Bourne's BIG Trip: 3 Hour Bus Tour of NO (New Orleans)

Happy Valentine’s Day to all you lovers, couples, and spouses out there! Hope you have a romantic day! Better luck next time for all the singles out there, who will just watch movies and eat ice cream and wish they had someone. Although I don’t love any girl and that part is a little weird and gross, I believe Valentine’s Day is about telling your friends and family you love them dearly, and being kind and loving, and loving God the most. None of the drama or love stuff. But Happy Valentine’s Day, none the less.

Monday, the 23^rd of January:

So, the following day we had arrived into New Orleans, and we were to have my Dad’s birthday here. Before talking about the day we have let me tell a few things first. You remember Alyssa H., who I went to her birthday? Well, at the end of the birthday Dad asked (kind of told really) Mr. H. that he wanted some cool places to go in New Orleans and in Texas, because he had been there. Mr. H. happily did so, and gave Dad a whole email about it. He works in the food business, supplying food to different people and such. Lee, a guy working in New Orleans that Mr. H knew, talked to Dad and recommended us going to Emril’s, a restaurant in New Orleans, where he gave food to for them to make it. Very kindly, this Mr. Lee (which is all we know this shadowy person by) arranged us to have dinner there on the 24^th, a birthday dinner for Dad. Thanks to you both, we are much indebted to you.

One other thing I must talk about. Julie had read the first Hunger Games book, and then the second also, and so wanted to read the book Mockingjay after me. I had to finish my B.F. bio and “To Kill a Mockingbird” reading that. But, as I mentioned before, I had begun rushing through it before Julie finished hers. I talked to her on the phone a few times. But, on the 23^rd, she informed me I didn’t need to rush through, she had waited too long and had bought the book. So now I was more than halfway done with a book I didn’t want to rush. I blame myself. Oh well. It was thrilling and so I didn’t have to rush much, the book did that for itself. So, as I woke up and Mom and I took out the dogs, I thought about the book a little. We were going to eat out once more, this time at a breakfast place. But I will talk more about that later.

For now, about something else. When we felt the water when proposing to take a shower, we found it didn’t turn hot after multiple times. NOOO! THE HOT WATER HEATER IS WACKO ONCE MORE! We were more red than fire, more mad than the American people at the Washington Insiders, so very angered that in a irritated contest we might be able to beat Hitler at his hate of Jews, perhaps.(okay maybe not THAT much, but pretty close). But, this rush of hatred and madness was overshadowed by the fact that in the courtyard was some nice bathrooms for us to be in. So, Dad and I were fine, Mom had taken a shower the day before, and Rebecca doesn’t like showers and doesn’t take them every day so she was okay with it. Dad got all his stuff together, and walked over there in his sandals.

In the beginning I thought I wouldn’t do it, but I changed my mind and got my towel and shampoo and conditioner. I walked over in there in my flip flops. Up the path, through the gate, checking the water to see it’s cold (the pool’s water). Dad was only a little way’s ahead of me, and we both picked bathrooms. I got one by the laundry. Inside was a beautiful sink with some soft soap, and a toilet by the wall. Then you had a long area where there were spots for your hair materials, and racks on the door and such. Then there was a faucet with a shower head, and a thing up against the wall that went down that you could sit on while taking off and putting on your clothes. All the bathroom was made of a brown rock, smooth and pretty. It was probably the nicest public restroom I’ve been in, by far. Well, I tested out the water, made a mental note of all the steps, and went through the whole process with really not doing any of that. Then I undressed, sitting on the thing, and then put it back up and put my t-shirt and shorts, plus my hat, on the rack, and the towel in that space between the toilet and the toilet paper rack. My flip flops still on (to avoid Athlete’s foot) I then turned on the water, and put it on the hot. The shower head was up against the wall, so I had to go way under it. I then just took it off the rack and moved it around to my convenience. Good. Then, I thought a little about how the Asians surprised the Europeans by how much they washed, and how stinky the Europeans were, and things like that. I also thought about the blog post I was doing for that day, straining my brain to remember the long time ago and things like that. I then put shampoo on, and after rinsing I did conditioner. Waiting for a minute, counting the square tiles on the walls, I then rinsed after a minute or more. Then I walked all the way across the length of the long shower, picking up the soap and moving it all around my body, and then after that I rinsed. No need for a curtain, for the door was locked and this was a private one. After turning off the water I grabbed the towel and dried, and then took my clothes and put the shorts up from the flip flop, and because I was sitting down I could put the towel under my bottom and the flip flops on the floor, and it was much easier. I’m sorry I am giving you all these details, you are probably bored out of your mind.

