We're just back from a 3 day visit (my first) to New Orleans. The main purpose of the trip was to check out Tulane University for our son, although halfway through the visit he decided he didn't want to miss the big U.S.C. admitted student reception after all and he took an earlier plane back to Los Angeles, leaving us in New Orleans with the realization he most likely was not going to attend Tulane despite the very generous scholarship that had made it a winner in my wallet heart.
New Orleans was so different from L.A. Our hotel was charming and old world, the food surprising in content and aspect and not all that bad (crawfish, andouille sausage, collar green and jambalaya are all words I learned on the trip.) I was fascinated by all these white tourists letting loose, dancing terribly off beat in the streets and walking around nursing alcohol rather than the usual starbuck. I guess people will travel great distances to Vegas and New Orleans for the privilege of becoming ambulatory drunk.
I don't really drink and walk, but I should have considering my extremely poor choice of shoes. Closed-toe danskin clogs are a terrible, terrible choice in 87 degree, humid Louisiana.
After my son ditched us, we decided it was time to explore the bayou, what else did we have to lose? I loved it. It was at once spooky and stunning, Big Fish and O Brother Where art Thou suffused into one. We pet baby alligators and took a boat driven by a massive 14 year old named ZZ. The fact that he carried a knife the size of a baguette was supposed to reassure me but somehow failed to. I though it was funny that he spent the whole trip enquiring about what life in the Los Angeles jungle was like. To him, that was exotic.
On the way back, our plane was delayed because of the weather (note to self: never, ever fly into or out of Dallas airport in April EVER again) and once we did take off, eventually, five hours later, the turbulence were so awful that one member of the family saw a week-long constipation abruptly turn to its violent opposite, and had absolutely no choice but to climb over the flight attendants's joined hands (in prayer, I kid you not) and spend the most vicious minutes of the turbulence hanging on for dear life in a bathroom that no doubt had to be condemned after that.
Voila, this was my trip. Now I'm safely back home ready to let les bon temps rouler at last.