finished up new orleans piece

2 files changed, 93 insertions, 12 deletions

diff --git a/new-oleans-number-1.txt b/new-oleans-number-1.txt
index dad7b98..00e9d1c 100644
--- a/new-oleans-number-1.txt
+++ b/new-oleans-number-1.txt
@@ -1,25 +1,80 @@
-New orleans is the last living city in the United States.
+New Orleans is the last living city in the United States.
 
-Every time I return here I am amazed that it is allowed to continue existing. That something so contrary to the rest of America has not been destroyed, locked up and disneyfied, but it hasn't. Somehow the people here manage to carry on day after day in this amazing place. The people here shame the rest of us with their vibrancy, their community, their music, their love. 
+Every time I return here I am amazed that it is allowed to continue existing, that something so contrary to the rest of America has not been destroyed, locked up and disneyfied. But it hasn't. Somehow the people here manage to carry their unique way of life on day after day in this amazing place. The people here shame the rest of us with their vibrancy, their community, their music, their love. 
 
 Must be hot as hell in August though.
 
-We came in from the east, on 90 which takes it's time wandering through all the bayous the interstate passes right over. Highway 90 cuts out to the very edge where the last of the bayous gives way to the sea. The islands are thin little wafers out here, you feel exposed and vulnerable just driving them, as if at any given moment the sea is going rise up and take them back. But it doesn't. Hasn't yet. There are houses here that are obviously from at least 50 years ago. My favorite was the one with a message that felt aimed directly at today's AirBnBer: "It's a camp, not a condo."
+<img src="images/2017/no-banner.jpg" id="image-451" class="picwide" />
+
+We came in from the east, on 90 which takes its time wandering through all the bayous the interstate passes right over. Highway 90 cuts out to the very edge where the last of the bayous gives way to the sea. The islands are thin little wafers out here, you feel exposed and vulnerable just driving them, as if at any given moment the sea is going rise up and take them back. But it doesn't. Hasn't yet. There are houses here that are obviously from at least 50 years ago. My favorite was the one with a message that felt aimed directly at today's AirBnBer: "It's a camp, not a condo."
 
 I didn't track which bridge finally brought us into the city, but I do know that the minute we were at the high point I was hit with a smell so strong for a minute I thought something was wrong with the bus, but no, it was just New Orleans and some curious melange of oyster poboys, truck brakes, shrimp boats, fried dough, flashy new taco trucks and Vietnamese restaurants, all trapped inside a couple bends of the Mississippi by some mysterious force of voodoo. It has it's own fragrance, unbottleable and only available here.
 
