Saturday, April 23, 2011

Chapter 3: A Canadian, a Kiwi, a Belarussian, and a Irish Woman Walking Into a Bar...

Good morning Jackson!

It was a quick and easy morning, as you may be able to tell. With only a few hours of ground to cover here on day 3, we decided we would stop in Baton Rouge before going to New Orleans. We also were seeking a firing range, but were sadly unable to find it. We had a quick gas stop around the half way mark. And a dance as well.

The brief stop over with, and a short hour later, welcome to Baton Rogue. We didn't waste any time upon entering the city. It was straight to a parking spot and across the way to some form of display. On display was a few art installations and a good showing of military power in the form of a battleship and a jet plane.

We took a short walk around the section of board walk lining the Mississippi.

It wasn't long before our weary winter ravaged northern bodies started to wear out in the hot Louisiana sun. It was time for drinks.

It didn't take too long before finding our safe haven of the afternoon. Ah that feeling of walking into the first pub back in Louisiana and seeing the ash trays line the tables. What a pub this Happy's was, a very happy place indeed. Smoking indoors, strong drinks, complimentary (not to mention rather tasty) popcorn, and scantily clad waitress'. Just enough to keep this burgeoning alcoholic in good spirits (course the spirits didn't hurt anything either).
Not entirely sure about the nutritious part...

We stayed for a few pints, and a couple very strong margaritas, and it was off to fetch some food. Luckily we hadn't far to go, right across the street was a Cajun Mexican fusion restaurant.
Ah more margaritas. If only they were as good as they were across the street. Vile over salted frozen concoctions.

First up were the chicken wings. Crispy, tasty, but overly ordinary.

Next up were the pulled pork sliders. Soft fluffy bun, tender pork, bland flavour. Not impressed.

So far, heavy salt margarita, ordinary chicken wings, and bland sliders. Thank fuck I was drunk.

Next up, Crawfish Enchiladas. Finally a winner. Everything was very flavourfull. Nice and spicy and served with some nice hot sauces.


With the last drop of alcohol consumed we were out the door and back into the street. We had another wee walk around to see the last of the immediate sights.

And with that it was back on the road again. This time for the final stretch to our main destination, New Orleans.

Before long we had made it into town. We found our hostel with relative ease.

The India House Hostel.

We stepped in for registration, and to be assigned our rooms. We had little intent on staying very long. We also did not know just how incredible the hostel itself would be, and how hard it would be to get away from it.

We were brought to our room where we proceeded to unpack and settle in, claim beds, and the like. After a few minutes myself and Billy departed to look around the back patio area of the hostel. I also was looking for a lighter. The back yard was semi crowded, and it wasn't long till we were meeting people. I finally found someone smoking, and asked for a light. Not only was I given a light, but myself and Billy were also greeted by 2 cold tall ones by our new associates. We got to talking to the eclectic group of English, Americans, Australians, Irish, Canadians, and Finnish alike, and before long we had consumed several beers, whiskeys, and were on our way to a night on the town with them. We gathered the rest of our motley travelers, and set forth as a large collective.

Well, they certainly did make a charming couple didn't they?


After the brief tram ride we found ourselves on Bourbon Street in the heart of the French Quarter. We meandered into several bars, drinks seldom far from hand, inside, outdoors, or otherwise. After a short time we wandered over to Frenchman St and went in for beers, tunes, and dancing. Sufficiently inebriated by this stage, making a fool of myself on the dance floor was far from difficult.

The blurry dark photos, strangely reminiscent of how I actually perceived things by this point. After a while, and several shots of spirits, we moved on. A large portion of the crowd split off to go back to Bourbon Street. Leaving myself, Anton, Billy, and Denise, to fade into the night. And my memory to fade into the annals of history.

With that, it was morning. As all good evenings end, abruptly.

A person of little relevance.



Can you see a spaceman in a turtle shell? I can. Look closer. Here's a hint, he's hiding in plain sight.

Ever wonder what could be a bigger pain in the ass then a bad case of Hemorrhoids? Well here's a clue, it's not waiting for Billy to give me his damn photos (as big as a pain in the ass as that may be) so I can finish; Chapter 4: A Bigger Pain in the Ass then a Bad Case of Hemorrhoids.

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