We love our Two Sawyers pub (circa 1796) and Phoebe’s coffee shop right across the way (15 steps to be exact). We enjoyed coffee yesterday morning and in the evening we popped over for a gin and tonic and dinner. The pub had quite a few “young” people in it so Glen asked the drinking age in GB – it’s 18. No one was unruly or anything, we had just forgotten this difference between our two countries.

Later in the evening, there was live guitar music and he was playing “oldies” from the 60s and 70s. We enjoyed our own “private” concert so much that I walked the 15 steps over to give him a tip. He was surprised and grateful! I saw him go tell the bartender that he received a tip from the neighbors. Pretty cool, right?

But there is a down side to living on a tiny street with direct passage to Old Town and across the street from a pub…and you are probably already guessing the challenge presented by that location. Last night at 2:00 am we woke to a man’s voice pleading with a woman to “wake up”. “Leyla (or was it Lola? Lila?), wake up, pleeeeaaaasssseee.” After this went on a few minutes, I got up and looked out the window (nosy boomer here) and there she was on her side, spread out on the sidewalk (it’s not really a sidewalk) apparently fast asleep. And that’s giving her the benefit of the doubt. The pleading continued and Leyla (we’ll stick with that name) could be heard muttering. unintelligibly. The man eventually asked her to tell him “the number” which I thought was a phone number, but we later agreed it was more likely the code to get in the house. Leyla started reeling off numbers (8675309, anyone?) and the man would repeat them and then she’d reel them off again though I’m not sure it was the same string of numbers.

Glen finally got up and yelled out the window telling him the numbers that she’d muttered, hoping the man would hear him and get the dang door opened so that Leyla could get to bed! After awhile, somehow the man got Leyla up and they made their way past our windows down the lane a bit, but not far because Leyla went down on the sidewalk again for another little nap and the pleading started all over again. A few minutes later another man arrived and was hollering down the street asking questions. It sounded like the two men knew each other and that he’d been called in for reinforcements. Sadly, a few minutes later the second man walked away and man #1 was on his own again.

I wish I could tell you how this situation resolved, but it got quieter for a bit and I drifted off to sleep. No sign of Leyla on the street this morning so my guess is that they finally got the code sorted out and made their way into the cottage. Someone was going to need a serious hangover cure this morning! Like I said…young and dumb and hungover!

You all know I’m a baseball fan and I love using baseball’s language for life and life’s language for baseball. The above title is my way of saying JDT “hit it out of the yard” with the first two selections of our latest adventure! Hooray!!!

I felt compelled to write a few times while up in western Scotland. And each time anything I would have written would have, on balance, come out negative. I really struggled with the travel. And then, as truly wonderful and perfectly suited the Isle of Arran was to begin this journey, I knew I would need time to adjust, regain energy and begin to get in a European rhythm. The US and western Europe’s cultures have really come together and blended from when I first traveled here in 1984. Yet, there are still enough differences to make the experiences wonderfully unique. It is this uniqueness that I drives our similar, yet distinctly different desires to travel. Scotland was physically and emotionally hard for me as I adjusted and struggled to get enough calories in me.

On Thursday, I went on Amazon to order and have delivered the “food” that has become my sustenance. I’m intaking about 75% to 80% of my calories through liquid diet. In the US I have it figured out. I use the re-order feature and coupled with some combination of fresh banana, fresh strawberry, raw spinach, chocolate powder, Nutella, almond butter, ice and my excellent VitaMix I blend a calorie bomb (750-1,000+) concoction. In the UK, Ensure is unavailable – pivot. In UK, my high calorie protein powder is unavailable – pivot. I pivoted. And when I pressed order, it said I would receive July 25th – oh shit!

We arrived last night in Canterbury. I was armed with my last Ensure of the 24 I had sent from the US to Scotland. I’d essentially survived on those 23 Ensure and bananas. I knew that I’d have it in the morning, then have to figure it out. To bridge the gap until July 25th. Before we shut down for the evening JDT went to the market near us and was able to get some supplies including some bananas, strawberries and spinach. I had also sent baggies of my powders from the US. I wasn’t sure how we’d solve the blender issue. I sure as heck don’t want to lug a Vita Mix around Europe. And what did we find in our home for the next four weeks – a blender. Wow! Unusual in our experience with VRBO living. This was really coming together.

I wasn’t sure how this would all blend up? Perfectly!

Then when you least expect it, a miracle happens. As I finished my breakfast what showed up at the door. My packages!! A full two weeks “early”.

