Generally speaking, our accommodation for the in-between parts of our big road trip have been hit or miss. Mostly, this was because we were booking hotels on the fly along the way without having enough time to really study the listings for red flags like shots taken of a really nice lobby, but not the rooms. Photos of suspiciously large rooms taken with a fish-eye lens, where closer inspection reveals that there doesn't actually seem to be enough room to walk around the giant bed are also common.
That and a bit of sticker shock is how we ended up at the Bear Motel in Tahoe. Later, on the way between Phoenix and Houston, we stayed at another dodgy motel on the outskirts of San Antonio. This time, there were no bears to worry about, but I'm pretty sure we were the only ones that stayed all night. Our room there was actually very clean and well-appointed. I suspect the proprietor has a couple set aside for unwary travelers that actually thought they had booked a motel.
Then we came to New Orleans. We were excited to have found a place within walking distance of the French Quarter that also had a secure, gated parking lot for the car. Our place ended up being a quirky little studio in a stand-alone building that sits inexplicably in the middle of the parking lot of a looming, four-story apartment building. We think it may have been either a maintenance shack or a caretaker's quarters that has been upgraded.
All of this was in the middle of Treme, a neighborhood that subsequent research uncovered a consensus that it was mostly safe during the day, but definitely NOT at night (their emphasis).
Basically, it was no worse than downtown Oakland, California, where we lived for two years without incident. The thing is, like Oakland, depending on which specific block you live, you can be in a nice area or a scary area and they are often right next to each other.
In New Orleans our AirBnB rental was in the Treme district, nearby to the Louis Armstrong Park. On arrival we took a walk through the park, and then whent on to The French Quarter (Vieux Carré)
Our place in Treme seemed to be about two blocks past where we would have liked. The main thing was that it was under the elevated Interstate 10. There is a very large homeless encampment there that stretches for blocks and blocks, but the main problem was that it was next to an uphill on-ramp where all of the motorcycles and boy racers seem to love to peel out. I would have concluded that it was the loudest part of New Orleans, but then we went to Bourbon Street, so it's a close second. Even with the door and windows shut, you can't hear yourself think in there.
As for New Orleans itself, I have been there many times, so I didn't feel the need to try to fit the whole of the city in during our short stay, which was technically an extended break on a long drive. Maryanne was scheduled to join me once on a long overnight, but we ended up being rescheduled to a short, lame layover near the airport. I was looking forward to showing her around.
Our first stop was, of course, Cafe du Monde. For connoisseurs of all-sugar breakfasts like myself, a pilgrimage to Cafe du Monde is a must-do. We arrive in long lines of sad-looking schleps with droopy eyes and veritably bounce out like a giant serving tray full of Tiggers that have just had the big silver dome removed. Then the tourist dollars virtually vibrate out of our pockets. {Maryanne:Actually Cafe du Monde was rediculously inexpensive, a plate of three delicous, fresh beignets for less than $4 and a coffee even less.}
On the river, the paddle steamer had a steam organ playing to entertain those waiting to board
The Louisiana museum had a whole floor dedicated to the history of the famous Mardi Gras
And the famous "Farmers Market" had a huge selection of foods and gifts sufficient for any tourist
Bourbon Street was the expected cacophony of touts, buskers, and lots of really loud music coming out of bars that were all advertising the biggest daiquiris in New Orleans, each served in a unique container that made direct comparison with the competition impossible. To be fair, after you've had the first one, You're just going to spill half of the next on the street anyway, so it's a moot point.
New Orleans - just what you expect
One thing that was different from my previous visits was the music. New Orleans is home to some great Jazz and my auditory memories of the Bourbon Street amble are of blaring trumpets and the staccato of snare drums. Now the overwhelmingly predominant output is shouted Hip Hop lyrics that I could never repeat in any context whatsoever, including singing along with the actual songs in real time. To me, it seems as incongruous as walking down Beale Street in Memphis and hearing nothing come out of the clubs but yodeling. Bourbon Street now seems to me to be like any of the tourist areas in America where drunks stagger zigzag courses from one bar to the next amid flashing neon lights.
Further out, we found lots of delicious food and someone playing the largest instrument I've ever seen - the steamboat.
I can't imagine how expensive that must have been for his parents. I mean, steamboat lessons must not be that common. If the kid shows some aptitude, do you buy them their own small steamboat to practice on at home?
And a hop-on, hop-off bus tour made it easy to visit further afield (the Garden District, the cemetaries, etc)
Congo Square remains busy on Sundays (with drumming and dancing) a long held tradition
And we even visited the (tiny) Voodoo museum
Yep, New Orleans is a loud city. After our fifth or sixth lunch, Maryanne and I managed to make it safely home, where we shouted goodnight to each other and then spent the rest of the night staring helplessly at the ceiling while listening to the races between the Harleys and the mid-nineties Honda Accords with the giant spoilers and the super low-profile tires. Neither is fast, but they sure do make a lot of noise trying.
