Needing a good night's sleep, Alyssa slept in. I woke early and curled up in the corner chair with my book and a cup of rather weak coffee. Six floors below me, New Orleans was wide awake and busy about their day. Every fifteen minutes or so a trolley rumbled by, down the heart of St. Charles Avenue. Across from me, the morning sun warmed the greens of a roof top garden.
Once we were both showered, we went out to find some breakfast. Just down the street, past the tiny park that was Lafayette Square, was Cafe at the Square. Just as we walked in the door, dreaming of eggs and grits, they changed to their lunch menu. They recommended The Ruby Slipper, about 10 blocks away. It seemed to be a popular place, as when we arrived, there was about 30 people waiting out on the sidewalk, including a group of the young men from the train, beads still around their necks. We walked on and, at a tour company, asked for another suggestion. They pointed the way to a small, dark cafe called, Red Gravy. Here we found a tiny table by the door and the most delicious parmesan infused grits I've ever tasted. Owned and operated by an Italian woman from New Jersey, Red Gravy uses all fresh, local foods and even better, real dishes. Amtrak has switched to all disposable and every hotel has had paper or styrofoam cups. The coffee was the best I've had the whole trip and was served in a lovely red mug.
After breakfast we went back to the hotel to get information about the trolley system and recommended places to go. Right out front there was a trolley stop for the St. Charles Avenue line. We got on there and each bought a day pass. The trolley on St. Charles and Carrollton Street has been continuously operating since 1835 and is the oldest street railway line in the world. I have no idea how old these current trolley cars are but they seem pretty old. The seats are made of beautiful wood with brass accents. There is also a line running down Canal Street toward the Mississippi River and along River Street. Each have different color cars.
Once you buy a day pass for $3, you can get on and off of any line all day long. The only trouble is, during busy times of day, they get so crowded it can be hard to get on. Our first ride, we just took it to the end of the line. There, everyone gets off and the driver flips all the seats around for the return trip. We took it back to where we had seen a Cold Stone Creamery off to the side. As we sat under a shade tree out front, a guy roared up and parked his very unique motorcycle in front of us. He started off with a Yamaha V-Star and then modified it in every way he could. Its main theme was fangs and sculls. Since he works with a film company, he has access to a lot of tools and techniques. Most of it is covered with faux rust but the old tractor seat was authentic. Quite possibly the the most unique, but definitely the ugliest bike I have ever laid eyes on. But of course, I told him that it was amazing.
While we were eating our ice cream, an elderly guy came up pan handling, asking for money for supper. I told him I don't give out cash but would be happy to walk with him somewhere and buy him supper. So we carried our ice cream down to the corner store while he told about living along the river and not being able to work anymore because of a disability. I tried not to judge him for the bulging pack of cigs in his backpack pocket. He picked a big burrito out of the freezer case. I told him to get a drink to wash it down. He chose a jug of strawberry milk.
Getting back on the trolley wasn't easy since it was late afternoon but once on, we got separated by a packed line of people standing in the aisle. It was hard to enjoy the view as we rolled through the “Garden District” with its lovely, southern homes so we just got off and started walking through neighborhoods. I enjoy seeing lovely, even famous homes, but what I really like is seeing how “normal people” live. On the back streets, with their sprawling flower patches and unkempt lawns, their rusty grills, stray cats (at one house we counted eleven cats!) and kitchen chairs on the porch. Where people sit and watch the day go by and smile at my hello as I walk down a sidewalk broken by the roots of ancient trees.
I knew pretty much nothing when I planned our stop in New Orleans. One thing I learned during our stay is that they are rather obsessed with Mardi Gras, and just partying in general. Though the holiday was long past, everywhere we went we saw colorful strings of beads, looped over fences and hanging from trees.