Dad knocked on the door, asking me if I was okay. At this point I was washing my face at the sink and washing my hands. I turned out the light and unlocked the door, and said sorry I took so long and gave all the details to him. He stated that he had already gone to get a coffee, and came back, and finished, so I must’ve taken a long time. We walked back home, and I dressed yet again in better clothing. Then we walked over to the office, where the Cajun told us about good breakfast places to eat. She had two, but Oceana was the one we picked. She also booked us and made a reservation to do a tour, a three hour one, taking us all around the great city of New Orleans. We then got in the jeep, and drove down Bourbon Street, even though Rebecca didn’t want to. It still smelled, of course, but they had all these trucks and people with horizontal blue rags on sticks, with soap and water all around. Also were little box trucks with guys coming out of them, with beer boxes, replenishing the supply of alcoholic beverages to the bars and pubs. We went down into a parking garage, and then walked up. On the corner a blonde haired lady said Boo! In a joking matter, because we hadn’t known she was there. We walked up and saw the sign with the sea animals, of Oceana, as we walked toward there. Inside we were brought to a table down lower than the other ones, away from the window by the restrooms. We looked out to all the homes with balconies. Looking at the huge glossy menu, all looked so good, I could not choose. Rebecca had some pancakes, Dad an omelet, and Mom eggs benedict. An Indian guy served us, and he was pretty satisfactory. There was a T.V. over us so Mom and Dad watched a little of ESPN as Rebecca and I talked a little about Bourbon Street. I saw a black shadow underneath a table, and thought it was some weird voodoo thing that was haunting me, but it was only a pigeon. Rebecca laughed at me when I yelled.

They brought out our food, and mine was eggs, grits, bacon and one or two pancakes, hashbrowns included. Man was it good. So warm and just so, so good, I couldn’t eat all of it. After the breakfast, we paid and walked out, as full as a pelican is of water when it tries to scoop up a fish, and we went back to the parking garage, down and got our R.V., and some people in ties took our money, and they were very kind and professional, a trait not usually found in people at parking garages, and as we came out it was very hard, very low roof, with our bike rack barely going under. Then, we raced against time to get home before the tour guide came at 10, and drove in to the little R.V. resort, and there isn’t actually that many at all, but most of you already know that, because of reading past blogs.

It was very close cut, getting there, as we passed the tour bus, at the office and came to our R.V., and locked both it and the jeep, as the Cajun girl came up in a golf cart, saying that she could take us up fast. With jackets on and my two books, we embarked on, and Rebecca, Mom and I were in the back, with Dad and the lady in the front. I watched the road, spitting on one spot and then watching the spot get farther away as we sped up, as fast as lightning, and crept to a stop, turning on our side. The bus was red in color, and had a little spot over the front, like a Class C motor home. We walked in and took seats quickly, as a black haired man closed the doors, and I wondered if he was the tour guide. I looked around at all of the talking people, who were as friendly with each other as if they were lifelong friends. You wouldn’t see something like this in New York. Like an artist later told us, he loves living in the Big Easy because of how everyone is so laid back and nice to you, and will take you places without a thought in the world. He said he loved living here on that part. So, the bus started up, and it pulled out of the R.V. Resort.

This would be an interesting and very informational time. Yes indeed. Into the French Quarter, the man introduced himself as, “Jason, like July August September, October, November.” That was a clever way of saying it. I had never heard someone say that before. He asked everyone where they were from, and talked about foreign people who had come and made some funny jokes I liked also. We told him Atlanta, and he said he had worked there once as we pulled into the French Quarter. With Dad by me, I tucked the French Dictionary into the Mockingjay book, and put it between the seat and the wall of the window, as I looked out. He said that he wanted everyone to ask as many questions as possible, and for people to do some one-liners to make it more fun. We went through the French Quarter, as he told us a little bit about how the French Quarter was on a hill, and that the people came here to have trade on the river, that none of this was damaged in Katrina or even flooded. But he also talked about how no one in the French Quarter spoke French, and that none of the buildings were French, because there was a fire when the Spanish had the city, and all the buildings were destroyed. Since they were not good styles the Spanish proposed they use their architecture, so all of the homes in fact are Spanish. Funny.

