Day 100 – About time we did some work

Author – Kate
Based In – New Orleans

Today’s Photos – http://www.flickr.com/photos/32017704@N03/sets/72157613766938919/

After 99 days of lolling around enjoying ourselves we realise it’s about time we did some work. With that in mind we jumped out of bed at 6am this morning to head to the 1st Street restoration project that we’d missed the day before.

1st Street was already a very underprivileged area of New Orleans before it was hit hard by the hurricane. Plenty of houses are boarded up or empty and look like they are waiting to be knocked down, some are fine but a bunch of properties are boarded up and still being lived in. The only good thing about the terrible state of things is that since there is so much that needs to be done even useless office based bodies like us should be able to provide some help.

We met a bunch of the other volunteers before being assigned to a group who were going to be clearing up Miss Idas house. A room at the back of Miss Idas house had been torn off by the hurricane and our groups job was to clear the wreck left behind and then rebuild the room. The first hour on the job was spent throwing damp bits of house into a skip. There were cockroaches and spiders running around including one particularly big one which must’ve escaped form the zoo which made the task slightly scary. On the whole though this was quite motivating work because it requires pretty much no skill, you start with a pile of mess and an empty skip and a little while later the mess is gone and the skip is full. Well almost full, anything semi salvageable was being put next to the skip at the instruction of a local guy with a shopping trolley who was having a field day carrying away wrecked washing machines.


Once the yard was cleared Grant and I were shown how to use the nail gun and saw so that we could build the frame of the new room. This was exactly the kind of volunteering we had pictured and was going quite well, I was even looking forward to the hug I would get from Miss Ida when it was all finished but we were pulled off the job because the foundations would have to be fixed first and so we had to leave that project and the resulting hugs for some other day.

Our afternoon was spent laying cement covered slabs on the floor of apartments so that they could be tiled over the following day. This requires cutting the cement slabs using a tile saw so that they fit in and around the room and then drilling them to the floor. Grant was quite exited as it’s basically a giant jigsaw puzzle involving cement and power tools. There was one small hitch mentioned, we had to wear ventilation masks because the floor we were cementing was covered in asbestos. I wasnt quit expecting permanent lung damage as a potential perk from volunteering, I had been hoping for a t-shirt. Our instructor Phil assured us we’d be fine because we weren’t going to be disturbing the asbestos but then he did assign himself to the room without any asbestos and we were asked to sign disclaimers earlier that day so you cant blame us for being a tad suspicious.

So with masks on our faces and fear for our lives in our hearts we slaved away all afternoon. Grant and I had our own room to work on and despite not usually working well together we did ok (give it a day or so and this bit of the blog will be full of rants). Grant being the A type personality that we all know and love, quickly and without words nominated himself as the boss. Me being the lazy easier to go with it that fight it type personality that Grant loves, decided to go with it for today since he wasn’t being too bossy and before long we had finished our room. We were even invited to be in the same group tomorrow to tile the room “since it had gone so well” Phil said. There’s a distinct possibility it’s just because no-one else is dumb enough to go in the asbestos room but since the cement is covering the asbestos now we should be ok.

We were pretty knackered by clocking off time but still felt we could manage a quick jog around the Audubon Park track that Miles had shown us before heading home. That turned out to be a bit of an error of judgment as we were wrecked afterwards so there’s is absolutely nothing to report after 5.30pm apart from loafing around feeling achy but proud of ourselves.

Tomorrow we hit the tiles!

Day 99 - We're Going To Hell

Author – Grant
Based In – New Orleans

Today’s Photos - http://www.flickr.com/photos/32017704@N03/sets/72157613680266328/

Both our alarms went off at 6am when a quick, almost wordless conversation composed mainly of grunts resulted in the joint decision to sack off our first day of volunteering to restore houses with the United Saints 1st Street Project in favour of sleeping for an additional six hours. A shameful decision that I feel will be brought up at the pearly gates but it was probably best that our first impression wasn’t based on bloodshot eyes and breath that could passively inebriate a baby. The good news, however, is that this blog should only be half the length given we only had half a day.

