Show us Your Cathedral!

Just for fun, I thought I'd show you post Mardi Gras that not everything in New Orleans is about parties and beads.  In the middle of the French Quarter, on Jackson Square, is the beautiful St. Louis Cathedral.  Its history is interesting, so, as my mama used to say, go look it up and read about it.  It's a lovely place to visit and stands in stark contrast to all the revelry that takes place up the street.  The juxtaposition of it all makes me giggle.



My Favorite Sign on Bourbon Street

And a huge *@# beer had nothing to do with why this picture is so fuzzy.  It was low lighting and poor exposure.  I promise.

Down on the Corner and out in the Street

As I roamed around the French Quarter last weekend, I was captivated by the spirit of the people there. From the vendors in the French Market to the trolley drivers and shopkeepers with their lyrical twist on the southern drawl, I was fascinated by the colorful spirit of the folks who inhabit New Orleans. Polite and animated, they were so much fun to be around that I found myself accidently trying to talk like them. It is an atmosphere not unlike Times Square but with a more laidback feel. There is no hustle and bustle. Just a lot of friendly people celebrating life. Somebody, somewhere is always having a good time in New Orleans. I mean where else can you get your picture made with someone dressed as a voodoo priestess who will also give you directions to Cafe DuMonde? We stopped in a store looking for a cold soda, and I ended up talking to a man dressed in full makeup and costume as a jester. He was eating a ham sandwich and flagged me down to ask if I was in town for the photography convention when he saw my camera. I walked out of there thinking you don't see THAT every day.


Around Jackson Square, in the heart of the French Quarter, are dozens of tarot card readers, musicians and artists plying their trades, especially in front of St. Louis Cathedral (which is a lovely church by the way).





There are painters, selling their work and showing their talent.

There are street performers who stand out and those that blend in.

Everywhere there are people trying to scratch out a living by using whatever talents they have.



We saw the same thing in Mexico.

And it occurred to me how brave these folks are. Granted, some of them, like the fortune tellers, are scammers, and some are just desperate, but most are chasing a dream or at the very least, trying to make the most of the skills they have. It takes a lot of guts to put your work out there for every stranger to see. It's like standing naked in front of the world and asking for a verdict from the court of public opinion. You may get some praise, but you also get criticism, and in the case of the court jester, scorn from those who think you're nuts. It made Hubby a little nervous when he found me talking to that guy, but I found him to be sane and extremely articulate.

How many of us have the nerve to put ourselves on display like that? Those of us who write do it all the time, and I don't know about you, but it makes me very uncomfortable to share some of my writing with people I know. It's easier on the internet I think, to put it out there for people you've never actually met in person. You don't have to look them in the eye or run into them at the grocery store. You can hide behind a blog banner or a pseudonym. People you know will tell you what they think about your work. I want to write a book someday, but if I ever do, I'm going to have to work through the anxiety of having friends and family reading my work.

So, I tip my hat to the folks who stand on the streets of their hometown, sharing their work with us strangers who wander by with time and criticism to spare. Go right on being naked and doing your thing. You never know when that court jester is going to be the next Marcel Marceau. Of course, he could be the next patient at the loony bin, too so you might want to carry some pepper spray just in case.

On the Sunny Side

On the last morning of our cruise we had to be up early in order to get dressed and eat breakfast before they started emptying the ship at 8am. After a week of sleeping in under cool, cozy covers I was not eager to get up with the alarm. In fact, I am never eager to get up with an alarm clock. My body is quite happy to naturally come alive around 9ish and ease into the day long after the sun has come up. Alas, life and work do not allow me to do that, since I regularly have to get up at 5:30am. I see a lot of sunrises, but only under protest.


So, last Saturday morning was no different. I pulled myself out of bed, slipped on some clothes and headed to breakfast with my feet hit the floor happy in the morning husband. He almost always bounces out of bed like Tigger, which annoys me to no end. I figured I might as well take my camera with me in case the sunrise was pretty, and I was not disappointed. When we hit the top deck, the eastern skies were somewhat golden, and I was suddenly wide awake in recognition of the opportunity that lay before me. Hubby went to the restaurant, and I dashed to the balcony rails to start shooting. I ran all over the upper part of the boat, looking for the right angles and ran into a middle aged Asian man doing the same thing. With our cameras clicking away, we danced around each other, strangers on the same mission. We exchanged the occasional shout of, "Ooh, look over here!" and "Check out this angle!" I never got his name. I kind of wish I had because it would have been fun to share our best shot with each other later. I would have sent him this one.

And after I had exhausted every opportunity I could to capture the sun sliding up the side of that New Orleans river bank, I leaned over the rail and tried to soak in every detail about that moment. One last look without the lens so I could fully appreciate the sounds and smells. The colors and the movement of the boats slipping through the water made me think of a Train song, and I let that roll through my head for a minute or so. And then I slipped back down the steps in search of my husband, begrudgingly grateful for having yet another sunrise forced upon me.

Home Again, Home Again, Jiggity Jig

Where to begin? Do I start with the details about our brief stay in New Orleans and the craziness on Bourbon Street, how I slid six feet across the deck of the cruise ship on my left butt cheek or the story about how Hubby and I got kicked off the jet skis in Cozumel? So much fun, and so little time to write it all down. Also, that big purple bruise on my fanny? Too personal to show you a picture of it, so how about an overall rundown of our trip instead?


