After a pretty low key (hungover) night in New Orleans I wanted to get up early and see the city in the light of day. I heard of this legendary breakfast pasty called a Beignet. I showered, got dressed, affixed my Boston flag on my head (Sox hat, thanks Ethan). I’m happy to report that wearing Boston attire garners some type or respect in these touristy spots I’ve been inhabiting. I made my way to Cafe Du Monde with a back pocket full of gift cards given to me by Jamie as part of a wonderful Christmas gift. You remember Jamie, he’s my older brother who got me sick on day one of this road trip.
There was something I forgot to take into account when bemoaning the Bourbon street nightlife, the true history of New Orleans. Under the cloak of night it’s a drunken tourist trap but during the day it’s pretty damn beautiful. I really regret not doing a horse drawn tour of the cool old cemeteries, next time.
There are endless buildings with unique and gorgeous architecture, the people are friendly and they have breakfast friend dough doughnuts (the mighty Beignet). I made my way to Cafe Du Monde with relative ease due to its close proximity to my massively overpriced hotel (suck my dick Four Points Sheraton). I bought three orders of Beignets (9 pastries in total) and a cold milk. It is Ethan’s (the same one that got me the hat, keep up) belief that all deserts should be consumed with milk and he has a strong point.
I sat down in my hotel and made a mess off the place with the delicious powered sugar exploding off the Beignets with every delicious bite. The floor and desk looked like it had just experienced a freak snow squall (but edible). I decided to not clean the yummy mess because they charged me for parking, again blow me Four Points Sheraton. I’m overreacting, the room was actually pretty nice and housed me during a life altering hangover. Still, fuck them. Once full of fried dough and milk, I retrieved my car from the valet. I brought my man Joe (I’m making this name up but he looked like a Joe) an order of Beignets. He was really nice to me earlier in the morning and I offered to bring him some breakfast. I think he thought I was kidding because he was shocked when I handed him the bag. Joe, you’re a good dude and some good karma before driving though the barren waste land of Louisiana couldn’t hurt. I hated this leg of the drive, it was sunny for about an hour then overcast and raining for most of it. The most unnerving thing about driving though Louisiana is that there is almost always water on either side of you. While driving through this odd state I saw two vexing billboards. One read “Best hookers in town!” with no information attached or a company name. Perhaps it is the fact that i’m a neophyte when it comes to souther travel, or maybe I’m unfamiliar with the bayou’s idioms but that appeared to be an enthusiastic advertisement for ladies of the night. Good for you hooker billboard, I liked you far more than the religious billboards, the best one reading “Cajun Jesus.” The J in cajun acted as the J in Jesus as well. Very clever Cajun Jesus, in fact if memory serves I think Cajun was spelled with a K in that billboard. Which makes me think it’s some dope cover band that sings songs about god or some shit (which actually is not dope at all). Another eye-catching billboard was one for the “Tiger truck stop” the hook for this particular truck stop was a surprising one. These assholes had a real life TIGER at their rest stop for people to see when they were done pumping gas. Or before if the anticipation was just killing you. I’m not the loudest voice when it comes to animal rights but this is down right fucked up. In my highway daydreams I pictured the tiger escaping and eating the owner. Tragic, but at least I have a good wish locked and loaded for next year’s birthday cake candle blow out. Get em tiger.
I managed to escape Louisiana without Voodoo curses or rest stop tiger attacks. Once in the big bad state of Texas I hit some horrible rain storms. You know what’s fun when you’re driving alone in a state you’ve never been in, torrential down-pouring rain, thunder, lightning and severe flood warnings. I was kept sane during the rain breaks by some much needed phone calls from Shane, Kyle, my Dad and Mom. Thanks for getting me through it. I also had the aid of my audio book on the making of “The Princess Bride” narrated by the magnificent Cary Elwes. While in Texas I crossed this massive bridge and noticed the ornate design of the low fence on either side of this bridge. Railings of this bridge (I wouldn’t say fence or guards here because that implies a height over 3 feet) were old revolvers crossed over one another over and over. We get it Texas, you like guns, move on. I was ready to crack then hit some rush hour traffic which gave me time to cancel my shitty hotel and get one on “Hotelstonight” which ended up being a sizable mistake. I finally made it to Austin and checked into the newly booked hotel. On the website it looked very cool with a nice pool and hot tub. The beds were big and they didn’t charge for parking. When I got to the shitty hotel which I shall not name, just kidding, it’s the Casulo Hotel in Austin Texas. The place appeared to be under construction, pool and hot tub didn’t look inhabitable and I only saw one other person in the building. My room was meh (is meh I should say since i’m currently in it) the AC must be broken because they have a free-standing one blowing frigid air on the right side of my body while I type. The bathroom is pretty cool, big tub and nice shower. Nice sized bed but shitty wifi signal and no sound on my TV left me annoyed. I said “fuck all this” ordered an Uber to bring me to 6th street and see what it was all about. It seemed pretty cool, a lot of fun looking bars and restaurants. Not cheesy like the ones on Bourbon street. I found the movie theater I’d been wanting to visit for some time now, Alamo Draft house.
It’s a chain of arthouse type theaters where you can eat and drink in your seat. They also don’t allow texting or talking, they’ll boot you right out after one warning. I purchased a ticket to see “Deadpool” for the second time. I had about 2 hours to kill so I wandered 6th street for a bit, ultimately landing on a bar called The Jackalope which was next to a bar called Chupacabras, apparently I was on the cryptozoological block of 6th street and I was loving it.
The Bar was dark, large paintings of pin up girls, smaller velvet paintings of topless women from the 70’s, large statues, pizza, “Cocktail” playing on all the TVs and sassy bartenders. This was my type of place! I got a drink and pizza and scanned the room for fun artifacts but ended up just watching “Cocktail” (you know, that awesome movie with Tom Cruise where he’s a master bartender).
I paid my tab and made my way across the street to the Alamo Draft house, took my seat and ordered a drink. The young man who was seated next to me ordered a pizza and offered me some, I never turn down pizza so that was a nice surprise. He also fell asleep halfway through “Deadpool”, his loss because that movie fucking rules. After the credits rolled, I called another Uber. surge pricing was a bitch but my hotel was close and it had begun to pour outside so I paid the extra dough. Made it back to my lame ass hotel and panicked about not having a hotel to stay the next day. Today’s plan is to drive to dumb New Mexico which I’m not stoked for. Oh well, at least I’ll have some Frankin’s BBQ in my belly for the ride. Hopefully, Im still in my whack ass room. Thanks for reading folks!
Keep smiling (even when it rains and your hotel has weak ass wifi).