For our last full day in N’awlins, we decided to take the ferry to Algiers Point, a historic neighborhood across the river. We figured we’d get to see the skyline from a new perspective. Perspective is usually good, right?

Again we took advantage of the cheap and convenient streetcar down St. Charles and disembarked at Canal, feeling like old hands at the route by the end of the week. This time, though, instead of continuing our walk straight ahead onto Bourbon Street, we stayed along Canal and walked toward the river.

The ferry to Algiers Point is free, and is actually a much shorter ride than I anticipated. To cross the river on the ferry only takes like 10 minutes or so, and it runs every 30 minutes. We used that time to enjoy the New Orleans skyline, and Boris took a lot of artsy photos.

This is the ferry worker opening the doors onto the other side.

View from the river

Ferry lights

Good thing we won’t be needing these! I wouldn’t care to swim in the Mississippi.

Other than the Louis Armstrong walk along the river, there’s not a ton to do in Algiers Point. But you can learn about Louis Armstrong and other jazz greats while walking along the river path!

Louis Armstrong immortalized

We walked a short time along the river, and then got a recommendation from a passerby to go down Delamonde street for some lovely home viewing. With nothing else on the agenda, we did just that. Algiers Point was hit a bit less heavily by Katrina compared to other parts of the city, and so the houses were mostly still in tip-top antique shape.

A yard! I want a yard like this!

We walked along the sidewalks admiring the houses and yards and porches and gardens. After getting more help from a man on a porch (more on this later), we found a church with a little park next to it, which was kitty-corner to a small cafe.

An iced coffee and watermelon ice later, we headed back to the ferry.

Right along the river walk there is the Plaza de España, a gift given to New Orleans in 1976 by Spain. At first glance, I was really confused; these tiles with the shield of the Spanish provinces looked very familiar! 

A photo I took in 2007 at the Plaza de Espana in Sevilla; in each alcove  is a provincial depiction,  just like the one in New Orleans. Somehow I neglected to take a photo from the front…

Two of the tiles from the Plaza de Espana of New Orleans.

Helen had said she might be able to come by for lunch, so we were surprised to see her walk in accompanied by none other than my cousin! He lives in New York (in fact, I’ve written about his work here) and it was a total shock to see him! We lunched around the corner at Joey K’s, a Magazine Street establishment dedicated to serving home-cooked deliciousness. I had a roast beef debris po’boy, which reminded me a lot of a Cuban style beef dish called ropa vieja, which means “old clothes.” Basically, it’s slow-cooked so that the beef becomes so soft it’s like it shreds itself. Tasty.


By this point in the afternoon, the skies had cleared up enough to be able to meander back down to the Quarter. So, we hit up the trolley again. Can I just say that cities that have practical public transportation really rock? When I lived in Portland, it was super easy to take the bus and the MAX line, and visiting big metro areas with subways is pretty spiffy. Tucson is working on it with the light rail being built, but it’s going to take some time. What’s cool about the New Orleans trolley car* system is that its origins are quite old and established; NOLA was the first city to use passenger streetcars west of the Alleghenies.

*In doing some research, I just discovered that apparently “trolley” is almost never what New Orleanians call the vehicles. It’s always “streetcar” in the Big Easy! I’m from out of town, I guess I can get away with calling it a “trolley”?

By the time we got back to the Quarter, the skies were darkening again. We popped into a few shops and galleries again, and then sought refuge and a warm drink at the Royal Blend on, you guessed it, Royal Street.  Hot chocolate heated our tummies and we watched a pair of charismatic kitties play in the courtyard.

Cafe cats

Still in search of that tarot reading, we inquired at the coffee shop for recommendations. New Orleans takes its cartomancy pretty seriously, as it does for voodoo, etc. Only a block or so away from Royal Blend is Marie Laveau’s House of Voodoo, named for Marie Laveau, the famed Voodoo Queen of New Orleans. If you need simple souvenirs, you can get them there, but you can also get gris-gris, spell kits, mojo bags, crosses & saints, and more. You can also get readings done by spiritual mediums, which is what we did for Boris. There are many options when it comes to getting these types of readings performed; you can do aura readings, past life readings, Egyptian tarot, even Vedic palmistry (reading using the structure of the human hand). We opted for the basic palm/tarot combo. The medium covered everything from Boris’ health to his current life plans to future fatherhood, a lot of it seeming to be spot on, some of it not so much.

To me, the most interesting thing is how these mediums read people more than a hand or card (although it truly depends on where you stand as to the validity of these practices). My reason for not getting a reading done this trip is because I got one in New York a few years ago and I’m pleased with what the lady told me.  So far, a lot of it has come true, albeit in a general sense that would be easily applicable. I could have sworn I wrote it down somewhere, but now I can’t find it. These are the major things that I remember from mine:


I would meet my significant other in the next 3 months. This turned out to come true, although not in the direct way I expected; I did meet Boris in that 3 month window, but we didn’t start dating for another 5 or 6.


