New Orleans

Bourbon Street historic marker 

French Quarter historic marker

Neil and I went to one of my most-desired domestic locations: New Orleans, Louisiana! We flew there as part of a larger trip down through Florida to visit friends and family, but spent three days getting up early to explore and eat and eat and eat. I had been wanting to visit NOLA for almost twenty years, and I'm so glad I waited until I had a travel partner who would spend ten-plus hours a day walking around, getting happily lost, and eating our weight in oysters. And po'boys, beignets, etoufee, shrimp creole, and oysters and oysters and oysters!

New Orleans is pulsing with life, warmer and more ecclectic than bigger, bristling cities. It is so much more than the few blocks of Bourbon Street that are stuffed full of strip clubs and walk-up hurricane counters. We neglected to meander about with neon-colored plastic novelty cups full of sugar and booze, despite staying in the French Quarter. That's not to say we are resistant to all tourist attractions; we did find ourselves at Cafe Du Monde first thing in the morning to get beignet sugar all over our hands and chicory coffee (au lait, of course) in our veins.

 

During our quick three days, we investigated the French Quarter, the waterfront, downtown, the Marigny/Bywater, and the Garden District. Aside from transporting ourselves from Place d'Armes to the Garden District, we did all our exploring on foot. If you are at all ambulatory, this is the best way to experience a city like New Orleans because it allows for accidental discoveries and it slows you down enough to experience a place on its own terms, with opportunities to escape the more tourist-heavy areas. We found a couple interesting artist studio/galleries (Dr. Bob's painting studio and Simon Hardeveld's sign garden), excellent coffee at French Truck's roastery cafe, a delicious softshell crab po'boy at Magazine Sandwich Shop, and a junk store whose concern about shoplifting distracted from the far back corner so full of heaped-up furniture and clothing it looked like Trash Heap from "Fraggle Rock" had taken up residence. 

Our favorite oyster spot by far was Felix's. Unassuming lunch counter feel inside and heaps of ultra-fresh raw oysters. We sat at the bar, had a sazerac and Abita amber, and devoured oysters the size of my hand. The oysters here are just as fresh as the more expensive spots, but the vibe is much more casual. 

We stayed at Place d'Armes for two nights in a comfortable room with no windows. I tried hard not to think about the lack of windows in the event of a fire, but as soon as I was in the courtyard or on the balcony all was right with the world again. Being just a few blocks from the French Market and Cafe du Monde certainly didn't hurt. 

Walking around the French Quarter started to hurt my neck. There are a lot of great signs hanging from balconies, and I am a little on the short side. There were a number of dwellings for lease, haunted or not to varying degrees. I still haven't figured out if a ghost in your home means a cheaper lease because you are haunted, or more expensive because you are splitting some of the cost of (un)living with a spectral roommate. This line of thinking of course led to quite a bit of daydreaming for this intrepid couple and there is a chance that when we have larger incomes we will be wintering in NOLA.

Street art and murals here are pretty killer, and abound throughout. Being on foot for most of our time in New Orleans gave me a chance to stop and appreciate what a colorful, eccentric city I was in. I fell in love.

You can find more of angler Neil's take on our trip at conflictedaboutfishing.blogspot.com

Defend New Orleans might be one of the best things about the Garden District. It is a small, clean shop full of locally-printed tees, local-made accessories, home goods, and body products. They have a pro-community attitude and their mission of positivity and community uplift that speaks deep in the heart of this Portland native. It's no wonder New Orleans feels like my second home; as my hometown loses much of its funk and community strength with unchecked development destroying middle-income housing options, New Orleans feels like coming back to the place where I was raised. They are experiencing their own growing pains, but local pride is strong and weird there in the best kinds of ways.

Muscatine, IA

Cool button factory mural on the building behind Elly's

Muscatine, Iowa may not be everyone's idea for a place to vacation. It's a sleepy town right across the Mississippi River from Illinois and not far from college town Iowa City. Agriculture seems to be the big industry locally, and in fact the corn processing plant envelops much of the town in a distinct, not unpleasant breakfast cereal aroma. Before the invention of the plastic button, it was a hub of pearl button manufacturing thanks to the abundance of freshwater mussels whose shells could be punched into little buttons. The love of my life grew up there in the 1970's and 80's, and his whole family still lives in Muscatine. We took a trip in 2015 to celebrate our recent engagement so I could see where he grew up.

