My blue shorts have a hole in them. Right in the ******. I knew this before I decided to pack them on this trip, but it was extra unfortunate today because they were my final clean pair I had to wear them, and I also noticed the hole had gotten bigger to the point you can see my underwear underneath them. That's a really irreverent start to today's blog, and doesn't really have to do with anything in it, apart from the fact I wore clean clothes today, which after 9 days of travel, is a pretty good achievement. I decided the time had come to wear clean clothes because we were going to be in close proximity to other people, having booked into both the cemetery and the swamp tours, all day today. Every single day we've been away so far has been really hot, so for the 8 days previously I've done a fine job of swapping between my two other pairs of shorts and making sure that if they weren't actually staying clean, then for the purpose of any photos we were taking that had me in it, they at least looked like I was regularly swapping them. But today I felt that for the sake of other people, clean shorts were key. Even if they had holes in them. Heck, that may even have excited people more. I'm looking at you Ms Stacey Bond. Moving on. One sure fire way of making sure we don't sleep in everyday is to book tours that start early. Then we just have to get up. And today was one of those days, even if we cut it as fine as we possibly could. I call that time management to perfection. Stace calls it annoying. Once we were up, we quickly got ourselves showered and ready to go. Before I completely move on from the fashion of the day (I'm sure you thought I already had), it needs to be noted here that Stace completely risked, and maybe even lost, her dignity today, deciding to wear jeans and runners (junners) in what could be the ultimate self humiliation. In fairness to her, we were doing a walking tour and her thongs were giving her feet agony, but I'll let you be the judge. Lucky she's beautiful and the vast majority of people wouldn't have been able to take they're eyes off her gorgeous face to notice it. (I hope I saved myself from her anger when she reads this). I did get over her shoe attire, sucked it up, and agreed to go out in public with her (that's true love), so by about 8:15am, we'd hit Canal St. Our first order of the day was breakfast where, similarly, we put in our first order of the day (hehe). We chose the restaurant on Canal St not because it looked appetising or classy or anything (though it did look both of those), but because there was a bit of action happening on the street, with an ambulance and fire truck tending to a man laying on the ground, that we wanted to be all across. Sadly, the walls of the restaurant meant we didn't see what was going on - the man and emergency vehicles had disappeared by the time we were done - but breakfast was still good regardless. In case you were wondering, I had an omelette with grits, which confused me just as much as they had the other day, but were still good. By the time we'd finished breakfast, which took a little longer than expected thanks to the never ending cups of coffee they give you, and the sheer niceness of the waitress who just kept wanting to talk (she was really nice) (she probably wanted a good tip) (she got one), it was about 8:50am. Seeing as our tour started at 9, we had to leg it pretty quickly to the tour desk, which was at the dock of the Steamboat Natchez where we had been on our first morning here. True to form, we got there right on time. It wasn't long before I joined Stace in looking ridiculously touristy, not because I decided to wear junners (**** no), but because when we boarded our tourist bus, they gave us a sticker to wear on our tops to make sure we looked part of a tour. Classy. Stace for her part tumbled further into the abyss of poor fashion with the sticker addition on her chest. The bus was taking us on a tour of the Saint Louis Cemetery of New Orleans, which apparently is pretty legendary in these parts. So legendary that there are actually 3 of them. We were going to number 1. I'd never heard of it because 1: cemeteries aren't a particular hobby of mine (you could say I'm not dying to be into them), and 2: I'm not from these parts. It's famous because of the unique way they buried the bodies here, plus it's super old. Because New Orleans has a lot of European history (who would've thought when it has a French Quarter?), it was settled pretty early on, and the cemetery opened way back in 1789. When Stace was a toddler. The unique burial ways apparently stem from the fact that this area back from the river is very low and has a high water table, meaning they couldn't dig into enough dry dirt to bury the bodies. Whenever a flood came, they just rose back up and floated on the water. And no, they weren't Jesus. So they resorted to entombing people in vaults above the ground, often with enough room for the whole family. In just one city block, there are many thousands of people buried in the cemetery. But I also read Wikipedia, and they said the above ground vaults are more because of the French and Spanish influences than the high water table, so who knows. If cemeteries were indeed a hobby of mine, I'd probably research those stories more. But they're not a hobby of mine, so I'm gonna say both probably have some truth. Unless some p****similar to me has gotten on Wikipedia and made the whole story up. The cemetery has some pretty historical figures in it (apart from the obvious fact that it's really old), including old politicians, American civil rights