Thursday August 6
Today we drove over the longest bridge in the world. It may be true. It seemed like it. A 24 miles bridge just to get there: New Orleans. It had to be good.
And that night we ended up in the French Quarter, strolling from bar to bar. In Pat O’Brian’s we drank ‘Hurricanes,’ ominously named - and nicer than the real thing. Then I moved on to something called ‘The Climax’ which isn’t nicer than the real thing, but strong. I can’t remember what it tasted like or how many I had.
In several bars we were ripped off but ‘climaxed’ out of our minds it was hard to argue. So we accepted our change and soldiered on.
In one place, Jazz musicians played standing on the bar and you bought your drinks between their dancing feet. It called for concentration which might have been lost had they been women. We stayed there for some time, syncopating drinks and dollar bills between flailing limbs and carelessly aimed trombones.
What I found interesting was a Stripper’s bar. I’d never been to one before and wondered what facial expression to employ. I needn’t have bothered. I couldn’t believe how bored the women looked and in consequence how tedious the event. Woman after woman walked on stage, stripped, twirled and walked off again. It was a conveyor belt operation. They must have had a small army of them backstage, either that or they re-dressed behind the curtains and walked on again. I don’t think we’d have noticed, but disappointing, yes. You want a little more from Sodom and Gomorrah.
In the early hours of the morning, I returned to camp for a beer or two. Evelyn and Laura joined me. They may have been instrumental in persuading the Superintendent to re-open the bar and joining us. There was plenty to think about as the beer slipped down… the world’s longest bridge, bored strippers and grinning bar-tenders who played strange tricks with change.