serendipity and chance

I love to write, for all the obvious reasons. With writing I can be very creative and the process of writing leaves with a sense of accomplishment. But, here in the Big Easy my writing is a helpful way of keeping me sober! I'm here in my room on Bourbon Street writing this blog and that means I am not out there imbibing and carousing. It means I'm not eating something. It means I'm not dodging the hawkers of bars, or girls on Bourbon flashing their wares from such fine establishments as Little Darlings (of which I have three free passes) or Hustlers Barely Legal. It means I am in my quiet room taking a deep breath and relaxing before heading out again into that vibrating, throbbing, electric city.
Thankfully during the day Boubon Street is fairly calm. Sure the strip joints are all open, but the bars have yet to spring to full frenetic pace. The street won't be blocked off and there won't be two or three policemen at every intersection or pairs of Public Safety Officers in their white shirt uniforms plying the streets. After I write today's entry I'll be able to walk out there and marvel at the beauty of the French Quarter without having to weave my way around a drunkard, or a pack of drunkards, who are all wonderfully inebriated, but smiling and in great happiness. In fact the entire day from the beginning to the end I had experienced nothing but happy, smiling people. Even the woman/girl who handed Janet the free passes to Little Darlings late last night was aglow with thanks and brimming with smiles! Perhaps serendipity and chance, which should be the modus operandi for any travel excursion, will lead us through another day of charming discovery.
It always does.

It took us a long time to get our rental car. We arrived at the airport around 10 a.m. and questions about New Jersey weather led to a lengthy, joke-filled conversation between Janet and the women behind the counter about traveling to Spain and France. But that is what serendipity and chance are all about; allowing the day to unfold and not commandeer it in any direction. Despite the early hour of departure we were happy as oysters.
Speaking of oysters, that was our first "taste" of New Orleans. After we drove along St. Charles and through Uptown and the Garden District to marvel at the homes and their expansive and well maintained gardens, we dropped off our bags and headed to the Acme Oyster Bar. We waved at the Oyster cam (which is a web cam for the joint) and informed the shuckers that they will go straight to heaven no matter what else they do in this life and then sat down at the bar with a half dozen of raw and a half dozen of chargrilled oysters! Janet took pictures of our meal. We giggled through our fortunate lunch and then headed out into the French Quarter.
We stopped in several boutique hotels to gape at their opulance and to take advantage of their air conditioning. We walked along the Mississippi and ogled the paddleboat waiting for passengers. We stepped into a free concert at the New Orleans Jazz National Historical Park (www.nps.gov/jazz). We didn't know about it until a chance turn led us to a quartet of four young people (they are all young when compared to me) playing great music. I kept sneaking looks at Janet throughout the hour long show and she looked so happy.
The music didn't end there though. People were playing music on the streets, two or three member ensembles curbside, or bands in restaurants along Decater Street.
We had coffee and beignets at Cafe Du Monde, gleefully wiping powdered sugar off our faces for hours, a telltale sign of one's temptation.
Later that evening we took the rattling, open-air St. Charles trolley to Oak Street to eat at Jacques-Imo's. I told Jack that because he closed his place down in New York I had to take Janet here to eat. After posing for pictures with us and our meals (Janet had blackened redfish and I had sesame-crusted tuna), Jack thanked us for support of New Orleans. He said that he'd rather be here in New Orleans than New York and we could not argue with him. We had drinks afterwards at the wonderful dive, the Maple Leaf Tavern, two doors from Jacques-Imo's and watched as Jack came in to have a drink and share some laughs with familiar faces at the bar. Next time I go to his place I will seriously consider taking my meal in the back of the truck that's parked out front.

Now, I am not a big drinker. I am a "cheap date". We took the trolley back to Canal and entered a Bourbon Street that seemed to breathe and tremble and vibrate. Music blasted from every bar and people danced in the streets, not a frown in sight. This mind you was a Tuesday night. Perhaps everyone we saw on Bourbon were tourists, but even the people working the bars were smiles and pleasant and happy. The woman who poured us expansive (and expensive) beers talked to us at length about our pending trip after New Orleans offered us advice about destinations.
We weaved down Bourbon, my cigar trailing smoke and our hearts swelling with happiness at our day. But, by the time I helped a girl tie a necktie around her neck, and we admonished playfully the male of a couple that did not notice his girlfriend had powdered sugar on the nose and cheek, I was rightfully drunk... I eyed curiously the Old Absinthe House, but quickly figured out that I would not survive that recently legalized liquor and allowed Janet to deposit me into bed as dreams of where to eat today swirled in my dreams.

okay... perhaps the day can now begin.

cheers (literally)
-greg