activists, and even a voodoo queen. Seriously. A woman called Marie Laveau is said to be buried somewhere in it, and while they think they know what tomb, there are 3 that could be the right one! Legend has it she cured all kinds of ills and practiced witchcraft, but as with anything like this, these stories are conflicting. Either way, I'm beginning to think they like to make up whatever they want in New Orleans, given this example, the fact they don't know what tomb exactly she is in, and the fact that they may have made up why the tombs are above ground. They must believe a lot of it though, because the only way to get into the cemetery is through a guided tour. They closed down public access a few years ago because they were sick of the damage being caused to the graves, in particular any of the 3 Marie Laveau was believed to be buried in, which all kept getting damaged by people who would draw 3 big X's on them, then circle around the grave to break any curses they had. Weird. Someone even painted the whole thing pink, which proved to be the final straw and they closed it for public access after that. We wandered around the cemetery for about an hour, and the stories were actually quite intriguing and gave a good insight into some American history. We also saw Nicholas Cage's future grave. When he visited here once he loved it, so he purchased his tomb and built it to look like a pyramid, ready for when he dies. I find the concept of that a bit freaky! After the walking tour, we boarded the bus and it returned us to the original starting point in the French Quarter. Stace was getting sick of being judged for being in junners, and we only had about 90 minutes before our next tour, so we walked back to the hotel. When we got back, I toyed with the idea of finding our way out to Willy Mae's Fried Chicken, which I'd heard was absolutely amazing, but as it was a little way out from the French Quarter, getting there in the time we had would be difficult. Instead, we used the time we had to buy some supplies that we needed. There was a pharmacy across the road, so we headed in there to get toothpaste, and Stace needed deodorant. Like many of my details in this blog, that's probably not all that interesting, apart from the fact that while we were in there, a man was arrested for shoplifting. Walking that way also made us stumble across a liquor store that sold fried chicken, or as I'd like to call it, heaven on earth. We went in and I got some fried chicken and a couple of cold beers for us, which would be a perfect lunch snack before our swamp tour. It was delicious, with the crunchiest outside of chicken I've ever had, even if the chicken itself was a little dry. What we should've done was buy even more beers, because when our tour bus picked us up from our hotel for our swamp tour, other people were bringing on eskies for beers on the way and during the tour. Brilliant idea. It was probably lucky we didn't though, given Stace's small bladder and the tendency of mine to feel small when I drink a bit. But geez we could've used them on the way out to the swamp. The driver just didn't stop talking ****! The worst part about it was there was some interesting conversation by the passengers being drowned out, in particular with a couple of Dutch blokes who'd come from Amsterdam. I wanted to find a good time to jump in the conversation and drop the fact I have a windmill tattooed to my ****, but lucky for them, the opportunity never came. When we got to the dock at the swamp, it was pretty busy. A few tour buses were converging at the same time, not only to drop off people, but to pick up those that were coming in from earlier tours. Again most of the people were well stocked with beers. Cue jealousy. We got in line to pay and get in the right group for the tour. We also admired the couple of alligators in the tank at the back of the building, including an albino one, which only survive in captivity. Finally it was our time to board the air boats and head out prowling for alligators. We felt pretty redneck y'all. We were in a pretty big air boat, and after a 10 minute cruise it was full throttle into the swamp. The boat was loud but we looked pretty cool with our earmuffs on. I can only imagine how fashionable Stace would've been if she was still in her junners. Fashion probably would've ceased to exist at that point. Apparently all the swamps in these parts are private and man made. I'm not sure what would drive man to make swampland - there are a variety of other more useful things that man has accomplished in making - but it is pretty redneck so I guess anything is possible. Regardless, they were quite pretty, they looked natural, and they were packed absolutely full of alligators. Seriously, they were everywhere, and as soon as the boat stopped, they'd swarm around the boat. Our redneck guide was loving it, and attracted them over with marshmallows, because alligators are attracted to white. No wonder the albino ones only exist in captivity; judging by the way the alligators went at the marshmallows, the white ones'd be ****** in the wild! While we were out there we also saw an owl, some turtles, and seriously a s***load of alligators. Our guide even had a baby alligator for us to hold and pat. Like every type of baby, Stace and I were smitten. While it was being passed around, our guide regaled tales of his redneckness (not actually a word, but you know what I mean). He seriously loved alligators. They didn't love him as much though; he'd been bitten 3 times. I've seen crocodiles before, and while these alligators were more plentiful, and way more