Once finally awake and clean, we drove to the end of Magazine Street that meets the mighty Mississippi to allow our pup some time to growl and bare her teeth to a gaggle of friendly dogs before setting off on a 5 mile mindless stroll in search of nothing in particular beyond food. Kate abuses me when I’m hungover as she knows that I’m too weak and my reactions aren’t quick enough to stop her dashing into shops to try on dresses but I get my revenge by demanding regular nourishment. One such stop was at the Bee Sweet cupcake shop where we enjoyed the lightest ginger-snap topped carrot cup cake I’ve ever had the pleasure of trying. Next food stop was at the dog-friendly Ignatius that served up high-quality, monster portions of classic New Orleans comfort food that would almost immediately negate the previous evening’s Hurricanes and Hand Grenades. Kate’s Seafood Gumbo came with a raft of rice and had that incredible crawfish stock flavour resonating throughout where my Popeye’s Arm-sized Roast Beef Po Boy contained half a cow of fork tender, slow braised, shredded beef that was good to the very last bite.

We even managed to stumble upon our first Mardi Gras parade on the way home although I missed most of it as I was inside Whole Foods picking out the ingredients for that evening’s dinner. Kate tells me that a procession of trucks and cars pumped out music whilst drunk old men dressed in bright Egyptian costumes threw out arms full of beads to anyone within throw’s reach. I had the camera in my pocket so we have no photos of the actual parade but Molly did have a plethora of brightly coloured strings of beads on her when I emerged from the supermarket which she seemed to really enjoy wearing. I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised that she had so many beads as the rule is “no boobs, no beads” and technically she does have all six of her nipples on permanent display…except when Kate insists she wears her hideous “I Heart New York” hoodie.

In order to avoid sacking off the volunteer work for the second day running (something that would surely seal our destiny as a tenant of Beelzebub), we had a quiet, booze-free night. I cooked us up some Cajun seared scallops with porcini and cremini mushroom risotto and a succotash of corn, sprout leaves, garlic, green pepper and chili. I’m asking Kate for her marks out of the ten for the affair now and she’s telling me…”mmm, dunno babes, is one like the worst meal ever and 10 is the best meal ever? I’m going to give it a…(pause 10 seconds) 7 or an 8. Make it 7.5”. I’ll never hire that girl as my publicist.

Tomorrow is Day 100 on our trip. Where has the time gone? Read the previous 99 blogs if you want a factual answer to that rhetorical question.

Day 98 – The Insider’s Guide to New Orleans…Bars

Author – Grant
Based In – New Orleans

Today’s Photos – http://www.flickr.com/photos/32017704@N03/sets/72157613677733756/

Most mornings my first conscious thought is either of Cameron Diaz washing Jennifer Aniston or food. Today was the latter because New Orleans at breakfast time can mean only one thing, a trip to Café Du Monde for Beignets and Café Au Lait. I mistakenly thought that there was only one branch of this legendary shop but a quick search unveiled 15 of them dotted around the city and two within dribbling distance of our abode so a confused Molly and I set off to see what all the fuss was about. Whilst I was a bit disappointed that there was a drive-through option (something that can only be further deteriorating already wobbly Ameri-Franco relations) at least everything was cooked to order so that by the time I had driven home and woken the slumbering beast, they were still steaming hot. To all intents and purposes, the beignets are little rectangular donuts served in a mountain of confectioner’s sugar which cuts the fat taken on through deep frying and, done right, they are pretty magical. Furthermore, when accompanied by a vat of coffee, they make for a fairly perfect breakfast. I accept that there are times when only a full truckers breakfast will suffice (such as those mornings following a dodgy pint) but if I were in some classy French prison and had to start each day with a bag of these, well, I wouldn’t feel too violated….well, until shower time.

