (don’t worry, we paid for it) and made our way to another oldschool hotel bar, the Swizzle Stick. The cutest gay server in the world got us a couple more cocktails, and we hung out for a while. We didn’t want to stay out too late, though, because we had big plans involving a rental car the next morning! We managed to be back at the hotel before 1am, which I believe should earn you a medal in New Orleans.
Sunday morning, bright and early (ok, around 9:30), we hopped in a cab and headed to pick up our car at the airport. It was conveniently timed so we could drive ourselves there the following day, of course. They gave us an HHR that we promptly named Beauregard, or Beau for short.
We drove across the Gulf Coast on highway 10, heading for Dauphin Island, Alabama. Matt hadn’t been to either Mississippi or Alabama before, so it was very exciting!
There’s a long bridge connecting Dauphin Island to the mainland, and there are pelicans flying all over the place. While crossing, we found ourselves driving right alongside a pelican more than once. It’s really entertaining.
We stopped at the historic end of the island first, to see Fort Gaines.
Cannonbally!
Then we hopped back in the car and drove down to the other side of the island, which is a long spit of sand dotted with houses on stilts. For the last mile, it’s just a single road with pulloffs for the houses and occasional beach parking. The road dead-ends at the public beach.
The beach seemed crowded with not much parking, so we decided to look for a spot to park amongst the houses. We found a spot where several cars were pulled over on a “side street”, parked on the sand alongside the road. They all looked perfectly fine there, but the second I pulled off the pavement, we knew there was a problem: Beauregard was stuck.
It took a combination of me rocking the car in 1st and reverse (not easy on an automatic) and Matt pushing to get it out. I didn’t think it would happen; the wheels were more than half-buried in sand, and just spinning and digging deeper holes. But he managed to push us out, much to the amazement of an old lady watching nearby, who congratulated him on the feat. Haha!
We drove around til we found an actual spot on the pavement and parked. There was no way we were risking that again. And then, of course, we did the super-classy thing and changed into bathing suits in the car: Matt between the doors, and me in the backseat. It’s not like there was anywhere else to change!
The water ended up being too cold to swim, but we were very content just laying on the beach.
It’s hard to be too down on the Deep South, knowing there are places like Dauphin Island there.
(I should note that as of July 2010, this beach was covered in oil from the BP spill. That’s tragic.)
scary jellyfish!
Once we started to sunburn, we decided it was time to continue on. We stopped at a little store for provisions, and drove back over the bridge to the mainland.
Deep-fried peanuts, much like boiled peanuts, are not very good. But you have to try them anyway!
We took highway 90 back into Mississippi, driving through places like Fountainebleau and Pascagoula, heading toward Biloxi. We had some gamblin’ in mind.
The Hard Rock Biloxi was way nicer than we were expecting. We went in and won some money on Wheel of Fortune, got some cheap drinks, and went to play Pai Gow. I did very well, and the women at the table were pretty entertaining. We then went to have dinner (have I only eaten at the Hard Rock Cafe when I’m in their casinos? I think so!), gambled a bit more, and around sunset it was time to head back to New Orleans.
We managed to find cheap parking at a lot a couple blocks from the hotel, rather than pay the overnight valet rate, so we left Beauregard there and went to drop off our stuff. It was then time to hit up the Quarter again, for our last night. SIGH.
One of the must-do items on my list was to have the real absinthe drip, and it was finally time. We stopped at the Old Absinthe House for that, of course. Here’s a video!
Around 11, we went back to Pat O’Brien’s to split a hurricane and get some souvenir glasses. I like that you can get the tiny shotglass version of the hurricane, because who wants to transport a giant glass? The bartender made us a layered shot that I don’t remember the name of, but it was hella impressive.
On our way in between bars, I noticed a walk-up window at the Funky Pirate advertising Jagermeister Tooters. Well… that happened. Thank god they weren’t actually that strong. We then walked back down to the other end of Bourbon Street, to Jean Lafitte’s Blacksmith Shop. The young bartender there didn’t know what an Obituary was, and then proceeded to be disgusted when the other bartender told her what it was. She asked us, “you actually like that??” Haha!
We knew it was about time to head back to the hotel if we had any hopes of getting to the airport the next day, so we began the long walk back. We decided to stop into a bar called Johnny White’s for one more drink just so we could use the bathroom, and I ended up in a conversation with a couple of girls there while I was waiting in line. One asked me where I was from, and the other yelled (through the bathroom door), “YOU DON’T SOUND MINNESOTAN!!”
I told them to go talk to Matt and see if he had the same accent I do. We ended up hanging out with them for a long time, talking about Jazzfest and the Vikings-Saints game. There was a guy hovering about named Beau, who nobody knew, but who really wanted to be our pal. He kept telling people he would do the worm if someone bought him a shot. We refused, so he finally bought the shot himself, then did, in fact, do the worm. It was fantastic.
Our friends took off, sure they had convinced us to come down for the football game in the fall, and we said goodbye to Beau and headed back. With a stop at Crystal, of course. It was necessary!
We got up, checked out, and rolled our bags over to Beauregard’s parking lot to find him entirely surrounded by other vehicles. This instilled a little bit of panic since we were cutting it a little close for our flight, but I caught sight of the parking attendant as I headed over that way, and he waved that he’d be right there with the keys.
Extricated from the parking lot, we set off toward the highway. We’d been on and off the exit in the car or in cabs a few times, but it was still a lot more complicated to get to than we thought. We sat in traffic, made some u-turns, were detoured by construction, and by the time we finally got on the highway, I was really starting to worry. The airport is quite a ways from downtown, and we still had to drop off the car and take the shuttle to the airport.
It turns out I had nothing to worry about: when we got the airport to check in, we found out we’d been bumped, and would be spending an extra couple of hours there. I was pissed, but ultimately it was for the best: we’d have been running for our original flight, had that not happened.
We passed through security and stood in a very long line at the only actual restaurant that was open. We had a subpar lunch and then got on the plane, which was now taking us to Cincinnati instead of Atlanta. Matt got to experience the joys of the Kentucky airport (which is actually quite nice), and Delta got us home around our original time anyway. So as much as I want to curse them, I’ll just have to save that til next time. And there will be a next time.
Here’s the souvenir box I assembled when we arrived home! You can see our growing collection here.