Jason went on to point out that over the names of the streets was a little part saying Rue and whatever the street was. This was what it was under French rule, and usually, he said, it’s the same name as the street now, but occasionally they were different. Framed with a crown is the Spanish name of the street, but they are less able to see. That’s what I had seen in the bathroom, and so it was cool to see it. I talked to Dad as Jason took us on the notorious Bourbon Street, in the safety of the bus. “Now, here’s what everyone sees in New Orleans, and you know your on Bourbon Street when on your left is a bar, and on your right a strip club, and then on your right downward a bar and on your left a strip club again.” Laughs from people on bus. He told us that the street wasn’t named that from the whiskey Bourbon, but from a duke, who was not a king and wasn’t famous. Putting your name on a street was a common practice for the French, and people did it a lot. A lot. He told a story about girls who hooked men’s hats and made them go into the building, and were known as hookers. Some people said this statement was false, but Jason funnily said it wasn’t. After looking around the French Quarter, we learned a lot of things about The French Quarter and other things, plus all the fights when America got the city, and how one part was the French Quarter and another the American. He pointed to a few parts of buildings which were bare and right on the street, saying Brad Pitt and Angela Jo Lee lived there. People asked why it was so ugly and bare, and Jason told them that this was the back of the building, that all these homes faced in to each other by a square courtyard, and that they were beautiful on the inside, a good retreat for celebrities who want to be discreet. Jason went on to talk about the prices of homes and a little economic things, and that he researched about getting one, but we couldn’t come up with that kind of money, ever.

He showed us some of his favorite restaurants and things, and explained to us the po boy and all about it, that it came from po boys who wanted the things. He showed us the oldest family owned restaurant, called Ann something, I don’t quite remember exactly. He said that if we went to one of his favorite restaurants and got sick, it was his opinion not the companys’, so they couldn’t sue the company, in his usual funny matter. He then went to tell us how he was going to go to the Visitors Center to show us what he meant by that there was no North, West, East, or South, and that he would show us about that inside. He told us there were dioramas of the French Quarter and then of all of New Orleans, and that he would tell us about it and then we had a good few minutes to go to the bathroom. He parked in front of the Center, and said we could leave our stuff in here as we were coming back and that he was going to lock the bus, as he got out of the bus through a door on his side, right by him, and we all went out, and stretched a little at the already long tour we had had. I went inside to a big lobby, with huge dioramas that had glass around them all, and were really cool to look at all the tiny people and buildings, and the harbor and all the streets and blocks. I looked around, and people went to the restroom, on the right side of the room, as brochures and a counter with ladies in suits, who told you about what to do in New Orleans and everything. There was a museum back behind those ladies which Jason led everyone to, and we followed him too.

He showed against the back wall, a big map of New Orleans and the Mississippi River on a cool map. He explained since the river went up and down and was very snaky, that it wasn’t really east or west, but upriver or downriver. He gave us a lot of information about this ,that north was Lakeside because there was a lake and you were always on a riverside. It was too complicated to explain totally. After he went through a very confusing talking about the map and what you were at in New Orleans, some people went to the restroom again, and we got in the bus and sat down at our seats again. As we passed into Neutral Ground of The French Quarter and the American one, Jason talked about how people wanted to have a place where both people could go, to get their special items. No fights were on this huge street and people who wanted a peaceful business would settle down on Neutral ground. It was a big street with many commercial parts, plus palm trees down a long sidewalk in the middle. Jason made some of his most funniest jokes here. Funny guy. Yes.

I was enjoying this tour guide, not too sarcastic, not too cheesy either, something in between. He had already shown his love of New Orleans, how he likes you can get a beer anywhere you go, and I was the one that asked him what was his favorite part. We passed by the oldest restaurant, the Blacksmith’s, where there was a black sign with a blacksmith and barely one counter and maybe a few tables. He said there was theory that a pirate posed as a blacksmith and gave arms and such to people out of his back entrance, but it might be an old wives’ tale or such. He said that the first third of the tour was over, the French Quarter, and that now we were going into the Garden District, with all of the old homes and beautiful houses, where some famous people of prominence and some celebrities lived. Passing the Blacksmith’s, we went by a lot of nice homes, many were condensed, and two story, with nice columns, porches, windows, and painted. There were a few weird old black ones that had sickly trees surrounding them, home to a witch, perhaps.

