This is the menu at Waffle House. I hope you agree it has a baffling selection of horrendously calorific foods. I partook of egg, bacon and a waffle, and tried a bit of Ellie's cheese grits (no double entendre intended), which were gross.
A long drive & a random spring clean of the filthy van later.....................
And we reached New Orleans - one of my favourite places on the trip so far. We stayed at The Olde Town Inn, which, if you ever visit N.O, you have to check out. It's in the gay bit outside the French Quarter, and is a big wooden house built in the style of the area. See above pic. It has a wonderful balcony bit upstairs and there's a little covered garden area where they served breakfast. If I hadn't been so horrendously hungover the morning I went down there to eat I would have appreciated it even more.
So - to summarise - crash landed in the hotel after a terrifying lecture from Brandon about the dangers of straying into the wrong streets. New Orleans is still recovering from the horrendousness of Hurricane Katrina and for some areas, there's little in the way of regeneration, jobs or hope, so the crime rate is one of the highest in America.
After heeding these words, we then got ourselves tarted up and had more than a few beverages, then headed off to a gay bar round the corner. By this point I had consumed enough to forget that we were headed to a gay bar, thought 'there's an awful lot of very friendly men in here', and then twigged about 10 minutes into a conversation about partnership with three particularly shiny blokes at a table near the bar area. Doh.
After some more ill-advised boozing there, we went for dinner near Bourbon Street. Dinner consisted of drinking some more, Brie ordering oysters like some sort of celebrity and a lot of shouting, I recall.
The rest of the night was a horrendous blur, the invention of the song 'Revolving Dog' when we saw a giant revolving cartoon dog in a shop window (main lyrics: 'Revolving Dog, Revolving Dog, Oh Lord, Revolving Dog'), and some amaretto shots in a bar that cost about $30. Tourist robbed blind - shocker, eh? We danced until our little trotters could take no more, prised Holly from a random chap who had taken a fancy to her and had an awkward conversation with a mounted policeman who didn't like anyone touching his horse anywhere near its head. Home at 4.30am or thereabouts.
Hangover. Horrible, horrible hangover. Passport panic as Ellie's handbag had been stolen by a taxi driver - long story, suffice to say, be careful in New Orleans.
During the Horrible Hangover, there was a pleasant and brief interlude on a Swamp Tour. We fed alligators marshmallows and bits of meat which was the most fun I've had on a swamp, ever. One snap I am particularly proud of below:
Back in time for beignets (ben-yays) at Cafe Du Monde, the best doughnuts in the world bar none. Krispy Kreme can take a hike, these are the best bloomin' things I have ever eaten!
http://www.cafedumonde.com/beignets
A plate of three enormous samples of beignets and a chicory coffee was brought to my face and attention, and to be honest, I am surprised I haven't gone up 18 dress sizes since I left but I think the putting up and taking down of tents, lugging of boxes and backpacks has helped, marginally. Anyhoo - when in New Orleans, eat the beignets. Nuff said.
That night was a sad and a happy one - we said goodbye to Kristen, Holly and Ellie, but welcomed the soon to be infamous Brit/Aussie girls Camilla and Ellen to our fold. A mildly hungover evening was spent chatting rubbish, eating pizza and generally flopping about uselessly.
The next day we hugged our goodbyes to our leaving compadres and set off for Houston, TX.
Little of note happened on the journey besides waiting outside a church in Lafayette for a while as it rained heavily. A truly British holiday experience.
The day itself was a bit meh - we discovered Houston is actually a sprawling mass of suburbs and the Nasa Space Centre, as advertised, was actually aimed solely at the younger members of our generation so we gave it a miss, and cleaned out the frankly revolting boxes that were used to contain our camping food. Mouldy cereal and hot bananas later, we sat around and ate Kirsty and Scott's excellently cooked meal of stir fry, happily chatting and unaware we were being bitten to buggery by all our dear insect friends.
We were then introduced to the wonder of cabins - Daddy B was mates with the owner and he'd managed to secure us cabins for the price of tent camping. It was like sleeping in a dolls house and was very enjoyable in a regression to childhood way. We had good old Camilla and Ellen sleep in our room, and they were predictably noisy and riotous. I resolutely continued to read 'On The Road' in a vain attempt to capture the spirit of an American road trip that didn't involve noisy bunkmates or mouldy cereal.
And then, all aboard Daddy B's daycare bus onto San Antonio, with a false start when I realised all the plates I had carefully washed up were on top of a nearby bin as I had predictably forgotten all about them...
That is a great gaitor shot! xxx
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