New Orleans Travelogue, Day 1

My mom is from New Orleans. My parents first met there. My grandparents lived there for 95 years! There's a street named after my grandfather's side of the family and according to my cousin, P.G.T. Beauregard (a confederate general) is from my grandmother's side. Growing up, I spent almost every summer--a part of it anyway--in New Orleans. In college, I visited frequently to let the bon temps roulez. Afterwards, I went regularly to see my grandparents, buy a crate of boiled crabs, and go shopping on Magazine. My last visit was in 2001 when my sister and I cleaned out our grandparents' studio apartment following their reluctant move to a Memphis nursing home. Shortly after, I found out I was pregnant with Satchel.

Last Saturday, Team Oster (along with my mom, my niece, and my nephew) took a little train ride to New Orleans.



I was so excited, I didn't sleep a wink the night before. NOT A WINK. (Not a good way to start a trip that involves getting up at 4:30 in order to catch a taxi at 5:30am in order to get to the train station at 6am in order to catch a bus in order to bypass a ten mile stretch of closed down track caused by a sinkhole.) Needless to say, the monkeys--all four of them in this case--were excited too. REALLY EXCITED.



Once on board, they immediately emptied their backpacks of all snacks, coloring books, markers, action figures, magic tricks, and card games. Once we got moving, they eagerly looked out the windows. Then they spent the next 8 hours bouncing off the walls, running down the aisles, climbing over the chairs, and going up and down the stairs before being forced to take naps. (I think I dozed for about 30 minutes on two separate occasions.)

I couldn't help fantasizing about having them all strapped into carseats while we zipped down I-55 at 80 mph. Allowing one stop in Jackson, we could make it to Nola in 6 hours flat.

Once the boys were in a nice, deep sleep, we arrived in New Orleans. Wow, did they wake up cranky! Nothing a lollipop from the Amtrak store couldn't fix, however.

My mom's cousin, Nancy, (my second cousin?) picked us up in her minivan and happily drove us to her abode. She and her husband, Dick, recently moved into the third floor of a building their son, Richard, (is he my second cousin?) owns a few blocks west of the French Quarter in the Central Business District. They've renovated half of the floor to be their house and the other half is like a hotel/apartment/dormitory. It's awesome.

The kids quickly unloaded their things, claimed their beds, counted the TVs, ran up and down the hallways, scoped out the computer room, raided the refrigerator, looked out the windows, and asked if they could play in the elevator.

After freshening up, Nancy loaded us all up in the minivan again and took us to Richard's house (out past City Park). There we were treated to a feast of boiled crabs, crawfish, and shrimp. The kids got to play with Richard and Beth's kids (Charlie, Max, & Isabelle--my third cousins? The monkeys' third cousins?) out in the yard, which was exactly what they needed, and the adults got to chit chat while licking their fingers. It was heavenly.

Once full I was nearly comatse and ready for a good night's sleep. Vacation sleep.