He had talked about before telling all about the homes how you can literally take a drink to go and carry it to another bar, and do this a lot. Weird. But, as we were crossing over to the Garden District, as he was at the steering wheel speaking into the microphone, he talked about Governors that lived here, and how if you had a pretty carriage step(usually a wood or stone block right on the sidewalk by the street to help people up when they get out of their carriage) and that instead of focusing on having a beautiful home or stairs, they would think about making these steps marble and everything. “The vanity of men,” Jason remarked comically, “always goes on.” These homes were pretty though, with their swinging benches and southern feel. He told us that Mardi Gras didn’t really touch this area too much, that the people here were less party animals, and more of the upper class of people. There were a few trees with lines on them, and Jason said that that was where the water of the flood settled when both Katrina and Camile hit New Orleans. Jason showed us a home where “The Curious Case of Mr. Benjamin Button” a movie in 2008, was made. Very interesting. Also, he told us about some fires that occurred, as we came out of the Garden District, back into what they call the Market District, with, even though the French hated the Americans and vise versus, there is a statue of Layfette in the American and Jackson in the French. Both good statues. Funny.

By the Mississippi were all kinds of barges, freight things and factories, and on the side we were on a hill going up, plus some nice big buildings and a bridge. There was a golden statue I’d seen earlier when driving around, a girl in armor on a horse with her sword hanging high. Remembering the Hundred Year’s War between France and England, and that the French founded New Orleans, I deduced this statue was Joan of Arc, and said it to Mom and Dad. Then Jason started talking about it, and that confirmed it. Dad gave me a nudge with his elbow, as if saying, “Good job man!”

Behind the golden statue that Jason called, and some other people do, “Joanie on her Pony” was a white tarp over a long area, a tent, and it was called the French Market, full of many good jewelry and goods, plus fakes ones that look real. We passed by all this, as we went away from that. We had already stopped at a Visitor’s Center right by our R.V. Resort, and now we went up on the bridge over the city of New Orleans, and I looked down on it all. We came off the exit and settled down outside of a cemetery. Once more Jason told us that we could keep our stuff in there, that he was going to show us a few things in the cemetery and we could look around for the rest of the time. He stopped the bus in front, got out, as he opened the other door on our side. We were some of the last ones out, but those people just let us go together sometimes, in no hurry. The people, for the most part, in New Orleans, are very nice to you. Now that’s excluding hobo’s, voodoo witches, drunks, and other kinds of low life’s. But for the most part, they are very nice people, easy going and in no hurry to go anywhere. Jason told us earlier a female reporter was doing a comparison between NYC and NO(New Orleans) and that she called it the Big Easy because everyone was so easy going and it was easy to get a job, and easy to walk around. Now all that remains is the mystery of why NYC is called the Big Apple. Hmmm…

There was a mass wall of concrete surrounding it as we walked into the cemetery. Whenever you are in NO, they have to just mention something about ghosts or graves or something. But the difference with this cemetery and ones I had seen prior, was that there were no tombstones or anything of the sort, just these rectangular grey rock things, and some crosses, statues of Saints and these words on the front piece. There was a statue of a monk, holding out his hands, and Mother Tereasa in another part of the place. There was grass, but also sidewalks and a lot of grey. Rows and rows of these tombs, going all back for at least a few miles, and I tried to think that all these people had once walking talking people you would see on the street, just regular people now entombed here. Jason told us that because the reason why there were no ground graves in the ground was that New Orleans was built on a swampland, that because of all the water(and he gave many science details on this point) and that literally they came out of the ground, and were the walking dead, “or at least the floating dead.” He was such a funny tour guide.

“So they came up with a system of putting people in tombs and having them buy it before their death, and having the family members in there, and every time someone dies, they etch their name into the stone plate, and they wait a year and a day, or at least that much, and then they take off the front door, if you will, and make the person go down in the pit, underneath, in a coffin. This is a very popular and prosperous business.”

A very creepy and weird business too.