When we started planning this trip, I was stuck on spending a month or two in Dublin. Ireland has long been on my “must see/do/dwell list. I had a hard time finding a place to rent so then I switched to Edinburgh. Glen loved Scotland and especially the Highlands so as I said in my last post, I started researching how to travel in Scotland without a car and Isle of Arran came up.

As I pondered our first days abroad and the obvious challenge of jet lag at our advanced age, it made sense to go somewhere where we wouldn’t feel the need to race about and “see” everything. That meant that London was not an option. (And truth be told, it’s me who feels the need to “race about”. Glen does much better at slowing life down.) When I read about Isle of Arran and its “Scotland in miniature” title, it just made sense and the Douglas Hotel also seemed like a lovely option. It’s all been great and things always work out the way they are supposed to…mostly.

As I sat out on the deck enjoying my last Arran Anvil and thinking about our six days here, I found myself feeling incredibly grateful for this opportunity and for the people of Arran and Scotland, in general. Their graciousness, kindness, and friendliness really made our stay special.

Now, I don’t want to bore you with a travelogue so I’ll just share a few highlights and likely more than a few photos. Can’t help myself. Isn’t this better than an old-fashioned slide show though? At least you can scroll forward and you don’t have to sit in a dark room and listen to my slide-by-slide descriptions without an escape route!

In closing, one of the last times I left my mom in her apartment (turning 96 in August!), I could hear her saying on repeat as I walked away down the hallway…”Until next time, until next time, until next time…” Wow. That was hard. None of us has a guarantee for a “next time” and so for now….Isle of Arran, until next time…

Well. We’ve been gone from home for six days – two days of travel to reach our first destination. It was always our plan to arrive in Scotland at Isle of Arran and…do very little. Mission accomplished. Mostly.

But let me back up. I posted on FB about our travel to get here, so skip on forward if you already read that part. We started with an Uber ride to BART to SFO and two airplanes. We had a four hour bougie layover in the American lounge at JFK where we were entertained by a feuding couple with mediation from a drunk passenger and surveillance by an undercover cop. Well, I might be making that part up, but there was a very buff woman, dressed all in black, standing nearby clearly observing the altercations and she looked ready to intercede, if necessary. (Maybe American Airlines shouldn’t provide free alcohol at an open bar where you mix your own drinks whilst you have a many hours layover? Just a thought.)

Anyway, I digress…We caught the Tube at Heathrow to Euston Station where we boarded a train to Glasgow, followed by a (missed) train to Ardrossan Harbor. The entertainment in the Glasgow train station was the constant flow of teenagers dressed in a manner that told this old woman that their parents (mostly girl parents) weren’t home when they left the house. I had some curious glances (aka raised eyebrows) with a few other senior citizens who shared our bench. They were equally agog by the fashion show. Apparently the teens were all headed to a festival a la OutsideLands.

At the end of the train line, at Ardrossan Harbor, we caught our ferry to Brodick, Isle of Arran, Scotland where we finally walked the last part of our trip – a five minute walk to our hotel.

About 30 hours of travel is all. And we did it without any real feuds of our own! Success!!!

People have asked how we found this place. And I have to answer…I’m not sure. I think I was reading a Rick Steves Q & A on how to get around Scotland without a car when we were thinking of staying in Edinburgh, but wanted to visit the highlands. I came across this island and it’s described as “Scotland in Miniature” which seemed like a good fit when we only had a week. We also wanted a place where we could “do” jet lag and just relax. And if I do say so myself, I found a winner! Plus our hotel, The Douglas is lovely in all the best British/Scottish ways.

So we’ve been here four days and we’ve really succeeded at the “relax” thing. We had a day back in Ardrossan where we spent some time in a wonderful locally-owned bookshop. (The couple was actually “mixed” as he’s a Scott and she’s from Montana!)

Yesterday while Glen continued to recover from travel, I went out exploring and ended up at Brodick Castle. Oh, what a beautiful day! It’s been mixed weather with drizzle and wind and some sun – temps in the 60s since we’ve been here. This pattern is to be expected. But yesterday was a glorious, sunny day with temps in the…HIGH 60s-maybe even a low 70 for a bit! I’m proud of myself because I was thinking, nah, I’ll just go to the castle tomorrow and then I thought about the ever-changing weather here so decided to take advantage of a sure thing…Phew!

