I Do Declare

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…with a few quick stops in between over the past three days. After a joyful reunion with Winnie, we officially began to head north in search of some true southern icons: Scout, Atticus, Jem, and Boo in Maycomb County, Alabama. A few hours and a good ways off the beaten path later, we found ourselves in Monroeville, Nelle Harper Lee’s hometown and inspiration for the fictional Maycomb. Driving by the old courthouse at night evoked images of Finch kids charming a gun-wielding Mr. Cunningham while Atticus stood guard outside Tom Robinson’s cell. The next morning we ventured to the square during visiting hours and took in the actual courtroom where Lee watched her father as a girl, and after which Gregory Peck’s famous courtroom was modeled. While the setting was everything a TKAM nerd could ask for, the highlight had to have been the elderly civic volunteer who candidly described the spooky house (“brown wood with no paint) the had stood on the corner years ago, and the reclusive young man who had lived inside (“he had been caught stealing with his hoodlum friends and his father said that if the police wouldn’t send him to jail well then he’d keep him locked up himself.”) She then pointed us in the direction of the remains of the house where Truman Capote stayed many summers with his relatives; it is situated between the corner where Lee’s house had once stood, the Cannon station where the recluse had lived, and a short jaunt through a wooded area from Maycomb…err…Monroeville Elementary. These two English teachers felt both awe and a strong feeling not to put on a ham costume.

After waving goodbye to Winnie Cooper (the Mini Cooper) and promising to meet her again in Baton Rouge, we did the only thing two natural born southern girls would do: put on pretty dresses and headed out in search of some libations.  We first happily stumbled across Jackson, an upscale eatery on Magazine street with a sassy owner and a friendly bartender.  Two po’ boys and four martinis later, we said goodbye to our new friends and walked up Magazine towards the famous White Linen Party with the plan to frequent an establishment every five blocks.  Our first (and only) stop along the way was a great bar and lounge, The Bridge, where we enjoyed our very first mint juleps.  It was our last bar of the walk downtown because this is the place where we learned why New Orleans truly is the best city in the country—you can order drinks to go.  So we finally made our way to Julia Street with two flavorful mojitos in hand.  We of course wasted no time making friends.  Among them were a southern architect and his brother, a typing poet, the niece of Minnie Pearl (we learned about Minnie at the Ryman way back in Nashville), and of course the Mayor of New Orleans (Mitchy, as we affectionately called him).

A short while later, we followed the sassy owner’s advice and skipped Bourbon to head straight to Frenchman Street, supposedly where real New Orleanians go to listen to jazz and blues.  While there, we hung at the DBA and befriended crocodile suit-clad Little Freddie King, New Orleans blues royalty.  But of course no Saturday night in New Orleans would be complete without a walk down Bourbon Street and a gigantic frozen Hurricane, so we finished the evening with both before hailing a cab and heading back to our hostel, the Bourbon House.

We understandably got a late start the next morning, and made it to jazz brunch at The Arnaud House on Bienville by 1:00.  We quickly realized it was probably a little too much for the likes of us when Jill unknowingly ordered at $15 glorified mimosa, but we rolled with it anyway.  Even though brunch was pricey, the eggs benedict and roving jazz trio made it worth our while (we were personally serenaded with Old Man River).  But the spending didn’t stop there.  As we made our way towards the Satchmo Festival, we came upon shop after irresistible shop (all together we made out with two outfits, several pieces of jewelry, a Mardi Gras mask, a croc head, and some souvenirs for a few of our most loyal readers).  Our quest for the festival was further delayed when we stumbled across Cafe Du Monde and of course stopped in for some frozen cafe au lait and three beignets each.  We did eventually make it to Satchmo, right as it was wrapping up, but we consider the outing a complete success anyway.  

Our only regret for the day is not making it inside the gates of the famed above-ground St. Louis Cemetery No. 1 - burial place for voodoo queen Marie Laveau.  But standing outside its walls—which act as tombs themselves—at dusk was haunting enough.  Plus we did discover a quaint bar and lounge, Tonique, on our way and their $5 margaritas and Mai Tais and free tacos (in celebration of their two year anniversary) made the trip to this part of town well worth it.

That night, we donned some of our new purchases and quickly learned not a whole heck of a lot happens in the Garden District on a Sunday night.  One long walk and quick trolley ride later, we eventually made it to the only establishment still open after midnight, The Balcony.  Our visit here was short because the bartender was unable to produce any sort of cutting tool for our cigars but our walk home was long, and we have the blisters to prove it.

The next morning I was happily woken with the news that Winnie Cooper would pull through, so we hopped on a bus (the bargain basement LA Swift that takes you from New Orleans to Baton Rouge for only $5) and reunited with our wheels.  On the subject of New Orleans, we do declare 1) drinks to go is the best idea in America - YOU HEAR THAT PA?  2) the architecture here is just as glorious you’d expect - wrought iron fences, plant filled balconies, multi-colored houses, giant shuttered windows…  3) two days is not enough to fully enjoy this city (and the three we were supposed to have had wouldn’t have been enough either) because it offers a multitude of neighborhoods, musical acts, creepy cemeteries, festivals, shopping, carnivalesque performers, great food, and of course drinks.  Miles travelled: 1750.  Now it’s time to search for Boo Radley.