Another thing that was very prevalent was alcohol. Anywhere and everywhere. An elderly guy sat on the sidewalk with an open bottle of brandy in his hand. Especially in the evenings, people walk around with plastic cups of beer, even quite young people. I was curious about the drinking laws so I looked them up. It seems that the legal age of drinking is 21 but isn't enforced. In general, if you are around 18 but are with parents or someone older, then you'll be served. Here are a couple of disturbing quotes on TripAdvisor, “We’re bringing our 19 year-old grandson to New Orleans for his first trip. (after YEARS of hearing the tales of our visits) We want him to experience the magic that is truly New Orleans. I've read that under 21s can be served alcohol with parents at the table, but is it legal? He's excited at the prospect of sharing a drink with us, but I don't want anyone winding up in the "hoosegow"!” And another,“We're going back soon with our 19-year-old daughter. When we took her last year, at 18, she was able to drink in most places if we ordered the drink for her. There are some places where you have to be 21, however, but they will let you know. Most of the restaurants we ate dinner at allowed it and she sipped a drink in the evening while strolling down Bourbon Street.”
I decided that if we walked in one direction long enough, we were bound to come to the mighty Mississippi River and then we could walk along and admire it as we made our way back toward our hotel. The problem is, things don't work out in reality like they do on paper maps. There was no access to the river...only old warehouses and a hot, dry road with no water, no bathroom and lots of graffiti. So we retraced our steps to St Charles in order to get back on the street car. The first several passed us by because they were too full so we kept walking until we found a trolley stop with few people waiting. It took us an hour to get back to our hotel a mile or two away.
By Saturday evening, I was craving going to church. While on the trolley, I had noticed a couple of churches on St. Charles. So, yay for the internet, I was able to look up area churches and find a service to attend. Sunday morning, we found a coffee shop open before heading to St. Charles Avenue Presbyterian Church for their special Palm Sunday service.
The actual sermon was only at the 8:30 service. This service was a musical presentation and congregational singing. When the trolley dropped us off at 10:30, we walked into a very full church, but an usher found us seats toward the front. There we listened to the pastor read from the gospel of Matthew about Jesus' entry into Jerusalem, followed a presentation of selections of Mozart's “The Requiem” by their chancel choir and the Louisiana Philharmonic Orchestra.
Slipping out of side door of the beautiful stone sanctuary, we used Alyssa's phone to find a place to eat lunch. We found a cute little French Cafe on Robert Street named La Crepe Nanou. The interior was small and dark but we got a little table out front under a unique, frosted-glass awning. I ordered the special; a tomato, arugula and goat cheese omelet with a arugula salad. Alyssa played it safe and got a side of bacon and grits. It made it even more charming that the server and one of the other workers spoke fluent French with a gentleman seated at a nearby table.
After lunch we walked around the beautiful "garden district" under a canopy of shade trees. Many of the homes are very old but have been well preserved. Some have been turned into businesses but most are private homes with lovely gardens.
One lovely home was designed to mimic Tara, the home featured on "Gone With the Wind".
One thing I had heard over and over is that a person visiting New Orleans must visit the French Quarter. So after lunch we got back on the trolley and rode it to Canal Street, which runs into the French Quarter. We window shopped a while, but soon came face to face with another unpleasant side of New Orleans – voodoo, and an obsession with sculls.
Most shops carried a variety of party supplies should the need arise. I thought this mask matched my outfit rather well.
For our afternoon coffee we stopped at a well-known beignet shop to try their must-have doughnut-like treats along with a cup of signature, very dark coffee.
Afterward, we went out the back door and sat on a bench to watch the traffic on the Mississippi River.
We had hoped to eat in the F. Q. but it seemed restaurants fell in one of two categories; either straight-up bars or very fancy, with unpronounceable menu items and very high price tags. We remembered having seen a cheesecake restaurant earlier in the day off of St. Charles so we got back on the street car and ate there instead. Perhaps it wasn't signature *NOLA but the food was tasty and the atmosphere quiet and cozy.
*I saw NOLA written everywhere but it wasn't until our second day that I realized it stood for New Orleans, Louisiana.
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