First, let me say I love my family. They are more fun than a hurricane at Pat O'Brien's. There were nine cousins and their spouses on this trip, and all eighteen of us had a ball. It was great to spend time with them, and I'm so glad we made the trip. Even if I am still trying to get my body clock back in order. We ate together, partied together and spent a lot of time just getting to know each other better. I can now name the preferred drink of each one of them. And hey, why didn't someone tell me sooner about the lovely combination of peach schnapps and grapefruit juice? I love it when I can say I got a full serving of fruit with each drink. Just like V8 without the nasty carrot aftertaste. I digress.

Hubby and I got to New Orleans the day before our ship sailed because I just don't trust the air carriers to get us anywhere on the designated day anymore, especially when there's a cruise ship departure involved. It seems like there's always an issue with just about every flight now days. Plus, we wanted to spend a little time goofing around New Orleans. We arrived Sunday afternoon. Along with every redneck in the south. It was the night before the BSC football game between LSU and Alabama. Whew, Lawd. Nawlins was crazier than usual. Bourbon Street was a sea of purple and red, and screams of "Go Tigers!" and "Roll Tide!" rang in our ears all night long. Add in the bead throwers, the zydeco bands and the occasional transvestite, and it was just about the most fun place in North America. The people watching could not have been any better. And can I just say I love the people of Louisiana. They are friendly and fun, and they embrace their uniqueness. Good people, they are. And boy, do they love to throw a party.

Because I booked a hotel room after they scheduled the game in New Orleans, we had to settle for a room across the river in Gretna. While we've stayed in swankier places, it was clean and decent and certainly better than driving thirty minutes out of town to better available rooms. Given other options in the future, the Quality Inn would not be my first choice, however. They did provide us with a free shuttle ride to the free ferry which dropped us off at the NOLA riverfront, so we saved a bundle on cab fees. As Johnny Cash says, there's a silver lining behind every cloud. We whooped it up on Bourbon Street, slept that night to the steady drumbeat of Alabama fans drunkenly traipsing up the motel steps and hit the boat the next morning. Actually, Hubby hit the boat. I checked in and then spent a couple of hours roaming around the French Quarter taking pictures. When I got back on the boat, the whole fam damily was there, and we immediately started living it up.

We spent the next five and a half days lying on the Lido deck, lying on beaches, dancing and basically enjoying every amenity the boat had to offer. Especially the food. Oy vey, the food! I must say I got used to having an exotic dessert every night, and my body was wondering where the breakfast buffet was this past Tuesday when I went back to work. To say that my colon was disappointed with Cream of Wheat and flax seed is an understatement. However, it was happy to be home. I'm the only person I know who can go to Mexico, eat six prunes off the buffet every morning and still get constipated.

Hubby and I got kicked off the jet skis at Cozumel after we turned over our jet ski. A couple on another jet ski flagged us down and asked us to get help since they had a mechanical issue with theirs. We said sure, turned toward the beach a little too hard and promptly landed in the ocean. We flipped it back over and were about to get back on it when the jet ski dude came flying up in a boat, made us get off and ordered us to get in the boat for a ride back to the shore. Which is how we got a free ride on the parasail boat. I considered asking him if we could get a parasail ride but I figured he wouldn't find that nearly as funny as we did.

I earned one of those little plastic Carnival Cruise trophies during the Last Man Standing competition on the Lido deck on our last day at sea. We had to do goofy relay races, including that thing where you put your head on the handle of a bat, spin around the bat ten times and run. The boat was rockin' pretty good that day, and when I stood up from spinning around, I immediately took off running instead of getting my bearings first. I'm that competitive, don't cha' know. I mean who doesn't want a plastic ship on a stick to sit on his shelf? As I started to run, I took a spectacular tumble and slid several feet across the deck on my left hip. Honestly, it was one on my prettier falls. Certainly prettier than that spill I took before Christmas. If I were younger I might have been more embarrassed about doing it in front of so many people, but I'm old enough that I just don't care. Also, most of them were two sheets to the wind, anyway. I bounced up, completed the relay, and our team won, thanks to the loud cheering from the section known as my family. My left hip felt a little sore Saturday and by Sunday I had a big purple bruise the size of a grapefruit. But it was worth it because hey, plastic ship on a stick!

Hubby's injury for the trip was banging his head on a rail on that double decker tour bus we climbed on in Progreso. He hit it so hard he saw stars, and it wouldn't have been so bad, but every time we came near power lines on the city tour we had to duck because they hang so low there they'll strangle you if you don't. He was dizzy from throwing his head between his legs so much. It appears though that Corona numbs a headache. Especially when they cost $1 apiece at little roadside stands run by gentlemen named Martin. The other highlight of that little bus ride was right before we got on when some crazy looking guy flashed some drugs at me. I was like, "What the heck?" I want to know why he thought I looked like I might be interested in buying his little white powder. A friend of mine says it's because I'm skinny, and drug users are almost always skinny. Seriously? The whole thing was pretty funny and just one of several humorous moments along the way. It was a great week. I'd do it again in a heartbeat, even the big spill, and I can't wait to see everyone's pictures. We discussed plans to do it again next year, especially as we neared the end of the trip and everyone was facing much colder weather back home. (Note to self, wear socks when flying from a warm climate to a cold one.) We made many memories last week, but more importantly we had a great bonding experience. Oh, and I got a Got Milk T-shirt on the boat that says, "Got Margaritas?". Life doesn't get any better than that.