'BERRIES IN THE BIG EASY--Part III

After the conference, I returned to the room to find Jennifer stuffed with muffuletta and spilling green olives out of her ear canals. We killed a little time around the room, then had dinner at a nice restaurant called “Grand Isle.”

Staggering Up Bourbon Street (and Quickly Back Down It Again!)

This being an amenities trip, I personally didn’t need a huge amount of exploration of New Orleans itself. Other than its popularity with Mardi Gras, the place for me is more about food, good drink and release from the bonds of routine, than it is cultural marvels. But even I had to admit it would be silly to travel more than a thousand miles and not at least set foot outside the hotel. So Jennifer and I committed to taking a quick jaunt around the French Quarter - her second of the day, but only my first.

While out in the city proper, we took pictures of the hotel and surrounding territory. Figuring no trip to the “Big Easy” would be complete without at least a cursory tour of Bourbon Street, we walked a couple of blocks up that crowded venue. Basically, one can enumerate the establishments on Bourbon Street as:

1. bar,
2. bar,
3. bar,
4. strip bar,
5. bar,
6. bar,
7. bar
8. repeat

And a few restaurants. Not to mention the Hustler store.

Behold the freakishly busty "Sexergizer Bunny" in the Hustler Store window.

The sidewalks were very crowded, mostly with human “cows,” so getting pictures was hard to do.

"Cows" lowing and staggering their way around Bourbon Street.

And it didn’t help that many of said “cows” were publicly intoxicated, the legality of this being one of the draws of the French Quarter. In fact, we did see one young kid, probably 20-something, who was laying askew on the sidewalk, looking like a hastily discarded bunch of bananas, blearily trying to put a couple of thoughts together without vomiting up coils of his own small intestine. Two police officers were asking him his name, probably trying to make sure he was at least of legal drinking age. I almost looked around for hidden cameras, the scene being reminiscent of those “Cops” type reality programs where they show the police busting obese, loud people in trailer parks for stupid crimes worthy of a Darwin Award.

After fifteen minutes or so, we’d had enough of the excitement of Bourbon Street. It was time to return to the amenities. On our way, however, we did stumble across a bit of memorabilia: an old Ms. Pac-Man arcade game. I had to insist that Jennifer get a shot of me in front of it.

Thomas shows his age as a member of Generation X.

Yes! People Really Do Dress that Way!

We sat outside at a restaurant, where we drank a few more home brew lager beers while watching Golden People float on divine air currents toward the casino. Easy on the eyes, these types; the women with racy dresses slit to show many a prize, men with deep tans, mesomorphic bodies and tuxedos. Alas, Jennifer and I have long accepted such individuals exist at another level, superordinate to ourselves. They would consider spitting on us a waste of their saliva if we spoke to them. But we didn’t have to speak, just watch and indulge our fantasies. ;)

Jennifer decides, "To hell with the Golden People," and strikes a pose herself before the fountain at the Harrah's.

We returned to the room, had more of our snacks and drinks, read for awhile and eventually went to bed. For our purposes, the trip to New Orleans had come to a close.

Ironically, the long flight home doesn't take much time to tell, so we'll tack it on at the end here:

Sunday, September 28, 2008—The Long Flight Home

The title says it all. Other than crossing the casino one more time the next morning for what was arguably one of the most sloppily prepared Starbuck’s coffees in my recent experience, the trip home was uneventful. It was just long. Oh, it is worth mentioning we still had some wine left that we had brought with us and didn’t want to waste it. So the two of us had what was probably our first 10:40 a.m. glass of wine. Seems kinda pathetic, huh? Worse, we had to bolt it down because the 11:00 checkout time was fast approaching. Even as we brushed our teeth of red wine stains and rinsed out our glasses, I moaned and noted to Jennifer that we were going to be rushed and pushed for the next twelve hours.

And we were.

The airport was about the usual level of stress. Our first layover at O’Hare Airport in Chicago was worse than the time at the Charlotte airport, just because it seemed more enclosed, crowded, cramped and hustling…much like our experience of Chicago itself (see that story for details!) But otherwise, we arrived home in one piece, which allowed us to compose this tale you are now reading. It was a good run and we were glad to return to our familiar routines.

So until next time, Our Darlings, thank you again for your time, attention and continued support!

FINIS

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