We arrived in New Orleans early, as we had slept in the car in a rest stop just outside its limits.. The sun has finally fought back the rain clouds and reclaimed the sky, giving the city a shining glow. We headed to the airport, for today was the day we were again receiving visitors. Nemesis (yes, that is her real name) and Mary, two friends from college, were coming to visit us for the Thanksgiving holidays, and we were thankful. We found them at the airport with little difficulty and set off back into the city, deciding that we would waste no time in dampening their moods. We headed to the Lower 9th Ward, a neighborhood of New Orleans hit hardest by Katrina and other recent storms, to see how the area was recovering. Many years later, the devastation was still quite apparent. Half razed houses and empty foundations still littered the blocks. Far too many of the houses still standing were marked with an x, signifying that someone had lost their life there.
We circled through the neighborhood for a while, scarcely talking as we absorbed the gravity of the problems still facing these parts of New Orleans. We ended up stumbling upon a cluster of modern, environmentally-friendly houses built by Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie, which was a welcome sight.
As we left the Lower 9th Ward, Dan had the idea of lightening to mood by taking us to a graveyard. Because of the marshy, swampland that the city was built upon, normal burials are quite rare because the bodies would quite literally be sitting underwater. Instead, graveyards are an elaborate labyrinth of white marble mausoleums.
We reentered the land of the living and headed right over to the French Quarter, taking to our feet and walking through the historic and lively district. We drifted past the Cafe Du Monde, a brasserie that might have been plucked right off a French rue and dropped in the middle of New Orleans. We continued on through the neighborhood, enjoying the plethora of street performers and live music, until hunger reared its tasty head and we popped into a cajun restaurant that caught our eye with a special of alligator sausage. The sausage, which turned out to be delicious, was the preface to a very pleasant meal, filled with jambalaya, cajun shrimp and a chicken po-boy. Filled to capacity, we headed to the hotel, checking in and illegally smuggling our two stowaways up to the room.
After a nap to adjust to the jet lag (a whopping one hour), we hit the streets of the Big Easy. Dan, a veteran to these parts, having been down four times to work on a documentary, suggested we go to the Theatres at Canal Street, an upscale cinema that, along with cozy and spacious seating, offered meals to its viewers. With Mr. and Mrs. Hagen as our gracious benefactors, we enjoyed dinner and a movie. J. Edgar was on the screen, and though far from what we were expecting, it was filled with interesting (to say the least) historical tidbits and did not disappoint.
Afterwards, we headed back to the hotel, deciding to make some adult hot chocolates in our ice bin, which turned out to be quite heavy on the spearmint schnapps. Needless to say, we slept quite soundly that night.
I awoke quite early the following morning, Thanksgiving morning, while the others slept late. I passed the time by going for a run, using the dilapidated gym facilities and getting some work done on my computer, until the rest of the posse arose from the darkness of our curtain-covered room. Very little was open because of the holiday, so we spent the day loitering in our hotel room. We watched some football until the afternoon, when we took the streets to see what was going on. Bourbon Street was relatively quiet, but there were still quite a few groups of people wandering up and down the avenue. We took stock of the slew of bars and strip clubs, and wondered why parents were parading their children around such an R-rated neighborhood. When we returned to Canal Street, we stumbled across a Thanksgiving parade. We watched as college and high school marching bands made a procession down the boulevard, with some floats and small, dancing black boys with enormous afros peppered in for good measure.
Once the parade had lost its appeal, we decided that it was time for Thanksgiving dinner. Seeing as we had no family or roasted turkey and stuffing to call our own in the deep south, it felt like the next best thing was, clearly, Indian food. It was the closest thing we could get to pilgrims and Native Americans that was still open, and I, for one, reveled in the dry wit of it all. The food, namely the na'an, turned out to be superb, which was good because Mary might have physically and emotionally harmed me if that did not turn out to be the case.
Dan had already procured the after-dinner entertainment for the evening, having purchased tickets to the Rebirth Brass Band and Kermit show. Both groups put on amazing shows. Kermit and his crew covered several songs, putting their own jazzy twist on them. Rebirth, a band with upwards of 10 members, put on a high-energy show, making me wish they could put on their performance while marching through the streets of the city with the crowds trailing them. Making the evening even more enjoyable was the fact that we were also able to meet up with Yona and Eric, our gracious hosts from many moons ago in Portland, who were in town visiting Eric's family.
The ladies had planned on doing some Black Friday shopping the next morning, but after a procession of alarm clocks, decided that sleeping in was a far superior way to spend their time. When we finally awoke, Dan and I headed over to a local hat shop, a family-run business for more than three generations, of which Dan has previously been a patron. Our objective was to obtain a replacement feather for Dan's current fedora, as well as to purchase a new hat to add to his already suave collection. On both counts the morning was a smashing success, and we rewarded ourselves by meeting up with the ladies for lunch. They had picked up a straggler by the name of Jeff, a friend of Mary's who had recently moved to Texas and bravely made the 8-hour drive to visit. After we dined on more gumbo and alligator, it was time for something big; something epic.
It was time to get tattoos.
We headed over to a tattoo shop on the recommendation of our heavily-inked waitress, and after explaining what each of us wanted, sat down for the deed to be done. Dan was getting "Be the Change," and I was getting an enso circle on my forearm. I am little inclined to explain the significance of either of them to either of us here, but please, feel free to ask if you have any curiosity. After making several jokes about not remembering how to do the type of strokes needed for my tattoo, making me far more nervous than I already was, the artist working on mine proceeded to do a fantastic job. Dan's came out very nice too, though they spelled change wrong.
Just kidding.
When we were finished mutilating our bodies, we met up with Yona and Eric for some drinks and good conversation. Once our hunger could no longer be satiated with alcohol, we bid them adieu once more, hoping to meet again soon, and set off in search of one last cajun meal, which we found and throughly enjoyed. Our belts a little tighter, we returned to Bourbon Street, which was now bustling with people in anticipation for the Bayou Classic, a 75-year old traditional football game between Grambling State University and Southern University held at the Superdome. It is a big deal for people in Louisiana and brought out a bit of the crazy in them. We walked around, mostly people-watching, while the girls collected beads (the PG-13 way, I swear). I, too, made off with some beads after being coaxed into flashing a stripper. All in all, it was a good night.
We headed back to the hotel around midnight, because Nem and Mary had to be at the airport around 4:30 am. After a short 3 hours of sleep and a painfully loud alarm clock, we were on the road to drop them off for their flight. We said our goodbyes amidst yawns and stretches and watched them enter the airport before heading back to the hotel to sleep until the hotel security came and dragged us out of the room at the 11 am checkout time. We returned to Appa, our home away from home, for what would be our final week on the road.
This post has been brought to you by a traditional Thanksgiving meal of Indian food.
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