They call it the Rising Sun.
We called it Harrah's. But we'll get back to that.
At Riverfront RV Park we had all that Brant promised: air-conditioning, power, water. That meant hot showers whenever we wanted, humidity-free cold air inside the back of the pickup, and plenty of juice to run our computers for the work we had to do. Some projects for the means to stay on the road, and some projects for the means to play on the road. (NOTE: This work is why these updates are so late in coming. It's why we stayed put in N.O. for nearly a week. It's why the "extreme" part of the trip was put on hold. But it's also why we can stay on the road, so it's a give and take that we welcome.)
What we did most of the time in N. O.
The first night after The Arrival, we finally left our shorts and t-shirts in a pile on the floor and put on some more respectable duds. We headed down to the French Quarter, to dine on the fine nouveau-French cuisine at Dominique's. Since New Orleans is renowned for it's incredible gourmets, we had to partake. And it was delectable.
We walked down the requisite Bourbon Street, and (re)visited the R & B Club. On my afore-mentioned visit to Nawleans, the great Angel and I danced 'til dawn, completely fulfilling the cliche and tearing the house down. The tunes, Tight Pants Jackson and the Wiggling Butt Boody Band, (can't remember the real name of the band...I know, poor journalism), wasn't half as funky as the January Band, but it was funky enough. The lead guitarist and singer was decked out in the tightest jeans possible, black Levi's hugging his lanky legs like it was their mission to reduce his sperm count. He had on an equally tight sleevless black shirt, and we know he thanked the stretchiness of cotton as the sheath bowed out over his perfectly round pot belly. He gyrated his left leg direct from the hip and translated the serpentine motion like electricity all the way through to his toes. Which were booted in white fringed cowboy boots, sparkling with silver studs and climbing stiffly halfway up his calves over the second-skin denim. He played guitar, and sang like Mr. Brown's brother. But he wouldn't take requests, and he never engaged the audience. We danced anyway.
Tight Pants Jackson
Brant was ready to go 'til the band went home, but I wasn't feeling too good, so I took on the role of party-pooper.
Beignets worth waiting for.
Our birthdays happened when we weren't looking. One day right after the other, and for the most part we were engaged in a self-imposed lock down to get our work projects completed. But we did manage to make it down to another New Orleans requisite. Namely, beignets at Cafe du Monde. And on that fateful morning visit, we bladed down the River Walk along the Mississippi, and found ourselves at the freshly Windex-ed doors of Harrah's Casino. Just opened in October 1999, we had to check it out.
Rollerblading by the Mississippi.
We settled in to a craps table, and I rolled four elevens in a row. As a result, the guy next to Brant won over $200 off of a fiver. He was on the Yo. A VIP player, he ordered up a free buffet for us and we walked away that afternoon with full bellies and extra money in our pockets. And, proof that the world isn't so big after all, we ran into Charles Emola from Texas City at the same craps table!! The cry of "KITEBOARDING BUDDY!!!" rang above the din of chinking slot machines when Charles spotted Brant. Crazy, huh? (Charles, I hope you won big!)
The craps ordeal then went as follows: Brant turned $100 into $500 the first night. Next night he lost $100 but on the way out bet the Field with another c-note and won back all he had lost earlier. Only thing is that in Harrah's, it's not the Field. It's the Bayou. Written right across the green felt, where in every other casino in the universe it says "field," here at the mouth of the Mississip it was called playing the Bayou. Anyway, those first two nights were of the stuff that makes gamblers. After that, though, our casino experience was generally of the stuff that breaks gamblers. Rather than dwell on the gory details, let's just say that the first night didn't make it out of New Orleans.
In the midst of all this dice throwing and keyboard tapping, our new kites arrived from Maui. And there was no wind. It was quite depressing. But we knew that we'd find that heavenly combination of wind and water again soon, so we perservered with our work and foolishly kept revisiting the Bayou in lieu of taking lunch breaks.
