Saturday Night in New Orleans
After we returned from the Jazz Fest and cleaned up some, it was time to call a cab and head down to the French Quarter. And wait. And wait. And call again to check on the cab, to be told they'd call it again. And wait. And call back to ask how long it would be for the cab to get there. And be told, "Look, it's Jazz Fest, we're busy," and be hung up upon. And realize the cab was never actually going to show up. This is why I hate "calling a cab". (But have little problem with "hailing a cab".) I'd much rather take public transportation than have to depend on one of those undependable companies to show up. Just so the search engines can hear me, that's United Cabs of New Orleans. We called for a taxi, one didn't show up. Draw your own conclusions.
So I drove the rental car (still no flats) into town. It wasn't that hard to find parking, although driving constrained me from enjoying too much of the New Orleans spirit. By this time, we were starved, so we followed our guidebook to Cafe Maspero. It was a nice, inexpensive way to experience New Orleans cuisine. I had jambalaya washed down with some beer, and then we were off on our walking tour of the French Quarter.
It's clear that the walking tour in the guidebook was never really meant to be done at 11 or so at night, but we pressed ahead. The Spanish architecture was really neat, but after a while we grew tired and wandered over to Bourbon Street. Wow. I don't know what I expected, but what I got was "World's Biggest Frat Party." Uh, pass. So we stopped in a voodoo shop, then wandered home, leaving the post-midnight revelry to those more dedicated than us.