Monday, March 25, 2013

NOLA: Day 3 and iPhone dump

Welcome to the third and final installment of our New Orleans adventures! Leaving this morning was an absolute tragedy. But there is honestly no possible way that our trip could have been more enjoyable, thanks almost entirely to Nick and Whitney. I don't think it's any exaggeration to say that they are literally the best travel guides that have ever lived in history. Check out their blog, Mind on Travel, to see what sorts of wacky adventures they're up to.

Here's the final breakdown:
(It's hard to read that without hearing Europe and 
having GOB and glitter coming to mind. But I digress....)

Image grabbed from here.

Start the misty morning again with yoga at the Cabildo. New life's goal: try to make my shoulder blades "kiss."

New Orleans Roadfood Festival 2013!! (Good gravy, this event is fantastic.) Stroll down the blocked off section of the French Quarter and sample all manner of foods without regard for price or calorie count. Be shocked at the amount of food you can consume without getting sick. (Among foods consumed: Sun-dried tomato and mushroom pie, tamales, gumbo, seafood pasta, frozen custard. Food NOT consumed: the fried chicken, which I'll regret until my dying day.) Refuse to take pictures on account of the food shame.

Walk to Café du Monde with (surprise!) friends from San Diego who just happen to be in town for a smarty pants conference. Hi Britta and Alan! Cheer as Al boldly snags a leftover beignet from an abandoned table. Go Alan! How was it Alan? Cold.

Take a leisurely stroll back to the Marigny District through the French Quarter. 


Nap.

Head out to the bayou and for gator-gazing, zydeco, and ungodly shellfish consumption. Eat weight (roughly) in crawfish.

Terlit.

Feign enthusiasm as a "seed dancer"* for the zydeco band. Be surprised when enthusiasm becomes real.

*Person who, against all odds, tries to get other people excited about dancing.

Fall in love with your goofy husband all over again when he plays the washboard like a pro.

That's my man!

Drive back to the French Quarter and hop in line just in time to buy tickets for a show at Preservation Hall. Sit on the floor just about three fit away from this kick drum.


Get sprayed with the trombonist's spittle. Do not wash it off.

Head back to the apartment, watch nearly 15 minutes of The Sopranos, and crash.

Four hours later, roll out of bed, call a cab, and return to reality.

2 comments:

Carrie said...

So, we're going next year?

jenn potter said...

So absolutely fun.