And today? Well, it won’t get out of the 50s and it’s been stormy all day. Seems like a good day to hang out in the lounge and enjoy a pot of tea, a comfy couch, a good book and a blog post (or two…or three…or maybe four???). And dinner at the bar with some whiskey and soup? Sublime!

*This is a post I wrote while in NOLA. Better (posted) late than never. 😉

We have stayed in many Airbnb/VRBOs over the years and by and large they have all been great. We may have had a small hiccup here or there, but nothing that I can even remember. (Not that I can remember much these days.)

Renting in NOLA proved to be a bit tricky. When I started looking, there really wasn’t much available. Glen did “what Glen does” and looked for other ways to solve the problem. He found a few furnished places on Zillow that rented by the month without a long lease. I took it from there. (Turns out that you’re not supposed to be able to rent units in the Quarter for less than a month unless the owner is part of a non-profit? (That could just be bad information I’m passing along…so take it with a couple grains of salt. People get around it somehow, but it does make it challenging for a renter to figure out the system.)

The unit I liked best was in the building that we are in, but it was a different apartment. The unit I liked was “available” online, but when I spoke with the representative it suddenly was not available, but…he had another unit that was “even better”! Yah. Red flag #1.

The unit that was “better” was not online yet, but it would be ready by our arrival. It was smaller, but less expensive. We couldn’t see it because…they never answered that question, but I’d guess because it was rented and the tenant hadn’t moved out yet. And I could rent it by giving him my credit card number over the phone. Red flag #2.

So I started doing my internet sleuthing to see if I could verify this rental, the company behind it, or some information that would give me confidence that it was real. I finally spoke with someone who seemed official and gave me some additional information. We agreed that I would sign the lease, but would not pay the deposit until a month later when they would take me on a “video” tour. All of this with only a few reviews for their other rentals though they’d been in the business for “15 years”. Red flag #3.

When the video tour date came and I didn’t hear from them, I was surprised. I thought that they would be hungry to get our money. Since I needed to know that we had secured an apartment, I reached out and we arranged the tour. Everything seemed fine so I paid the deposit with a promise that when it was furnished, they would send me photos and we would pay the rest upon arrival. We were told that the two bedrooms had queen beds so we went ahead and invited people to stay with us. A couple weeks before arrival, we received photos and I felt pretty good about things. Photoshop is a thing. Red Flag #4.

Fast forward to our arrival. We know what a good photographer can do with photos, right? When someone says that they are “waiting for the arrival of the furniture”, I assume that it’s been purchased and they are waiting on delivery. While there is nothing wrong with the furnishings, it’s not quite as they led me to believe. All the furniture is used, not quite fresh and clean, dinged up and the accessories are definitely from Ross because the price tags are still on them. (I’m a certified discount shopper so I have no problem with the purchase location, but please…remove the price tags!) Also, the bedrooms are small and I swear those beds are NOT queens. In the “main” bedroom, you can’t close the door because the room is so small that the door hits the bed. So we can’t ask our guests to stay in that room. But the back bedroom is on the parking lot with a staircase right outside the windows. When those big pickup trucks come in at night their headlights aim straight in the room and light up like a searchlight! We asked for blackout curtains (the windows are frosted) for the three windows, but received plain curtains for two of the windows. Fair warning for any of our readers still considering visiting us.

I’ve done some more sleuthing on the rental company and in talking with neighbors I’ve learned that they own quite a few rentals in and around the French Quarter. This information led me to believe that they would have the rental process down pat. Not so much. Since we are the first renters in this apartment, I wasn’t surprised that there were a few missing things such as hangars and when I asked for the items, some of them arrived. A few things though promised, were never supplied with no explanation. Not such a big deal. We either got what we needed from Amazon or figured out a work around. Princess problem.

But then things got a little weird. Something about this company is just off. Glen says they are part of the “Costa Nostra” which is probably not okay to say…??? There’s something weird about the circumstances of the people who live in the units in the back of the building. I’m not exactly sure who lives there, it seems to be a rotation for some. The ones I’ve met all work for the company and they are all from Honduras. Keep that in mind for the next paragraph. I’m just gonna leave it at that.

The other tenants since we’ve been here…There was supposedly a “traveling nurse” next door though we NEVER saw or heard her. Some other renters said that they had a “bait and switch” situation where they paid for a two bedroom/four bed unit and were given a studio. There were four of them. They complained and ended up having it resolved, but it eerily reminded me of our beginning situation. A young man (a chef) moved in next door and was obviously expecting to stay for the long haul (based on the amount of stuff his mom bought for him at Costco) and he disappeared in a matter of a two days. No trace of him.