The project to find out what causes Kate’s occasional migraines has been ongoing without much success for a few years now so today we tried a dentist visit to see if the side of her mouth that contains more man-made canals than Holland is the “root” (see what I did there) of the problem. $100 and two hours later and the result was…maybe. Kate has a bit of a phobia of dentists (something to do with large objects in her mouth and please keep your pithy gags to yourself) so I was made to come into the room to help comfort her. She forgot, however, that I am about as supportive as a wonky chair leg and would just use the situation to get some good blog photos. This damn blog is taking over my life.

Finally free to explore New Orleans, we called upon Miles (fellow FCI student, life-long New Orleans resident and all round smooth talking southerner) who volunteered to show us round town for the day. Whilst Kate might have hoped that this meant an insiders guide to the city’s finer cultural sights, clearly what it quickly turned into was a pork eating extravaganza followed by a multi-venue piss-up. After being introduced to Winston the Vizsla who, Kate can attest to, has the good grace to serenade its intended lover before pouncing (a trait presumably picked up from his master), we toured the man-cave that Miles shares with his brothers which is something you might see on MTV Cribs (if they did a chef edition) and includes a full size pool table. Am I jealous? You bet I am.

Onwards to New Orleans where the first stop was in the Warehouse District, so called “because it contains a lot of warehouses” our guide informed us. There was a lot of this sort of commentary throughout the next 6 hours but none more informative than origin of the name of The Balcony Bar which apparently “has a balcony”. All the clues are there if you’re just willing to look hard enough for them. Lunch was in the newly opened Butcher which sits next to its older brother restaurant Cochon. I hope you agree, given such names, the venue kind of chose itself. Butcher specializes, unsurprisingly, in meat heavy (specifically all things swine) sandwiches so between us we ordered a pork-belly sandwich with cucumber and mint raita, a toasted Cuban panini and a toasted pastrami sandwich with sauerkraut. As if this wasn’t enough, we also had a charcutterie plate of various home cured meats (chorizo, fennel salami and another hammy cut whose name escapes me) and a couple of house marinated sides of sprouts and mushrooms. My favourite was the ultra-juicy pork belly and the marinated sprouts but, in fairness, it was all excellent and it definitely makes me want to visit Cochon in the coming weeks.

Time to start the bar crawl under its poor disguise as a tour of the various different areas of this city. Having just compiled a list of the places and drinks consumed, I’m starting to realize why I had a bit of a headache the following morning. First up, Cooter Browns just off the end of the beautiful St Charles Ave which got two huge thumbs up or having a) Sky Sports on the TV and b) a huge beer selection. Next was The Bulldog in the Magazine Street district with its funky outdoor fountain of beer taps. A quick drive through the Bohemian district resulted in a lack of punters so we headed to the French Quarter (specifically Bourbon Street) for a take-away from The Absinthe Bar before being expertly conned out of $20 for a Saints cap. Then Miles decided to take us only to places where the signature drinks are served in souvenir cups that we were forced to buy. Firstly a pint of sickly sweet “hangover fodder” inappropriately named The Hurricane in Pat Obrien's followed by a pint of sickly sweet green “strongest drink in NO” called the Hand Grenade in Tropical Isle where a guitarist played solely to us and two blokes at the bar who eventually pissed up the said bar before leaving. I didn’t witness the pissing incident as I was too busy being all prissy and using the designated restroom which, for a miserly 25c, measured all 11oz of my output and went on to give me the invaluable information that it would take me 3.4 hours to fill up a bath. Net result, we won’t be on Bourbon Street on Fat Tuesday as the street is said to be lined in vomit and pee. A final stop into the fine restaurant/bar where Miles’ brother works before heading home to rescue the pooch and to work on producing a decent hangover. Huge thanks to Miles for his hospitality, guide and taxi services. I’m looking forward to using them many more times in the coming weeks.

Tomorrow we have the option of beginning our stint of restoring houses with the United Saints 1st Street Project at 7am or sleeping off this hangover. I’m going to make you wait until tomorrow’s blog before I let you know the outcome of this soap-opera-like cliffhanger but anyone that knows us will already know.

