A Little "Big Easy"

Sitting home tonight is downright boring! We're just 18 hours off the plane and ready to go back!

We left Ohio for New Orleans early Saturday so we'd have plenty of afternoon to explore. The plane rides were short, on time, and smooth sailing! We scurried to the Marriott Hotel at the edge of the French Quarter. We threw our belongings in the room, changed from winter to summer attire, and hit the streets.

There is no easing into the Big Easy. It hits you hard and fast. We found our way to Jackson Square with its entertainers and taro card readers, then down Decatur St., on to the French Market with its beignets, muffulettas, whilst jazz and blues waft through the air.

The muffaletta sandwich originated in New Orleans. It can be ordered as a whole or a half. Sitting outside at The Gazebo Cafe, Brian and I decided we would share a whole sandwich and accompany it with some onion rings and cheese fries. Good grief! There was enough food for 4 starvin’ folk! The muffuletta alone started with a 10" round foccacia bread. Sliced horizontally in half, the bread was then stuffed with meat and cheese and an olive oil salad of green and black olives, carrots and bits of cauliflower. Coupling that with an earthy live version of The Animals' "House of the Rising Sun" made it one delicious way to delve into N'awlins!

Bourbon Street, of course, was the highlight of the night. A group of us started with a spectacular dinner at the Red Fish Grill. Never have I tasted such a succulent blend of textures and spices as was prepared for my Hickory Red Fish dinner. Even my husband who is a definite hamburger and fry guy, enjoyed every bit of his Wahoo!

The rest of our party headed back to the hotel while Brian and I made our first nocturnal sojourn through this historic district. It was Saturday night and eight of the 14 blocks of Bourbon Street's French Quarter was lighted and coming alive! The balconies were becoming crowded with patrons dangling beads they were anxious to distribute. (The custom is a reward of beads for any girl daring enough to expose her breasts.) Tempting as it is to think about getting into the spirit of things, it is only fleeting. Surely, this would come back to haunt me.

Ever seen the walking, dancing Kool-Aid pitcher? I pointed at a corner bar and with a now needed raised voice asked Brian "Is that a walking hand grenade?" By golly, it was! Apparently an explosive advertisement for a popular shot drink sold amongst a carrier of red, white and blue test tubes. Seems to me there might be something wrong with that, but maybe I'm just 30 plus years out of step.

On another corner a man walked curiously around an elegant statue. Statue? No - mime. He touched her hand chattering with amazement to his wife. I interrupted by telling him he's not supposed to touch. "She's a mime and you should probably drop a dollar in her box to make up for your faux pas!" I proceeded then to take a dollar out and dramatically pay for her performance. She took my hand and sprinkled what I guessed to be mime dust in my hand with illustrated instructions to blow it in the wind. The man and woman enjoyed it all with wonder. They were from New Jersey, she said. "Obviously a long way from the cow pasture!"

A fresh stretch of balcony and I watched as a young woman arched her back to the boys above and exposed, might I say, some very large and voluptuous “tits” (street jargon). I'm grabbing Brian, "Did you see her?!" as she was showered with beads. He missed her! We walk by and I heard her shouting up "Show me your beads!" I tried to turn Brian. "Oh my gosh, she's doing it again!" He saw only her reward. Too much fun!

Music or sexy young women beckoned at each doorway. Back down the road and its getting louder and more raucous. A sign went up in the middle of it all. "Repent! Repent! Your sins!"

Restroom time encouraged us to enter a jazz house. I asked and was directed to a couple doors being loosely guarded by a man and woman. The lady opened the door and followed me in. The meaning of her presence didn't come to me until I came out of the stall. A squirt of some of the worst smelling soap at my hands while my attention was being drawn to a tip jar. A suggestive dollar hung over its edge. Rummaging for change reminded me of an experience in Mexico that was downright blackmail. If you didn’t have any tissue of your own, you were at their mercy!

One last pass through the party. The boys were leaning way over cat calling to all the girls to "show us your tits"! Those needing to repent were telling those wanting them to, to mind their own business. A girl's mechanical legs looked destined to swing in and out of Big Daddy's window for eternity. Novelty shops brightly advertised the voodoo and masks and vampire blood and boas. The music was down right energizing!

Next morning at breakfast, the chatter spanned beyond Bourbon Street.

You can gamble at Harrah's. It's right up the street from the Marriott. In fact, one of the instructors at the convention had been there and won $15,000 on a penny slot! What?! Apparently, if you play all options, it costs $4.00 to "pull the arm". That might be 400 pennies, but the potential is 1,500,000 of them! While he was waiting for his money, he hit a bonus $900 on another penny slot machine! Unbelievable.

A movie is currently being filmed right outside the Marriott on Canal Street. The production crew would block off the road and send a trolley down the stretch with people waving and screaming for no apparent reason. 12 Rounds is currently the name of it. My husband is sure that he was captured crossing the street at the perfect time and is destined to be a superstar.

The conference sponsors came to New Orleans to help stimulate the economy. Touched by the people, their culture, and recent plight, they embraced a local high school; contributing heavily to their lives and their education. It was a moving and soulful demonstration of extended community.

A late comer to breakfast found a seat next to me. I turned to look and smiled broadly as I recognized her as the girl with the great tits.

Phew! At least it wasn't me this time!

Skunked!

