Or, N’awlins, as the locals call it. We kept mispronouncing it, Canadian-style, as “nu orleens.”
We stayed in this hilarious RV park right smack in the middle of the city, about a ten-minute walk away from the French Quarter (the place to be in New Orleans). We found it hilarious because we were so out of place.
The RV park was pretty much just a parking lot, but with some grass thrown in. No trees though, and therefore no shade…do you feel sorry for us yet in our non-air-conditioned big hot box of metal?
We were surrounded by montrous RVs. And I do mean monstrous – look at this one!
What do you suppose is in there? I bet we could fit five of Amelia inside that thing.
And here’s us, in our huge plot of space. We even took out the awning to make ourselves look bigger (but more because we needed to block out the evil sun rays that were trying their best to defeat us).
While the RV Park did not have trees and shade for us, it did have a pool to cool off in. This is the only feature that made it slightly resemble a “resort,” which is what they refer to it as on their website. But, don’t get me wrong, I’m not complaining! We knew it was just going to be a big parking lot to sleep in for the night – it was the convenience of the French Quarter that we were after.
Having conveniently run out of groceries, we decided that in New Orleans we were going to eat out. We were eager to try some local cajun/creole dishes anyway. And we weren’t disappointed. The food here was amazing. It was here that we learned about Po-Boys.
Most of our time spent in New Orleans was just walking around the French Quarter. It has all the interesting old buildings and architecture, and it’s filled with culture. Around every corner there was music, whether it be playing on a patio of a cafe or from buskers doing what they love and making some extra cash.
There were two things I really loved about the French Quarter – people watching and window boxes. I love these things anywhere, but the French Quarter had these in spades. There were so many interesting people to follow with your eyes and gorgeous window boxes on many of the old buildings.
When we needed a break from the heat, we stopped at a cafe for some iced drinks and sat by the window to watch the passersby. We had a shoe-shiner in front of us, Muhammad Ali across the street, and a large black man with a beautiful and pure singing voice belting out soulful music down the street.
At night, Bourbon street is the happening place. We ate dinner there and then strolled down the street. We really had no idea what to expect, but both of us were surprised by all the strip clubs and scantily clad women in the doorways beckoning us in. It definitely had a “red light district” feel to it, but I think it’s more likely supposed to evoke feelings of mardi gras – but on every single night of the year. Bourbon street is pedestrians only and seems to have its own rules – I already mentioned the barely dressed women, but also day and night, people could buy drinks in the many bars down the strip and carry them down the street. We saw a couple servers holding shooters in the doorways, just in case you needed a quick shot of tequila without having to actually step foot in a bar.
Our new pace is definitely suiting us better. We spent Thursday and Friday night in New Orleans, so that gave us ample time to explore the city and also to relax. Next we headed off further West into Texas. Despite our more relaxing stay in New Orleans, Steve was feeling worn out. I have to remind myself that Steve has never camped before, and therefore a life on the road for three months of mostly staying in campgrounds is quite an adjustment for him! While driving to Texas, he was overcome with crankiness (he gets cranky, I get poopy). We’ve spent enough time together that we know when the other person is getting a bad case of crankiness or poopyness, and in general we’re able to either nip it in the butt or ride it out with no hiccups. I was starting to get worried that his bouts of crankiness were going to be a permanent part of our trip, were in fact because of our trip, and asked him to consider whether he would like to go home after Las Vegas and I would continue on by myself. I did not like this suggestion one bit, but I didn’t want Steve feeling like he was held hostage by this crazy dream of mine and that I could still make it happen on my own. For the next hour of the drive we each dwelled in our thoughts and contemplated this option. For the most part, I was pep-talking myself that I could handle the propane tank and the pumping of the gas by myself if I had to. But then, just as Steve went to the back to get something from the cooler, an SUV packed to the roof with camping gear with two young guys drove up beside me and waved. They took off (everyone’s faster than Amelia), but shortly later they slowed down and pulled up beside us again, this time with a sign in the window saying “Call me!” and then their number. By this time Steve was sitting back down in the passenger seat, and the SUV camping guys sped off, realizing their mistake.
And that was the end of the great bout of crankiness and the decision of whether Steve would stay for the rest of the trip.
P.S. Just so you don’t get the impression that it’s only Steve who gets these bouts, you should know that I wilt in the heat and become a big puddle of whining and sighing – we’re looking into getting air-conditioning a.s.a.p 😉