Days 96 & 97 - Lazy Days

Author - Grant
From – Dauphine Island, Alabama
To – New Orleans, Louisiana
Via – Mississippi (we love those three state days)
Miles Driven - 147

Day 96 Photos - http://www.flickr.com/photos/32017704@N03/sets/72157613550566887/
Day 97 Photos - http://www.flickr.com/photos/32017704@N03/sets/72157613579298876/

Days 96 and 97 have to be combined because, by design, precious little happened to fill more than a couple of paragraphs of writing. Well, I’m writing this in my first minute of typing and have probably underestimated the amount of tangential waffle I’ll spout along the journey but if it’s world record breaking, life changing experiences you like reading about then try guinnessworldrecords.com as continuing to read this will just make you snoozy.

Day 96 was our extra day on Dauphine Island taken solely because someone told us the weather was due to be nice so we should stick around. So we did. And it was. But such nice weather doesn’t induce the desire to overly exert oneself beyond the now almost daily run. Hence, aside from the one hour trot along the sandy bike lane that stretches from tip to tip of this sleepy island, the remaining 15 hours of consciousness were spent either strolling through town reciprocating the waves of every local we encountered (who clearly thought we had moved here permanently because we are constantly accompanied by a dog), reading (or, more accurately, snoozing) on the beach or, my personal favourite, eating.

Speaking of eating, like the kid in the old Bisto Gravy adverts, my nose started twitching a few seconds after arriving on this island thanks to the unmistakable aroma of slow burning Hickory and Mesquite. No need for GPS to find the source as my nostrils mimic Divining Rods except that tender, smoked meat is the reward rather than poxy, calorie-free water. Introducing the unimaginatively named Smokey’s Island Barbeque which is literally a shack with one portal to take orders from salivating meat hunters and another to let out plumes of smoke that have already weaved their magic. The menu is on a wipe-clean memo board and represents what the Pit Master fancied chucking in the smoker the previous night but, thankfully, pulled pork is an ever present. I arrived in the middle of the Sunday afternoon rush (another guy and his dog had just ordered) and I feel they will be telling tales of the day they had more than one order in the space of one hour for many moons to come. I’m definitely buying a copy of tomorrow’s Dauphine Island Gazette to see if I made the front cover. Mistakenly given the power by Kate to order whatever I fancied, I walked away with two bulging arms full of large pulled pork sandwiches, beans, coleslaw and a hot-dog which I ordered at the last second like a drunk tags a chaser onto his bar order. One thing I have discovered about myself is that I am a dry BBQ kind of guy as I think that the subtle flavours taken on by the meat during its 15 hour smoke are drowned out by whatever sauce they chuck over at the last minute. Alas, this was a wet BBQ kind of place and asking a wet BBQ pit master to omit the sauce would be about as insulting as asking for half an hour on his sister so I just kept schtum. The meat was, as expected, super tender and whilst Kate found the big globules of fat a bit too much, I was in pig fat heaven. Yep, there was too much pungent, vinegary sauce for me but it was mighty tasty nevertheless. I fear that if I lived on this island, I would eat here so regularly that my body would start to develop a distinctive red smoke ring that would make me wholly unsuitable for organ donorship.

Nothing more interesting to report that night as we went to the pub where Kate clearly spiked my drink because she went on to beat me at Trivial Pursuit for the first time in recorded history. In my defense (and I always have one), her luck with the dice was enough to have her burned at the stake just 50 years ago. Revenge will be swift, sweet and humiliating.