The other day the workers were scurrying around painting and cleaning two of the units, including the one that the young man had suddenly vacated. It was definitely an “all hands on deck” situation. One of the workers told me (in Spanish) that some “VIPs” were coming so they were getting the units prepared.

The “VIPs” arrived the evening of the eclipse. There were a bunch of them dragging suitcases into the units. By a bunch, I think maybe seven or eight? All men and one woman. They had a truck with Texas plates that had a roofing company logo all over it. Dug and I were out watching the eclipse that evening and when one of the men came out, we introduced selves. He told me he was here on business and was from…Honduras so I thought that maybe he was connected to the company and I said, “Oh, do you know the people living in the back? They are from Honduras”. He paused and sputtered and said no. It was just awkward. And weird. It felt like I had asked something I shouldn’t have…Costa Nostra?

This evening as in after 6:00 pm, the workers are power washing and blowing the brick in front of the building and our doors. And they are washing the table that has been outside the whole time. I tried to clean it once, but I only had so many paper towels. Interesting that nobody thought to clean it for our arrival. And for the last few days…we can’t seem to keep our wi-fi working. We’ve been promised they are working on it, but no improvement. I think they are bandaging it and not fixing the root problem which is that they have a full building without enough capacity for the number of devices.

So apparently, my VIP status is not enough for the special treatment. And that, my friends, is my princess problem.

*And now in Europe…we’ll see how our VRBO/Airbnb rentals work out!

I’m a little worried that this “Home” thing will become like the “Home Alone” series and never end…just sayin’…

Yet, this theme of “home” continues to rattle around in my head. I was thinking about my literal homes and stories that they tell. I vaguely remember my first home and recently I walked to it while I was in LA. It’s a lot smaller than I remember it – isn’t that true for you, too? My second home was on Dunsmore Ave. (I’ve written about that weirdness in an earlier post.) It’s where I learned independence – riding my bike up the hills to visit friends, walking down to the liquor store, going to the park all day every day during the summer, smoking my first cigarette (and other things)…

My next home was brief and it wasn’t part of the plan. As I was the last kid at home, my parents were looking toward their “golden years” and they wanted to sell the house, buy an apartment complex and move to Glendale which was actually not even a different town, just a different part of town. As a very selfless, confident, mature 14 year old, I fully supported their decision…NOT!!! I threw a toddler tantrum EVERY time they talked about it and eventually, they backed down so the compromise was that they bought the apartment complex and we rented an apartment where I could finish high school with my classmates. Who says temper tantrums don’t work?

I eventually left that home (which always felt temporary) and moved to Chico for college where I lived in three different places over three years. My definition of “home” broadened at this time. It definitely became more about the town, the people, and the experiences. And yet…every time I returned to LA (less frequently referred to by me as “home”) and I breathed in that smoggy smell at the top of the Grapevine, I thought…no, I felt…at home. Sadly and strangely, that smell was a warm fuzzy. (I was in LA visiting my mom in June and that smell was there – the first time I’d smelled it in years…and it warmed my pointed little heart as I dropped into the valley).

While I was traveling during college, my parents bought a condo (That whole apartment-living thing didn’t ever pan out. They eventually sold the condo and bought another house. I guess apartments just weren’t “home” for them.) After my travels in Europe, I returned to LA to finish junior college; it definitely did not feel like home.

Later, my LA “home” became my sister and brother-in-law’s house. They always welcomed me and eventually my family. This “home” was more about the family time, the holidays, the parties, the memories, the people. And sadly, when my sister passed, I lost that sense of home. But that was not really about the house that I lost, it was the sister I lost (who in many ways was more of my mom…but that’s a different blog post).

So time passed, I moved around before Glen and with Glen. We had kids. We got old – ish. And still my definition of “home” continues to evolve, though I think that I can definitively say that our house and community of 31 years feels like “home”. I love our house, but I really love our family and friends. That’s what home is, right? It’s a feeling. A belonging. A knowing. A familiarity. Hey – is that where family comes from?

One other thought…I just finished a great and easy book called London’s Number One Dog-Walking Agency. It’s a memoir and the author mostly “thinks aloud” throughout the whole book. She’s funny and witty and thoughtful. And much of her thinking hit home. Pun intended. She struggled throughout the book to identify what home meant to her and at one point she concluded that “Family homes need a bit of messiness, a bit of tattiness, a lot of noise…Matter and clutter, telling the story of the family and the people who lived there. It shows that there are ideas and interests and arguments going in here that are too much fun to stop and tidy every last envelope. It tells you that there’s love.”