active, they were a lot smaller and nowhere near as scary as crocs. Some of the things this bloke was doing to torment the alligators would've seen his arm bitten off by a ****** off croc, but needless to say it was an entertaining trip. All too soon (well not really, we'd seen the alligators and the sun was hot so we were ready to go, but saying all too soon gives an indication of the enjoyment of the tour, implying it went too quickly) we were heading back to the dock. When we got back, we loaded into the bus again for our return to New Orleans. Luckily, our driver was much more quiet on the return trip. Unluckily, I still had no opportunity to show off my tattooed ****. By 4:30pm or so, we were back at our hotel. We were pretty keen to have a few drinks, in classic New Orleans style, on Bourbon Street tonight, so we decided to freshen ourselves up a bit before heading out on our final night in the city. By 5pm we were ready. Despite it only being a Monday night, Bourbon Street was pumping. These New Orleanians mustn't sleep, or at least the tourists that come here don't! We had half a mind to head across the French Quarter to seek a psychic Stace had been told about by her friend, so our plan was to have a couple of drinks on our journey. We were attracted to our first bar by the live music bellowing out. They were singing 'Daniel' by Elton John, which I know my brother loves (not), so our main reason for going in was so I could get a snapchat of them singing it to send to him and **** him off. Classic brotherly love. That may have got us in there, but the 2-for-1 stubbies and great live music very quickly got us comfortable. The music was awesome, and the beers were so refreshing that we were a few in in no time at all. Our resolve to go looking for the psychic was quickly breaking, but eventually we did decide to go and seek her. After all, it wasn't every day we'd be in New Orleans. Unfortunately we couldn't find her - probably the fact it was getting on meant she'd packed up for the day - but in hindsight it was a pretty good decision we did head off and go looking. Firstly, it meant we found a pretty good restaurant, rather than a pub, to go for dinner, and on our last night I finally got to try the famous New Orleans gumbo, which is a traditional stew with shellfish and Cajun vegetables. It was good, but those who know me know that stew isn't really my favourite food in the world - we're not living in the 1700s. Good, but no burger. But at least it was quick (like we were eating inside 10 minutes of taking our seats at the restaurant), meaning we were back on Bourbon Street in no time. Which brings us to the second reason of good from our hindsight knowledge. Secondly, we're glad we had a break and sobered up a little, because on our return to Bourbon Street, we eventually got all kinds of ****eyed drunk. At the end of dinner, we were on the edge, teetering with the idea of going back to the hotel or heading back for more drinks. But Bourbon Street won out again, primarily the awesome music from the venue we were at before, which still had 2-for-1 beers. We took full advantage of it too, starting our second chapter on Bourbon Street getting wasted enough on the cheap beers to not care that we were paying twice as much later in the night. That's good marketing by the operators there. Which only got better. Later on, they started bringing out test tube shots for $3 each, and to sell them, they got the waitress to come around, put the ends of 2 tubes in her mouth, then put the open ends in blokes' mouths, making out like she was sucking on them as they were drunk. There wasn't really an option to say no (not that most blokes probably would the way she was delivering them), so bang, $6 was blown (so to speak) just like that! Thankfully I saw through it, and knew my limits, so steadfastly avoided eye contact every time she went past. But the night was getting hectically big regardless. We were getting loose enough to make friends with everybody. From the old couple who suspiciously left early (c'mon guys, we were nice), to the younger group who were also doing their best to avoid eye contact with the waitress, we clearly looked to be having the time of our lives, which in our state, we were likely saying we were. I had a real wow moment in the night too. Towards the end, I was having one of my many visits to the toilet that night, when it finally struck me why they had shelves above the urinal. They actually allowed a space to store your drink! I was both impressed at the consideration, and freaked out at the idea of people taking their drinks into a room where hundreds of blokes ****, and where most of them probably miss. Seemingly quickly, the night came to an end. Only to be replaced by the early hours of the morning where the partying and drinking continued unabated. Unsurprisingly, writing about the events by this time is difficult; it was getting very hazy. But I do remember my brisk walk to the toilet when I finished my last drink, thinking I was gonna spew. I didn't! I also remember leaving the bar, mainly because it meant food! And Stace and I indulged. I looked for fried chicken, but in the end settled for the most massive piece of pizza my drunk eyes have seen. Naturally, I got 2 pieces. Meanwhile, Stace got a hot dog with all the trimmings, and we headed back to our hotel. By the time we were finished, it was nudging 3am, I was completely full, and Stace was wearing half her hot dog on her clothes, also full. We were completely, utterly, hopelessly drunk. And oblivious to the punishment that was inevitably coming tomorrow. Eek.