And so onto Day 97 where we stirred with little rush, bid farewell to our hosts (including the crazy motel cleaner who had fallen in love with Molly but whom Molly clearly thought was a dog butcher) and hit the road finally bound for New Orleans, a destination that we seem to have been on the verge of arriving in, without success, for just over a week. Our only real goal today was to find accommodation which was given extra importance by the fact that we are staying in one place for a whopping 17 nights as we’re staying for Mardi Gras on 24th Feb and intend to somehow keep ourselves busy in the mean time. As such, rather than the usual haphazard approach to choosing lodging, we decided to phone round a few places, see a few rooms and find somewhere with a kitchen that I won’t be unleashing a private torrent of abuse at within two days (my patience is generally getting worse as Kate will testify to). Generally prices at least double over the Mardi Gras period so we’d already settled at being a bit outside town. We agreed to stay in a studio room at Extended Stay America but it wouldn’t be ready for an hour so we decided to have a mooch around some other hotels. The one opposite didn’t take dogs but the receptionist ran out after Kate to recommend a place down the road which is cheaper, cleaner and generally nicer than our chosen place and it is from this place (The Sun Suites) that I now type this blog. Don’t get me wrong, it’s no palace but I was a bit blown away by this lady’s (Dee, by the way) kindness and hence she’s getting a box of chocolates later today because that’s what I was taught to do.

Having access to a kitchen for the first time in an age, after a miserable jog in the dark and the rain we stayed in and I attempted, with some success, to replicate the Baja Chicken Enchilada soup that we had in Hattiesburg. Spicy soup, a bottle of plonk and an early night to give us energy to properly explore New Orleans the following day and, hopefully, try to figure out what the hell we’re going to do to keep us busy for the next two weeks...

A Wee Competition

To celebrate finally arriving in New Orleans and to ease you back into the five days worth of blogs that have just been published...a wee competition. First to guess exactly what Kate is celebrating in the photo below wins a Chinese Burn...

Day 95 - Macho Macho Man

Author – Grant
Based In – Dauphine Island, Alabama

Today’s Photos – http://www.flickr.com/photos/32017704@N03/sets/72157613550409191/

Some days it is really apparent that we are on holiday and today was one of them. I woke up and ran through today’s itinerary in my head. 1) Treasure Hunt. 2) Play Golf followed by beers in the sun. 3) Read / Snooze. 4) Dinner. 5) Pub for some Alabama Karaoke. Yep, today wasn’t going to be too stressful at all.

Kate’s Treasure Hunt was, I have to say, excellent. I only needed help with one of the clues (something about botanical footwear), it encompassed running or cycling around the majority of the island and, crucially, it ended with sticky buns at the excellent Lighthouse Bakery. Pure genius and she is available to arrange your next Treasure Hunt for an appropriately inflated fee. I think I have to return the favour now but I won’t be so kind as the clues I give her will involve much more humiliating tasks to perform but that will have to wait for another venue as her hunt already encompassed all five points of interest on Dauphine Island.

Next up was the golf where Kate, surprisingly, volunteered to come round as a spectator as long as she could drive the buggy. I didn’t tell her that such privileges come with caddy responsibilities (removing the flag, helping with club selection etc) which meant that the book and magazine that she brought along never saw the light of day thanks to a largely empty course. I have played a total of one round in the past two years so I purposely didn’t bother scoring myself as I can’t count much past 100 but I didn’t play too badly thanks largely to leaving my driver in its protective sock for the majority of the round. Maybe it was having a caddy that helped? Even if it was, I’m still not sure I would repeat the experience as the golf cart chat was definitely the tamest I have ever had with not a single mention of ranking the members of the Pussycat Dolls based solely on implant quality.

Dinner was a pretty disappointing affair at Flamingo Fae’s which is attached to the golf club. Our waitress had the memory of a fish with Alzheimer’s and managed to bugger up something in every aspect of the meal. We started with a mass pincer graveyard’s worth of fried mini crab claws which lost a good deal of their crabbyness through the frying process resulting in the need for pints of cocktail and tartar sauces. My main was a soggy and unseasoned bit of pan-fried grouper that was made almondine by the half pound of sautéed almonds it came buried under. Kate’s dozen shrimp were flavourful enough but, again, just looked wet. Add a couple of beers and the experience cost about $80 so I felt a bit robbed. Nothing a bit of Alabaman Karaoke couldn’t sort out though…