-Driving into the city in the bus was an experience I can't really do justice to. People everywhere honk and wave and call out to me when I'm driving the bus. It happens half a dozen times every day I drive it, often more. But getting through New Orleans topped everything else before it and I suspect after it. The bus was especially a hit in the Treme, which I'll be honest, made me feel good. Because yeah, of course I drove right through the heart of the city. How else would you cross it? I even had one woman have a five minute conversation with me at a stop light about camping out west who ended it with a simple, you aright, you aright son. I hope so.
+Driving into the city in the bus was an experience I can't really do justice to with just words. People everywhere honk and wave and call out to me when I'm driving the bus. It happens half a dozen times every day I drive it, often more. But getting through New Orleans topped everything else before it and I suspect after it. The bus was especially a hit in the Treme, which I'll be honest, made me feel good. Because yeah, of course I drove right through the heart of the city. How else would you cross it? I even had one woman have a five minute conversation with me at a stop light about camping out west who ended it with a simple, 'okay, you ahright, you ahright son'. I hope so.
+
+We stayed at Bayou Segnette State Park on the west bank, which is nice enough, but forgettable save the fact that it's a 10 minute drive from the French Quarter. 
+
+The first day we took the ferry in from Algiers in part to let the kids ride a ferry and in part because I've been curious to see Algiers ever since I heard the name in a Grant Lee Buffalo song decades ago. It lived up to my vision of it, complete with hundred year old bars possibly full of hundred year old sailors. I didn't want to spoil the image in my head so I didn't go in.
+
+<img src="images/2017/2017-05-10_121032_new-orleans.jpg" id="image-440" class="picwide" />
+<img src="images/2017/2017-05-10_120507_new-orleans.jpg" id="image-439" class="picwide" />
+<img src="images/2017/IMG_0136.jpg" id="image-463" class="picwide" />
+
+
+Instead we crossed the river to Vieux Carré which still amazes me because it is both itself and a parody of itself at the same time and somehow manages to do both very well. It's cheesy and full of tourists, but it's also a really part of the city and full of locals. It might be the strangest tourist destination I've ever been to and I love it. 
+
+<img src="images/2017/2017-05-10_122025_new-orleans.jpg" id="image-441" class="picwide" />
+<img src="images/2017/2017-05-10_122450_new-orleans.jpg" id="image-443" class="picwide" />
+<img src="images/2017/2017-05-10_122437_new-orleans.jpg" id="image-442" class="picwide" />
+
+
+I also love that I keep coming back here and finding a different New Orleans. All the old ones I've found are still there too, I even took a picture of the diner my friend Mike hung out at 20 years ago when we passed through. We had a huge fight about something or other and I left him in the French Quarter to stew for half a day or so. He ended up at the diner below. At least I like to think it's the same diner. Eventually I came back and found him hanging out here with the largest man I've ever met who was named Earl and rather sweet on Mike I believe. There was something about a toothless bum too. He got some good stories out of it, me, all I got was another tank of gas. This time around we got some tater tots and fries.
+
+<div class="cluster">
+<img src="images/2017/2017-05-12_162604_new-orleans.jpg" id="image-449" class="picwide" />
+<span class="row-2">
+<img src="images/2017/IMG_0200.jpg" id="image-455" class="cluster pic5" />
+<img src="images/2017/IMG_0203.jpg" id="image-457" class="cluster pic5" />
+</span>
+</div>
+
+This was my first time in New Orleans with kids, which changed things a little bit. I like to get a coffee or a drink and just watch the people drift by on the streets, which we did do a couple times, but never for more than about 10 minutes. Because kids. 
+
+<img src="images/2017/2017-05-10_130509_new-orleans.jpg" id="image-444" class="picwide caption" />
+<img src="images/2017/2017-05-10_131547_new-orleans_01.jpg" id="image-445" class="picwide" />
+
+While sitting in one place is not their thing, they had no trouble walking. They walked the streets of the French Quarter from one end to the other and back again almost daily. In the heat the of the day. They were enthralled the whole time. And they slept well after ward. I shake my head every time I see someone with a 3 or 4 year old in stroller, what a lost opportunity . There aren't many places in America with so much going on on the streets. New Orleans is vibrant and alive, like kids. 
+
+I tried to get a little history in the kids, we stopped by the Jean Lafitte Museum and the kids got another stamp in their NPS passport books. The museum also has a small courtyard of the sort you find in New Orleans, something I'd been trying to explain for a while, but which is best understood by seeing one. 
+
+<img src="images/2017/2017-05-12_153129_new-orleans.jpg" id="image-448" class="picwide caption" />
 
-We stayed at Bayou Segnette State Park on the west bank, which is totally forgettable in just about every way save the fact that it's a 10 minute drive from the French Quarter. 
 
-The first day we took the ferry in from Algers in part to let the kids ride a ferry and in part because I've been curious to see Algers ever since I heard the name in a Grant Lee Buffalo song decades ago. It lived up to my vision of it, complete with hundred year old bars possibly full of hundred year old sailors. I didn't want to spoil the image in my head so I didn't go in.
+But mostly they just wanted to hang around Jackson Square, listen to the music and watch the living statues, which the girls developed a minor obsession with for a few days, playing living statue whenever we were back in camp.
 
-Instead we crossed the river to the French Quarter which still amazes me because it is both itself and a parody of itself at the same time and somehow manages to do both very well. It's cheesy and full of tourists, but it's also a really part of the city and full of locals. It might be the strangest tourist destination I've ever been to and I love it. 
+<img src="images/2017/2017-05-12_165443_new-orleans.jpg" id="image-450" class="picwide caption" />
+<img src="images/2017/2017-05-12_170144_new-orleans.jpg" id="image-452" class="picwide" />
 
-I also love that I keep coming back here and finding a different New Orleans. All the old one's I've found are still there too, I even took a picture of the diner my friend Mike hung out at 20 years ago when we passed through. We had a huge fight about something or other and I left him in the French Quarter to stew for half a day or so. At least I like to think it's the same diner. Eventually I came back and found him hanging out here with the largest man I've ever met who was named Earl and rather sweet on Mike I believe. There was something about a toothless bum too. He got some good stories out of it, me, all I got was another tank of gas.
+<img src="images/2017/IMG_0213.jpg" id="image-458" class="picwide caption" />
 