So I wonder…is “home” simply where the “love” is? Will Walnut Creek always be my home, sweet home? My home is where the heart is? My there’s no place like home?

Time will tell.

And in the meantime…stay tuned as our travels have begun! Here’s our “home” this week.

It’s been a whirlwind month (actually less than a month). Since arriving home on June 4th I’ve been away from home 6/22 nights and we leave in 3 days – spending our last night in CA at an SFO hotel prior to our 6:00 am flight to the UK on Friday.

I love our home. I love our community. I love my kids, my friends and yes, Dug, the dog. I am always conflicted about leaving. Last week my weird, anxiety dreams began and I know it’s because we’re getting ready to leave. And yet…it’s a big world and while home, I’m always dreaming of the next destination. Glen and I have always laughed that we spend our vacations planning our next vacation. Gotta work on that “living in the moment” thing! I think we are getting better at it.

I spent two days in Chico this week. The early morning drive up to my alma mater is always beautiful. I remember when I lived in Chico for school and later work, I always took a deep breath – a sigh – as I turned off the freeway. It just felt like I was home. As years passed and life got busy, I sort of forgot that sense of comfort that I got from arriving in Chico. This time…as I drove through the farm fields and watched the sun rising in the east, I reflexively took that long, deep sigh…ahhhhh… As I pulled into town on this early summer morning and I breathed in the fresh, clear air and felt the warm summer sun, I was reminded of why I absolutely love Chico in the summer.

There’s a calmness. There’s a sense of hope about the upcoming (academic) year. The sky is blue, the clouds are puffy white, the leaves are green and there’s just this sense of….ahhhhh. I remember my first summer in Chico. Every morning I woke up and looked out the window to that blue, blue sky and those green, green leaves. I remember thinking as I ate my salted cantaloupe for breakfast (why I remember that so specifically, I don’t know!) that I’d never known so many summer days of crisp, clear, blue sky. After all, LA ‘s summer months began with “June gloom” followed by July and August smoggy haze. The lazy days of a hot summer in Chico are a sweet, sweet memory.

I’m wandering with my words as I write this post trying to think…what exactly is the point of this post? I think that maybe I’m trying to express coming to understand that “home” is a word, but mostly it’s a feeling. As life bends and turns, we find many “homes” and they are not all literal places.

Yesterday, the four of us (Glen, Niels, Blair and I) traveled to Aptos to attend the baby shower of the daughter of our dear, dear friends – The Johnstons. “Grammsy”-to-be, Kimmy married a college friend of mine, Barry. In the 80s, Glen and I moved to Orange County and soon after, so did the Johnstons. Our lives ran parallel for a bit as we happily attended Lamaze classes together in preparation for our first-born children, Niels and Christina and then they moved to Oregon. While we never “broke up”, there were long periods where we rarely saw each other or even talked on the phone. (Remember when calls were “long distance” and expensive?) This relationship was one of those rare instances where as a couple, each of us instantly bonded and we became a very close foursome and two twosomes and we continued our deep friendship over the years, from near and far (mostly far).

And here’s what I’ve been trying to get to with my thinking today…Kimmy and I are what we call “potato sisters” – I’ll just let you wonder about that – and we have that connection that can’t/won’t be broken no matter the distance, time, or…break up. (That’s a different story.) So…short story long…Kim is another “home” for me. She gets me. She knows my history. She loves me in spite of my weaknesses. She laughs with me. She cries with me. And I love her because when I see her I just instinctively, reflexively take that big, long sigh….Ahhhh…I’m home. Love you, Kimmy.

Wishing that each of you have a “Kimmy” in your life…one of many “homes”.

I’m human. I am also pretty sure all reading are as well.

It is my normal ritual to review my calendar in the evening before the next day. Monday evening I knew I had a bit of a complicated Tuesday morning. There was a scheduled noon video meeting with the Murphy / Densmore family and advisors that was important not to miss. I also had a 10:00 AM follow up / diagnostic procedure scheduled at UCSF Parnassus campus. If you’ve been to the Parnassus campus you know two things; it is wonderfully situated with amazing views and it just isn’t easy to access via public transit. Coordinating things so I could exit and get home by noon as free of stress as possible would be tricky, or so I thought.