If you've ever flown, you have an airline story. If you've tried to fly these last couple weeks, you have horror stories of being left stranded for hours when Skybus chose to drop out of the race without notice, or the FAA decided to crack down for real on MD80 planes that had ties spaced 1/4" too far apart around some wires warranting failed inspections.

I've been fortunate enough to have a job that has had the fringe benefit of travel. I've been places I may never have ventured to on my own. Chicago is definitely my kind of town! Vancouver is an unbelievable experience. You can't vacation better than Los Cabos, Mexico where I celebrated my 50th birthday drinking Sammy Hagar's tequila in Sammy Hagar's bar, Cabo Wabo!

After a 15 year hiatus, my husband, Brian, and I returned to New Orleans for an extended business weekend.

The trip down went without a hitch. I try hard to listen and watch as the stewardess' drone on about passenger rules and regulations while using visual instructions to show how to buckle and unbuckle a seat belt. Definitely, you cannot smoke on a plane. Who doesn't know that? No matter where you are, you can no longer smoke unless specifically designated. Not my rule, but one the federal government is expected to enforce. And enforce they will if you smoke on a plane; especially if you try to put your cigarette out in the restroom's trash compartment forcing the stewardess to extinguish the fire that is ignited. I recall wondering who in the world would attempt to smoke in a plane this day and age. Well, I don't know who it is, but heard a first hand account of someone who's plane was forced down due to these very circumstances. Everyone suffered from it with a whopping 18 hour delay to their destination. Now, that's a bad day; though a great travel tale!

But, back to my adventure. On the way home from a terrific time in New Orleans (A Little "Big Easy"), there were three of us traveling together. We were informed that New Orleans still had staffing problems so we needed to be 3 hours early to get processed. Within 30 minutes of our arrival, we were sitting at our gate already informed that though our plane to Memphis was on time, we'd be delayed an hour for the final leg to Columbus. Two hours plus was left at our disposal. Our traveling companion, Tim, used that time to identify a suspicious character and scope out his activities. I preferred to slink down in my seat and catch up on emails. I did see the gentleman in question on the plane though as I was boarding. Dark, sinister eyes looked hard into mine. Tim had gotten to me!

Once in Memphis we were elated to see that our connecting flight was not delayed after all! We scurried through the unusually quiet halls of an airport to our new gate. A few minutes before we were to board is when it began. First the expected 40 minute delay, then another hour. More disconcerting than the detainments was when the customer service agent asked "Does anyone see any planes in the air?" And in her next breath our flight was cancelled altogether.

They drove their herd of commuters to various customer service counters to discuss available options. Separated from Tim, we were finally being helped by a young lady who immediately informed us, without a smile, that she was not clocked in and only stopped to help. Tim flew by hollering that he'd just gotten booked on a plane taking off in a few minutes to Columbus via Cincinnati. Excited, I asked our agent if we, too, could get on that flight. After a few precious minutes of silence except for the occasional tapping of keys, I inquired what our odds were. She could get us from here to Cincinnati, but not on to Columbus. Disappointed, I asked what's next. Well, come to find out we had already been booked by another agent for a new flight. I was going direct to Columbus, while Brian detoured through Detroit. "That's not good," I said (surely with exasperation). "We need to travel together." And perhaps with just a bit more frustration, I might have accusatorily asked "Who would separate us?" This merely elicited the story that she was not clocked in but had merely stopped by to help. She transferred me to the Detroit agenda and printed off our tickets just as Tim was back to say that the miracle flight he had gotten had left the gate before he could breathlessly arrive. The agent next to us sympathized immediately and re-ticketed him on our flight. "First Class!" he exclaimed with glee. Heading to our new gate together, I looked at our tickets. Heck, Brian was in first class also! Cool, but wait! What's this? Row 18? Our teller knew full well Brian and I were husband and wife! Even though the seat was obviously available for Tim, she blatantly chose to keep us apart.

I told the agent at the new gate what had happened. She chuckled and said she would see what she could do. We settled in for another wait. There was one announcement only about the threat level of the airline sector being Orange. Brian and I quietly discussed whether that was new or if it had been orange for a long time. Maybe we always just heard when it turned orange which is High but not when it lowered. We were already uncomfortable because of the suspicious character earlier in the day.

I sat first class with Brian on the way to Detroit. Just being on the move was the true highlight here. Did it mean we would be home any sooner? Even though we flew over and bypassed Columbus to get to Detroit, we were now only a 4 hour drive instead of an 8 hour drive should we need to change our plans. Take 2 through another series of delays. Meantime I inquired at the counter about the seating arrangements for the last leg home. The agent said she could move us together in the back of the bus (I'm now in row 25) but there was nothing up front. I decided to let Brian stay in first class for his comfort. It was a short ride.

Last to board, I was taken aback to see my 2 travel companions sitting with no one next to them. In fact, there were 8 seats open in first class. I just shook my head. Really now, what was the point?

It was noted in the paper a day or so later that enhanced security had been put into place that day we returned when pipe bombs were found on an arriving gentleman passenger in Florida. This served to cause a ripple throughout the airline schedules.

I might have said at the time that I had been skunked by the customer service agent who wasn't clocked in. But, yesterday, my dog decided to sniff the derrière of a real live skunk. I've a whole new respect for the terminology.

Like I said though, everyone who has ever flown has a story to tell.