So after eating at THE restaurant on Dauphine island, we headed to THE pub…it was Saturday night after all. It’s hard to classify this place so I won’t even try but the dominance of “Snow Birds” (the elderly that flock here in the hope that the sun will cure all their woes) was overwhelming. For the second night in three we witnessed another inappropriate, grinding grandma who was also the only person taking advantage of the karaoke machine as she belted out Patsy Cline hit after hit with that rare quality of unfounded confidence. Being partial to a bit of drunken warbling, I was hoping that more people would get up but it wasn’t until the late arrival of a group of hip-hop loving kids took over somewhere around 11pm that anyone else got a shot and once the young stuff started, no amount of rum would get me up there despite challenging myself to sing Village People’s Macho Man which, in Alabama, is tantamount to suicide.

We haven’t seen enough of Alabama to make sweeping judgements about the place but that isn’t going to stop me. One bloke I talked with in the bar summed it up pretty well by saying that the state has a terrible reputation and falls bottom of most of the various US lists but you’ll be hard pressed to meet someone here who isn’t friendly. Whilst his point was good, he did then go on to highlight it’s Achilles Heal as he thought we wouldn’t like New Orleans because it is “mixed” (he meant racially just in case you didn’t pick up on that) and then he went a bit weird telling me he only went out once every 3 or 4 months and that most of his friends had either left Dauphine Island or were dead. Not the cheeriest end to an otherwise highly entertaining night.

Tomorrow is another idyllic day on the island with stressful things on the itinerary like walking Molly, eating BBQ and flying the kite that we have carried round for 3 months but never unfurled. Sundays can be exhausting.

Day 94 - Savoury Home Alabama

Author – Grant
From – Hattiesburg, Mississippi
To – Dauphine Island, Alabama
Via – Mobile, Alabama
Miles Driven - 125

Today's Photos - http://www.flickr.com/photos/32017704@N03/sets/72157613578582808/

Waking up on Day 94 wasn’t a great feeling thanks to a combination of too many beers the previous night and sleeping less than soundly on a dog pee soaked mattress that no amount of towels could 100% protect us from. Best thing to do, shower well and go get a fry-up. I’m not sure if it was because of the hangover but breakfast at Waffle House was surprisingly good and ticked all the right boxes…crispy bacon, tasty hash-browns, fresh ingredients and, most importantly, plentiful portions. We might even manage to make it to our destination without having to stop for our daily Funion fix…but I doubt it.

Without a real plan, we arrived in Mobile Alabama for a quick scout around and the first thing we came across was Wintzell’s Oyster House which was recommended to us by local Bayou Boy Miles. Like lobster in Maine and crabs in Maryland, it’s weird to be somewhere where an otherwise luxurious, decadent and expensive treat is so damn affordable. For example, my Oyster Stew appetizer (a broth of solely milk and oysters that really allowed the oyster flavour to dominate) was a miserly $3.50. Even our lunch special mains (crispy deep fried oysters for me and a shrimp po-boy for Kate) were just $8 each and came with two sides. The fact that everything was seriously tasty made the price even more unbelievable. I’m liking Alabama already.

The rest of the day was, by design, pretty uneventful as we concluded that we would stay on Dauphine Island which is a crazily relaxing place (if that isn’t an oxymoron) about an hour south of Mobile in the Gulf of Mexico. After exploring the island (something that takes about 7 minutes by car) we did deeply unexciting things like read, watch TV and make plans. I made the throw away comment to Kate that it was a perfect place for a treasure hunt and she spent the next two hours in deep concentration designing some sort of duathlon for me for the following morning. It’s clearly another of her thinly disguised attempts to get me to loose some kilos but I’ll play along.

Tomorrow’s itinerary involves the aforementioned Treasure Hunt (where the treasure had better be edible), a round of golf and some more general lazing around. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again…working is for mugs.