For Jews, they have high ground or places away from the city, where they put them on a hill and put them in the graves. Jason said that for poor people, you buy a cheap little spot in a long cabinet of tombs, where you put the person in the coffin and slide them into the slot in the long cabinet full of tombs. For the Irish and German immigrants, you would at the most get thrown in the river or get cremated or something, if your that lucky. Or you are left in the street and… well, I’ll just get off the subject. Seeing all the Catholic symbols and statues of Mary and everybody else, plus all the street signs named after saints, I deduced it was founded by French Catholics or something. Jason said this was incorrect, that yes it did a have a huge catholic population, but that the French weren’t really Catholic, it was when the Spanish had it, who are deep Roman Catholics (as we would learn more throughout the trip) that made an impact on the overall religion of New Orleans. Interesting.

We all looked around at some of the more crumbling tombs, the old ones with all the stone coming off and the names barely visable. I thought at every moment I would see a ghost, but it didn’t happen. Some crows and ravens did a nice croaking effect for the eeriness of the place, and it made it complete. After a few minutes we got in the bus yet again, and got back on the bridge. We passed by some skyscrapers and the Saint’s Stadium, and I asked Jason why they were the Saints. Because of the Catholic population, of course, he told me. They were really bad in the first years of being a team (and Jason talked about their forming and other cool interesting facts about the Saint’s team) but then the Pope was coming around and they asked him if he might bless the stadium. And he did. Have they been a good team so far? You decide if their good football skills and multiple Super Bowl wins has something to do with that.

And finally was what Mom was looking for, the third and final part of our long journey, the part where we would see the devastation of Hurricane Katrina, and the people that were a part of it, and their old houses. Past all the skyscrapers and things like that, we went down off the bridge, in a mist of broken down homes, even after seven years, and spare wood all around, plus blackened and houses that were totally destroyed, wiped off of their bases. But this, my dear reader, was only as we looked far away, on a highway bridge coming down, and it would get worse continuing on. Down there, by a little hill where the levies broke and so many innocent lives were spared, were some shabby one floor homes you’d see in many depressed areas of multiple cities I can mention, all the stuff around, and everything. Jason took us through an area, showing us more of the trees and homes on sidewalks, and they had a circle with signs and numbers all around, plus an X on an occasional. Jason said that NO was either No one there or No Survivors, and that on the left or right was the name of the organization that checked the place after the storm and flood, and also talked about how since New Orleans was shaped like a bowl, they were all kind of trapped; he said this as we approached the levee. He said the levee was a part of defending against hurricanes, and that they had a wonderful pumping system of either distributing the water to the lake, the MS River, or the Gulf of Mexico. A lot of waters surrounding NO.

There were homes in some parts that we went through, and they had shot gun houses, long trailers that were shaped like a shot gun, you know ‘cause they’re both long. This was established after Katrina, and they had two exits, and they had solar energy and some could float. We saw a little bit of destruction, liked the destroyed home of Fats Domino, who was a good blues guy or something of another. Someone thought he was dead and wrote on the house: R.I.P. Fats. You brought a lot of music to the world. But he wasn’t dead.

Domino had wanted to stay, saying that this hurricane was going to be the same thing like the other’s they’d experienced, pack up your clothes and important things, close up the home, get in the car, spend time and money on gas and traffic, and have the levees hold out all the stuff, and maybe perhaps a puddle that would pass through, proclaimed a flood or hurricane. But, with all the media attention this was getting and all the warnings, Domino eventually was persuaded by his wife and daughter, and they left and were safe and sound. Jason told us other cases like this, that a lot of New Orleaners thought this way, that the Hurricane, like others, would be barely nothing. So they stayed home, and took a few good precautions, but some didn’t. And then the those that did leave, came back to destroyed homes, and didn’t want to go through the whole process again, so they simply left the whole town, never to return.

Jason said there was a rich population and a poor one, with not much of a middle class. We were deeply saddened by all these little homes, barely recognizable to loved people. Right by the hill by the concrete wall of levees, Jason showed us a patch of dirt that was once his friend’s home, but then it was washed away. His friend still owns the property, but is trying to get a building right. It isn’t going too well. They gave the right to build a house to an old lady, which is kind, but not to his friend. Oh well. There is always a loophole, and one in a submarine. They need to be opened, except the one in the sub. Bad idea.