-This was my first time in New Orleans with kids, which changed things a little bit. I like to get a coffee or a drink and just watch the people drift by on the streets, which we did do a couple times, but never for more than about 10 minutes. Because kids. Not born with a strong desire to sit in one place for every long. They did walk the streets of the French Quarter from one end to the other and back again though. In the heat the of day. They were enthralled the whole times. There aren't many place in America with so much going on on the streets. Vibrant and alive, like kids. 
+<img src="images/2017/2017-05-12_185458_new-orleans.jpg" id="image-453" class="picwide caption" />
+<div class="cluster">
+<span class="row-2">
+<img src="images/2017/IMG_0277.jpg" id="image-459" class="cluster pic5 caption" />
+<img src="images/2017/IMG_0282.jpg" id="image-460" class="cluster pic5 caption" />
+</span>
+</div>
 
-I tried to get a little history in them, we stopped by the national park service museum (mostly so the kids could get a stamp in their books), which also had a quartyard, something I'd been trying to explain for a while, but which is best understood by seeing one. But they just wanted to hang around Jackson Square, listen to the music and watch the living statues, which the girls developed a minor obsession with for a few days, playing living statue whenever we were back in camp.
+The New Orleans we found this time was all over the map. Along with the French Quarter, City Park turned out to be a huge hit as was their trolley ride up there. There was something called Story Land, which, on our initial visit was closed, which caused much gnashing of teeth, but fortunately playgrounds never close so we were able to salvage the day.
 
-The New Orleans we found this time was all over the map. City Park turned out to be a huge hit. There was something called Story Land, which, on our initial visit was closed, which caused much gnashing of teeth, but fortunately playgrounds never close so we were able to salvage the day
+<img src="images/2017/2017-05-11_151109_new-orleans.jpg" id="image-447" class="picwide" />
+<div class="cluster">
+<span class="row-2">
+<img src="images/2017/IMG_0178.jpg" id="image-462" class="cluster pic5 caption" />
+<img src="images/2017/IMG_0175_heD9M7M.jpg" id="image-461" class="cluster pic5 caption" />
+</span>
+</div>
+<img src="images/2017/2017-05-11_150232_new-orleans.jpg" id="image-446" class="picwide" />
+<img src="images/2017/IMG_0287.jpg" id="image-464" class="picwide caption" />
+<img src="images/2017/IMG_0245.jpg" id="image-465" class="picwide" />
+<img src="images/2017/2017-05-12_200059_new-orleans.jpg" id="image-454" class="picwide caption" />
diff --git a/new-oleans-number-2.txt b/new-oleans-number-2.txt
index 5896595..1ba9497 100644
--- a/new-oleans-number-2.txt
+++ b/new-oleans-number-2.txt
@@ -1,3 +1,29 @@
-There are thin silvery white cracks in the clouds. They burn into the backs of your eyelids when you blink. Thunder arrives before I can get to three. The bus is a sauna, windows shut tight and fogged. I like watching the beads of water run down the vastness of windshield. I have a bag packed and should probably go, but there's something very peaceful about the clatter of rain on the roof, the rivulets of water running down the windows. The storm feels closer when you're in here, you have to confront more of it when your walls are only two inches thick. Even more of it when your walls are made of nylon, which I know several people in this campground are doing right now. Compared to them, this is nothing. But then it is a cozy 105 degree sauna as well. 
+There are thin silvery white cracks in the clouds. They burn into the backs of your eyelids when you blink. Thunder arrives before I can count to three. It's the crisp, crackling thunder that happens when you're under a mile from lightning. The bus is a sauna, windows shut tight and fogged. But I like watching the beads of water run down the vastness of windshield. 
 
+I have a bag packed and a rain jacket over it and I should probably go, but there's something very peaceful about the clatter of rain on the roof, the rivulets of water running down the windows. The storm feels closer when you're in here, you have to confront more of it when your walls are only two inches thick. Even more of it when your walls are made of nylon, which I know several people in this campground are doing right now. Compared to them, this is nothing. But then it is a cozy 105 degrees or so, which ruins the peacefulness. 
 
