When you know you have to go, when you know you must face life's little realities like taxes and a leak in the roof...the vacation is over. Home for five weeks and then back to the motor home in a whole new state I've only whisked through before, North Carolina.
Yesterday was the last hurrah, a pass through N'awlins, some good food and beer; a last little gander at the balconies, the beautiful iron work, the signs...oh nostalgia.
The oyster shuckers, Ebony and Ivory, their nicknames, neither were working. No oysters until late in the day.
Instead we had a great beer at Crescent City on the balcony and enjoyed the view, moved on to the Masparro Cafe. A salad so loaded with fresh grated cheese, I thought it was pizza. A jambalaya so loaded with shrimp, I couldn't take a mouthful without a shrimp in every bite. Washed down with a turbo dog. Ahhh! N'awlins is a great city. ( (I learned the correct pronunciation at the Jean LaFitte National Historic Museum.)
Getting into town was a difficult; several closed streets and parking taken up by Hollywood Trucks. We ran into a movie set. We didn't want to watch and moved on. And, they wouldn't let us park on the sidewalk, can you imagine?
But on our return walk to the parking meter, the Hollywood Trucks were everywhere with snacks for the workers, a honey-wagon, light boxes and equipment literally by the ton. Big picture show stufff.
We asked, what movie and who? Reds the name, with Morgan Freeman and Bruce Willis. Didn't figure we'd see them anyway, but now we can look for the scene in the movie when it comes out. The camera crews were still doing side shots and the gawkers were fun to watch.
This Jean LaFitte National Park was the smallest of the six cultural centers they have in Louisiana. With this one, we've seen them all. I wasn't in museum mood. The day was sunny and beautiful; the streets normal instead of a mob, except, for the crowds around the movie set. Peeked into the souvenir shops, and art galleries, enjoyed the ironwork.
The last thing I heard as we were climbing back into the Bronco was the clip-clop of horses hooves and the driver of the carriage admonishing his horse gently, "Now, you know you can't beat that car," as he reined him in before crossing the street. Such good memories.
I hope all of you have enjoyed this trek with me. I expect I'll be absent from these pages for a bit as I get back into the home groove, but not for long.