This was my first visit to Iowa, and I instantly felt comfortable. Perhaps because I grew up in a small city known for its friendliness, and everyone I encountered here was hospitable and kind. Neil and I headed into town with his family for breakfast and coffee at Elly's on our first full day in town, then took our time walking around Muscatine and along side roads back to his parents' property a couple miles away.

Giant Mark Twain celebrating the former Muscatine resident's birthday.

Breakfast at Elly's is a solid bet. It's located right downtown with a great view of the river off the back patio, and the quiches and pastries are lovely. I have spent far too much time making and drinking espresso, so I'm always a little suspicious of a place whose smallest size is a 12oz, but Elly's mochas were delightful. Just the right amount of chocolate to espresso, perfect amount of foam to the milk, and served with genuine warmth. It's like the grown-up version of drinking cocoa made from scratch by your favorite auntie.

Beautiful old house overlooking the river

1800's bricker

Muscatine is not at immediate risk of becoming overdeveloped, though there are interior renovations and a new hotel being built downtown. Because of this, much of the older parts of town feel almost frozen in time. If you block out the modern cars, you can almost imagine you are walking along early-twentieth century roads and out into the rolling prairie grasses. We took our time visiting every part of town, with Neil telling stories of his youth at nearly every intersection.

Eventually, we made our way to the large cemetery where many generations of Iowans are buried, including Civil War veterans and members of Muscatine's more influential families.

cemetery entrance

Legend says anyone who witnesses the "blue angel" in this tomb dropping her rose at midnight on Halloween is cursed to die, but a vandal recently broke off her offending hand. I guess even tough guys are afraid of ghosts.

Leaving the main areas of town following my restroom break at what Neil called a "sketchy bar" but really was a smokey tavern haunted by day drinkers, we headed back toward his parents' place, moseying along the highway, then down a side road and into the woods for a bit.

Farm house, corn field, breakfast smell factory

old-timey gas pump in a field by the road

roadside shrine 

Neil sent me a photo of this abandoned railcar when we were first dating. I finally got to see it in person. People have definitely squatted here. 

Raccoon skull in the woods

Turkey tail fungus!

I am looking forward to many more trips to Muscatine in the future. Sadly, I caught airport flu during our flight there, so I spent much of the trip snuggled up with tea and snacks. Not at all sadly, I am marrying into a very cool family who lives in a beautiful part of the country so I will have many more opportunities to explore and take better photos.

The first one is always the hardest.

Once upon a time not all that long ago, I was spending a lot of time in the hospital. I had cancer. It wasn't a typical type and I wasn't getting the typical treatment. My bone marrow was failing, so I was battling aggressive infections and a secondary cancer that results from a certain type of viral infection. I spent almost four years stuck in bed, including the year surrounding my bone marrow transplant. My BMT stuck me in the hospital for five weeks, plus another six of living walking distance from the outpatient clinic. I spent a lot of time thinking about what I was going to do when it was all over, where I was going to go when I got the hell out of there. I used my lifelong wanderlust to guide my daydreams, and certainly spent more time thinking about travel than anything else. I watched everything from Anthony Bourdain during the day and played audio from the Sea Organ in Zadar on a loop when I couldn't sleep. Everything I had saved for travel abroad after college had been rapidly, unceremoniously drained from my bank accounts to pay for basic life needs after I had to stop working, so I traveled in my imagination and I went everywhere.

I have been in remission for two-and-a-half years as I write this, and I am healthy, happy, and starting to travel. My day job is in the travel and tourism industry as a tour guide, and my time to myself is spent making art and investigating places to go. I am marrying a wonderful man soon, one who loves art, outdoors, and travel as much as I. We bought a very small condo and save not for big purchases but big wandering.

Herein lies my travel blog.