I would not work for others, I would soon start to work for myself. This is basically coming true now! Perhaps only for a little, but with the long-term goal being to write and earn some money for it.

She predicted a number of things for me, many of which I can’t vouch for yet. She said I’d have a happy marriage, and that I would have a total of 3 kids, including miscarriages, which was slightly disconcerting. She said I’d live a long life, well into my 80’s. I hope she’s right about that one.

Anyway, to hear the medium be reading Boris in such a specific way was fascinating. Time can only tell whether his predictions will come true…

That evening, we went to the chic bar attached to Arnaud’s, French 75. Arnaud’s has been in operation since 1918, and as such, has a rich history. It was opened by a count to serve authentic Creole fare, and has remained a family-owned business for the entirety of its existence. President George H.W. Bush and many others claim Arnaud’s as their favorite restaurant, and the hallway leading up to the Mardi Gras Museum is lined with signed head shots of celebrities and politicians who have enjoyed their time there. We enjoyed ours, to be sure. Also, the cheese plate was stellar.

For our last stop of the night, we made our way to Herbsaint for a late dinner. Probably this was one of the top 3 best dinners of my life; definitely the best in recent memory. Every bite was perfect; I ordered “butter poached gulf tuna with criolla sella chili and lemon,” and Boris & I split the dirty rice. Paired with a light rosé and a “warm chocolate pudding cake with salted caramel, cashew ice cream and cocoa nib caramel corn,” I would say I was more than satisfied by the end of the meal.

No wonder that guy thought I looked pregnant. 😉

Dibs.

After a right onto Napoleon and another left onto Freret, we finally reached our destination : Beaucoup Juice. Only in its second year of operation, Beaucoup Juice specializes in healthful, filling juices, smoothies and snoballs. A realtor would call the shop “cozy,” and the menu chalked onto the walls was colorful. I got the Freret, which featured beets, lime,  cucumber and more; Boris ordered one with beets and ginger. Yummy!

After our juice pick-me-up, we kept a straight course to run into Tulane, a great university. Boris had the idea to check in with their classics and English departments, to see whether they might have programs either of us was interested in. What with the world being so small, it turned out that the woman we talked to in classics knew some of our professors! Alas, no Ph.D programs. Next stop, English Department. I was told brusquely that Tulane did not have an MFA program “and never will.” Someone thought there were too many already. Fair enough, I suppose, although we laughed about the disparity between our interactions.

Tulane was checked off our list, and we continued our wandering, this time in search of lunch. Yelp came to the rescue, and we meandered past Audobon Park, through a neighborhood and to an unassuming house that had been converted into a restaurant space. Tartine. They specialize in French-style open-faced sandwiches of the same name. Brie with ham and a wasabi mustard on a baguette was my choice,  while Boris got a salmon paste/caper/jam affair. The catch with his, though, was that he had to dress the sandwich himself. Life is tough. 😉 Both sandwiches turned out to be stellar. If you’re ever in the Tulane area, definitely check this place out.

Most of the rest of the afternoon was spent checking out the work my aunt had been doing, which was a real treat. The highlight, though, came when one of the drivers walked up and started chatting with Boris. He had glanced at me and said to my oblivious boyfriend, “Ah, you’ve got a little one.” Any woman hearing these words knows exactly what that means, but Boris, being a dude, was bewildered and thought,”Little? She’s about 5’4, that’s not too little.” As soon as the words “little one” emerged from this poor old man’s mouth, I blurted the first thing that came to my head, “ha, yeah, a FOOD baby!” At which point we cracked up and the gentleman proceeded to backpedal like crazy, trying to talk about other women he knew who were pregnant. I don’t think he helped himself much when he said, “well, Carl’s wife is starting to show and she’s about your size.” Honestly, if I were built differently, I would have been pretty horrified, but it was mostly just hilarious. In his defense, too, we had just eaten and I was slouching, so I looked a bit pregnant.  Guys, a word to the wise: NEVER ask a woman if she’s preggers, EVEN IF she’s about to pop unless you are COMPLETELY sure that’s what’s up. Just a general rule of thumb.

Luckily, my aunt got off at a reasonable hour, and we managed to catch the sunset over drinks and dinner along the lake. The food was mediocre (which is still pretty good in New Orleans), but the view was fantastic. Sailboats pulling in and motor boats going out while the sun drifted down.

Our evening ended at One Eyed Jack’s, where much of  the clientele looked like they a) missed the 70’s, b) shopped only at the Hell’s Angels Depot or c) were stand-ins for Moe from The Simpsons. One of Helen’s crew was about to go on tour with his band, which played hard rock. And oh, did they! I was expecting not to enjoy it as much as I did (after all, it was loud and I am getting old, ha ha) but it ended up being pretty good. All in all, we saw a lot of the city, ate some more good food, and slept well that night.

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