You readers need a lighten up from all this talk of bars and of Katrina. Let’s talk about some new homes, like the… well, I’ll just take it in a narrative again. Jason led the bus toward the most modern homes you’ve ever seen, and I looked on them with eyes blinking, and then rubbing them, and then blinking and staring again, and nudging Dad as Mom took some pictures. It was Brad Pitt’s “Make it Right” homes, that had some double shot gun homes (two shot gun homes put back to back) but mostly the coolest and most futuristic of homes. Let’s now explain them for your sake, because you probably know something from different sources a little bit about these homes, or maybe you’ve been there and seen it, but for the benefit of those who haven’t I’ll give you a little glace, and Mom can hand you guys the pictures. Just tell us already! Your probably thinking that or maybe even yelling it into the face of the iPad or computer. Okay, I’m sorry, but I kind of enjoy tormenting you. Now for the homes. Some had flat or slanted roofs, with solar panels and spiral staircases up the signs. All were of bright colors, and all very cool looking, not horizontal, planted on the ground, not like the ones in the Garden District, not the ones you’d see in Roswell, not like any other home ever, but some floating, others with solar, and all kinds of ones on stilts and colors, styles, material, and some wooden decks on the sides and everything; man, it was like no other houses I had seen before. Why? Because these homes had been made right, by Brad Pitt himself, whoever he is.

In here was a Music Village, and there was a little center in the center, a concert hall and studio where musical people can practice and perform, and many other cool things. As we drifted out of there, we went by two nail salons, and Jason said that it took a while to go to a grocery store, that not many good ones were in this area, and not many people lived her therefore. He said, “Wow, two nail salons a good few steps away from each other, and no grocery store. Sure, that’s more important than food. Priorities.” He was a funny tour guide, one of the best I’ve had, or the best, if I can be so bold to say so. Away from that area a little was a park where you could ka ak and go in the water, with swans, swaying trees and that usual little pond magic that enchants us all and brings us to make romantic or pretty scenes have a pond in it. Jason told us once more to leave our stuff in the bus, and that he was going to make us pay for the tour, and he was going to be set up at a table. Behind a wall and some tables was some tables inside, bathrooms and a long counter with freezers showing food, and we all got some snacks after going to the restroom. Jason then got out a money holder, the one that looks like a filing cabinet material, and people paid their money and tips also. Our tip was pretty big, and that’s how good his tour guidemanship was. After all this while people handed him money we sat outside on the wall, then going in when he returned. He stopped some people at their hotels, and we were one of the first on the list. Before we left in the area of the place we stopped, Mom got the guy to talking, and Jason told her that he was a guide in San Francisco for the same company, that a guy handed him a job down here and so he came down for a while, and has liked it. When we told him about the trip he said that if we went on the same tour company, maybe he would be up there and he would do our tour. Maybe.

Back at the R.V. resort they dropped us off and we made the dogs go to the restroom, and watched T.V., reading and blogging also, relaxing after the long three hour tour, with three main parts, (French Quarter, Garden District, Katrina Devastation) and also three stops.(Visitor’s Center, Cemetery, Snack Place by Pond) It had been a good time, and I had learned so much I probably never would have learned, about the science of New Orlean’s water system and also the interesting history tidbits also. It was a good start for what was going to be a great visit, and I started to like this jewel of a town in Louisiana, New Orleans.

We were hearing a beating and yelling of drums and of voices, and we were both alarmed and annoying, wanting to know what it was and if it would shut up any time soon, for it was almost Ten. Dad thought it was a band as he and I got on our jackets, and into the car. Across the narrow street surrounded by gates were high schoolers, a drum team, performing, talking and dancing and everything. So that solved that. We were turning around by going around the parking lot, and saw some security people. We asked what movie was going on. One said to us that it was HBO’s Treme, about New Orleans people, that it was a miniseries. He said we could go online at HBO.com/Treme to see if they needed an extra that fit our requirements. We went home, and I went home, for this was a possibility for me, an actor, to be discovered! But, online, I saw that they had no such thing, or at least, I couldn’t find it. I went to sleep that night, wondering, in my bed. It was a really good day of sitting, learning, and looking around and everything. Goodbye for now.

Pigeon Voodoo!,

Andrew.