The French Quarter. Where we spent 75% of our time. Maybe 80%. But that would be because our hotel was in the Quarter. Even though it’s old [and dirty… and smelly during the day], I thought the Quarter was full of charm. The iron balconies, the gas lanterns, the shops that lined the streets, the artists, the food – all what I imagined.
Our plan was to park the car and not drive it until we left. We succeeded. And walked our happy asses all over this place. I’m serious. From one end to the next – from north to south, from east to west, from Deanie’s to Port of Call, from the Cathedral to Hustler’s – I don’t think we missed a square block.
And we of course took part in some of the history. We stopped in a couple voodoo shops. We peeked in the windows of the Laurie Mansion. You saw that we hit up Lafitte’s Blacksmith Shop. We dined at Margaritaville. OK, so that might not be historical but I can tell you we made history there. A lot of funny things were said. And done. I blame the Incommunicados.
These hitching posts were everywhere – this is the only painted one I saw.
It rained. For 30 minutes. That was all.
Huge Ass Beer indeed. I kept my cup. Because it’s huge.
One of my favorite things about the Quarter was the carriage tours. We didn’t take one but each carriage was pulled by a mule. Not a horse. A mule. I think that’s awesome. The night-duty police officers had horses. HUGE horses (almost as big as my huge ass beer). They were a sight to see. But for some reason they just let them crap all over the street, I didn’t get it. But I’ll admit I enjoyed seeing the ladies tramp their expensive shoes through horse dung… yeah, the memories of Bourbon Street.