+Eventually I go and find Corrinne and the kids in the bathroom with a few other people who had taken shelter, mostly because there was a tornado warning. I have my doubts about how much being in a bathroom would help you in a tornado -- have you ever seen what a tornado can do to human structures, even concrete structures? -- but I understand the basic human (animal?) need to huddle together in groups for some small sense of protection.
+
+I dislike the whole notion of tornadoes. I'm from earthquake country. I like my disasters to come suddenly without warning and generally be over before you even know what happened. If you die, you probably won't even know it. Tornadoes? I don't know the first thing about tornadoes other than you get warned about them ahead of time, which, to me, is like telling some who's afraid of flying that their statistically more likely to die on the way to airport. Thanks, now I have two things to be afraid of. I'm happy in my ignorance of pending tornadoes. I've seen what they can do and I don't think I can outrun one, so why the hell are you "warning" me about them? Where am I possible going to go?[^1]
+
+To the bathroom apparently. Which worked out well because we met a bunch of nice people there, particularly Taylor and Beth, some fellow full time RVers who turned out to know the only other person I'm aware of that lives full time in a Travco. We chatted, decided to meet up in New Orleans at some point and then the storm was over and everyone went their separate ways.
+
+We headed into to New Orleans to do something that's become a pilgrimage of sorts for me -- visiting Marie Laveau's grave, the so-called voodoo queen of New Orleans. If you know your way around the occult scene at all you've probably heard of Marie Laveau. She's sort of the patron saint of female occult power, because, let's face it the male dominated religions rule our era. 
+
+But Marie Laveau seems to laugh in the face of all that. Born in 1801, mixed blood creole, she became a hairdresser to the wealthy -- no small part of her power I'm sure -- and was the city's most famous practitioner of Voodoo. Even if you care nothing about Voodoo, and I don't really, beyond the mild respect I hold for all animist/naturalist religious systems, Marie Laveau is fascinating because she had real power -- by all accounts she held considerable political power as a non-white woman in the very white male dominated culture of the 19th century.
+
+I had been reading some books on Voodoo the first time I came to New Orleans in 1996 and was captivated by what little is known of her story. I dragged my friend Mike out to visit her grave in St. Louis Cemetery Number 1. At the time the neighborhood around the cemetery was a bit sketchy, sketchy enough that we had the only working car parked on the street. We also had the entire cemetery to ourselves. Marie Laveau's grave was clearly visited, but not often, to judge by the flowers around it.
+
+Years later, around 2003 I came back and it was much the same, but when Corrinne and I came in 2010, things had changed. There was a new stop light down the street with a new Valero station just past it. People walked the streets and new buildings were going up. Things were looking, if not quite gentrified, certainly headed in that direction. And now, sadly, the gentrification is complete. St. Louis Cemetery Number 1 is hemmed in on three sides by new construction and, worst part, you can no longer get to Marie Laveau's grave.
+
+Technically you can, you just have to pay $20 and take a tour with a guide. I'd sooner chew my leg off.
+
+The money is a non-issue to me. Admittedly, it's a bit steep. I certainly would not have paid $100 to get a family of five in, but I understand that part, it's the "you must have a tour guide" bit the rubs me the wrong way. I hate tour guides. I hate having my experiences mediated through another person, especially someone who's a professional mediator. I'd rather walk away and not show the kids Marie Laveau's grave (despite building it up quite a bit) than have them experience it through someone else's words. So we did. Walk away that is.
+
+We did a bit of research and it turns out people were desecrating graves, pulling out bones and what not and the Catholic church decided that money and tour guides was the answer. the thing is, people have always done that. Depending on which occult text you trust Marie Laveau's bones may not have even been in that grave for more than a couple days before 19th century grave robbers came seeking her bones (or her family moved her, again depending on which shakily documented story you want to believe). I've also toured quite a few Catholic churches where the bones of the dead had been dug up and rearranged by the Catholic Church itself, but I guess that's out of fashion now, current hipster pope not withstanding.
+
+Whatever the case Marie Laveau's grave is a thing of the past for me. We opted to head to the New Orleans Voodoo Museum instead. Museum is something of a misnomer, it's really just a tiny two room building with some shrines that (I assume) are actively used by Voodoo practitioners. At least they looked fairly actively used, we let the kids add a wish to one. It wasn't quite as nice as visiting the grave would have been, but it gave them a sense of the flavor of Voodoo if you will. Or at least I like to think it did.
+
+Back at camp we met up with Taylor and Beth for dinner. Living in campgrounds is a little odd because while you meet tons of really nice people, who are almost always in a good mood (they're on vacation after all), they never really want to hang out because, well, they're on vacation. But fellow fulltimers... we meet up for dinner. So many thanks to Taylor and Beth for having us over for some delicious food and teaching us about a million tricks we didn't know about living full time in an RV. Hopefully our paths will cross again soon.
+
+[^1] What I really don't understand is wanting to live in a stick house somewhere there's tornadoes, what are you people thinking? Did you not understand that the wolf is a metaphor? The point is the three little pigs needed to move somewhere safer.