N'awlins (New Orleans)

We arrived at the French Quarter RV Resort, an oasis in a warehouse district 2 blocks north of the French Quarter of New Orleans.  The campground, if you want to call it that, was beautifully bricked in the same architecture as Bourbon Street with similar street lamps, the exterior was walled with razor wire and a coded gate to keep the riff-raff out.  We were warned to take a taxi after dark for the 5 block walk, we took our chances and came out OK.

 We went for a quick swim to cool our jets and headed into the Quarter.  As we walked in we appreciated the truly New Orleans architecture and Tim popped into a bar on Bourbon Street to get a drink.  He came out with a hand grenade, a tall green plastic glass in the shape of, you guessed it.  It claimed to be the strongest drink in New Orleans and had a floating hand grenade in it which quickly became Georgia's favourite toy.  We watched the street performers and for that, Georgia earned her first Bourbon Street beads.  

As Tim walked around dazed and confused, we enjoyed the street performers and ad hoc jazz bands.  Karen had been looking forward to sharing the fantastic New Orleans food with Tim.  So, we headed to The Gumbo Shop, which had been recommended by a fellow camper in Florida.  However, we were sorely disappointed by mass produced slop on a plate.  The gumbo wasn't half as good as the gumbo in the diner in Robertsdale, Al.

The next day we set out on a self-guided walking tour of the French Quarter.  We were enjoying the explanation of the old buildings when Georgia had a melt-down.  A favourite quote to be heard was Tim saying, "I've got a loaded two year old" to get the crowds to part.  We headed to the waterfront park to let her blow off steam.  

In the afternoon, we headed into French Quarter for fancy dinner at the famous Muriel's.  We sat down at the table and looked forward to the price fixe menu, when we realised this just wasn't the kind of meals and vacation we were having. We couldn't handle Georgia in the quiet restaurant with tile floors and romantic meals.  So, we apologised to the staff and move on to the Chartres House for a more casual meal.  We ate fried alligator on the street with music playing in a party atmosphere.  We were much more relaxed and could therefore, enjoy the meal much more.  The food was OK and certainly not as Karen had remembered.  Has the food gone downhill in New Orleans or have my tastebud become more sophisticated?

As we were packing up to leave, we couldn't shake the feeling that we felt ilke we had a layer of NO grime on us.  We looked forward to our next shower in Houston.