After three grotesque cities in a row, the French Quarter of New Orleans is a welcome sight: Quaint, colorful, walkable—about as European as you can get this side of the pond.
And smack at the heart of it, on Royal Street, is the splendid Hotel Monteleone with its famed Carousel Bar.
Fortunately, we pull in two days after Fat Tuesday, which climaxes the Mardi Gras with a parade.
And even more fortunately, our super-secret itinerary planner not only gets us (at short notice) into Galatoire’s for dinner but gets us a table on the ground floor. (Tourists, if they’re lucky to gain admission, get shuttled upstairs).
The good thing about our connection is that he never has to say, “Do you know who I am?”
The only answer to anyone who utters such words: “Of course, you’re someone who needs two years in a monastery.”
Needless to say, the Oysters Rockefeller, sautéed Redfish, creamed spinach and potato Lyonnaise at Galatoire’s were sensational.
Blockage Buster
To ensure good communication while on the road I utilize the strip of kyanite I purchased in St. Charles, Missouri while on a road trip just over eight years ago.
Here is what happened:
A quaint shop called The Enchanted Attic beams me in with a spirited vibe and I am immediately captivated by an indigo-colored strip of something the size of a pocketknife in a locked display case. Working my way around the shop of mostly quartz jewelry and metaphysical books I query the saleslady and she follows me back to the object in question.
“What is that?”
She keys open the lock, plucks the item from its shelf and turns it over to read from a small white label. “Kyanite.”
“What’s kyanite?”
Her face remains blank. “Let’s look it up in the big book.” She passes me the kyanite strip and returns to her counter to thumb through a large reference book. “Kyanite is about higher guidance,” she reads aloud. “And dream recall. It is used to promote lucid dreams and to break blockages.”
Well, well, well. This is precisely what has been awaiting my arrival—and for a mere 18 bucks?Within minutes this tool for recalling dreams and rendering stuff unstuck belongs to me.
Outside I rear up behind my fellow road warrior. “Found what I needed.” I wave my strip of kyanite like a magic wand.
“What’s that?”
“A blockage breaker.”
“A what?”
“It busts blockages.”
“You mean like constipation?” he says, hopefully (judging from his expression).
“That too I suppose. It’s supposed to break any blockage.”
Afterwards, a stroll with Lulu down Bourbon Street, fit in with the crazies.