I considered the Uber-BART-Muni option (preferred choice). I haven’t ridden BART since before our NOLA experience so I was unsure of the “load”. I worry about that as standing in one place for an hour would put my back in a condition that would not bode well for the day to come. Niels is using BART these days for his occasional forays into his SF office. We chatted. No assurances. I decided to “sleep on it”.

I had an amazing night of sleep (slept through to 5:30 with one or maybe two old man get ups). I had my coffee, Citrucell and smoothie. It was 6:30ish. I used Apple Maps on my phone and it said I could drive and be there (28 miles) in a bit over an hour. I decided to get dressed, jump in the truck and drive over.

I was treated at UCSF Mt Zion from mid July through early September 2008. This involved every weekday for six weeks driving into SF. PLUS, Fridays were “special” as I was radiated twice and I usually came home for a nap between sessions. So, with all of that plus more I had much experience crossing the bridge. It is unusual that it isn’t accompanied by a bit of angst. Usually a worry as to being late (thanks Dad!).

Traffic was quite light all the way to the approach to the toll plaza. AND it crawled. This is normally where the angst builds. It began that way. But, I glanced at my phone and it said I would be to UCSF by 8:26. I asked myself what if it was much worse? Well, I might be there at 9:26? Ease. My phone was right.

A unique experience occurs for me when I enter the UCSF realm. The sense of being in my Mom’s arms. I feel cared for – deeply. I believe I am weird this way. AND it is so real for me. As I was sitting in the parking lot underneath the campus I took several minutes to let it wash over me. To consume me. I then headed up and into one of several buildings. Each time I passed through a screening (there are multiple) I was sure to warmly greet and thank them for all they do to keep us safe. Each seemed to appreciate. I then found a bathroom, relieved myself and washed my hands. The hospital soap at UCSF has a one of a kind smell. It sends me right back to the 7th floor Mt. Zion and the infusion center. The home, for me, of the most wonderful care a person can imagine.

I navigated my way to 5th floor suite 501. I again greeted the receptionist, announced I was early (9:05 for a 10:00), completed the easy-peasy reg process and found a comfortable seat to hang out, read and wait patiently. AND amazingly they called me in for the procedure at 9:15. We were wrapped by 9:30. I reversed my steps and drive and found my way home by 10:45. AMAZING.

THERE CAN BE A DIFFERENT WAY. IF ONLY I AM OPEN TO THE POSSIBILITIES.

Feels a little weird around here. I have one toe in Walnut Creek aka home and one toe in Google researching our next stops. I feel like I’ve barely had time to bask in the golden glory of our time in New Orleans (and it really was a golden time) and I’m already moving on – all while enjoying time at home with family and friends. (Plus taking care of those pesky house/home tasks that build up while we are gone.)

I’m not complaining…such a problem some might say…I’m just sharing the reality that our current lifestyle creates. And trust me, it’s a challenge I embrace…mostly.

So where to next? Where will we be dwelling? It’s actually a combo of dwelling and visiting. Our first two stops are in the UK. We have one week on the Isle of Arran which is in western Scotland, followed by a month in Canterbury, England which is southwest of London. You might have heard of a cathedral? Or a tale?

Believe it or not, and I might be a little embarrassed to say this…we selected these two stops (5 weeks total) with VERY little research or information. We are really stepping out of our usual pattern and just throwing a dart at the board. Now as I start researching things to do, places to eat…it looks like our darts are bullseyes! Stay tuned!

In the meantime…just enjoying California!

So…where will the path take us?

NOLA is a beautiful and it’s a beautiful place to walk. It’s obviously flat which makes it an easy walk (except when it’s 90 degrees and 80% humidity). We all know about the architecture and of course, there’s the people watching, but beware! The sidewalks are not in tip-top condition!

I’ve had this post in mind for the entire time we were in NOLA. I took TONS of pictures of the ground/sidewalks. I can now say what I was afraid to say out loud…because I was afraid I’d jinx us. It’s a miracle neither of us tripped and fell while walking on these incredibly uneven surfaces. The photos do not do it the reality justice!

So “read” on at your own risk!

And here are a few hazards I ran across…

There was another kind of danger that I didn’t take photos of…it’s the kind that shows up after those late night Bourbon Street drinkers head home in the wee hours and they don’t quite make it before…And that’s all I’ll say about that.

But there was also lots of messaging on the sidewalks.

And I probably have 50 more photos of the sidewalk. Maybe another day! But I think you get the gist.