“New Orleans is as delicious as the less criminal foods of sin.” – Mark Twain

We are still trying to get into some sort of rhythm. We remain tired and the heat, I suspect,  is now contributing to our malaise. While the local forecast says its high 20’s to low 30’s, it’s feeling much warmer coming out of cooler temps. And the humidity, contributed to by a storm or shower each day, plays a part. But the downpours are brief and then out comes the sunshine and dries up all the rain…

The morning saw us lose the Z’s – Nick has once again succumbed to the Melbourne sniffles. Some may recall this time last year we lost him for a few days in Washington due to illness. I sincerely hope he grows a couple and deals with it as we have a very very long way to go.

So we commenced with brekky at a place I think would be hard to beat in most places, and certainly N’awlins (as we locals like to call it). Much against our group’s modus operandi we ventured to The Ruby Slipper – the same place as yesterday. Having shrimp and grits in an amber beer and cream reduction with rosemary, with a biscuit,  may not do it for many, but it’s now ticked off my list. And you may be surprised at who started the day with a grog, but that stays on the trip…

A bus tour and walking tour later we sat down for some cheesecake. But having later worked out our distance walked as about 25 km’s we reckoned we had earned it. Today we walked around the Garden’s area – old period plantation style homes, saw John Goodman’s house, the Peyton Bros (NFL) family home  and many other spectacular homes.

We later did a ghost tour – N.O. is big on that, with voodoo an’all – lots of grisly & gruesome tales from the rich and vibrant local history. Biut the most interesting of all, and somewhat ironic story given my comments of yesterday, is why Nicholas Cages’s career has gone down the plughole… You see, he bought this house (which we visited) in the heart of town which apparently had a grisly tail to tell. When he found out about the bodies that had previously been found in his home he quickly sold it upon learning of a curse placed upon his abode. This happened about the same time his films bombed – and there were many of them. To rid himself of the cursed curse he sought assistance from a clairvoyant. She told him to purchase a $250K cemetery plot off someone she knows, built to her specifications. So he did. And we’ve seen the tomb. Yet his films still suck. Allegedly.

Dinner was at Coops Place. Now I have never, and possibly will never again, queue to get into a restaurant. But a local place with an exhaustive creole/Cajun menu attracted our attention, was recommended, and became a must visit. So yes, we queued for a half hour to get into this tiny place. And was it worth it? You betcha, my sorta food, and I left having ticked Jambalaya, gumbo and southern style fried chicken off my list. And reasonable prices to boot. If ever you are in N.O., this is a must.

The walk home took us via Bourbon St once again. We thought we’d give a weeknight a go to suss out whether the excess of the weekends were different. Indeed it was quieter, though the strippers, police, touters and loud music remained. We watched a lady vocalist at the Funky Pirate, personally paid her in tips to continue playing, and tried shots to mix it with the young un’s.

And as Ernest Hemingway once said: “ Always do sober what you said you’d do drunk. That will teach you to keep your mouth shut”. Goodnight.