New Orleans, LA (October 23)

We spent a leisurely morning walking through part of the Garden District.

After an early lunch, we were picked up for a Pearl River Eco-Tour. The driver told us that it would be about a forty-minute trip. On our way out of town, we encountered a traffic backup caused by a broken-down hop-On/hop‐Off bus halfway across a long bridge. Prophetic.

The van took I-10 east towards Slidell, crossing the eastern end of Lake Pontchartrain. We then took some secondary roads, eventually arriving at the Honey Island Swamp in the Pearl River Wildlife Management Area. We disembarked the van at the base station located on the Old (West) Pearl River.

We met our guide Trey who grew up in the area.  He loved all things relating to hunting, trapping and fishing and was a self-proclaimed great cook of anything wild that he brought home. He was certainly knowledgeable and shared information in an entertaining way.

During our tour we transitioned from marsh to swamp, the former tall grasses and other herbaceous plants and the latter dominated by trees. The entire area was within a bayou, which Trey said was a southern term for a slow-moving river.

While in the swamp, we saw raccoons and wild hogs. To get them to come near, Trey threw them sugar-free marshmallows. He explained that although the animals wolfed them down, the marshmallows (as we all know) do not have any substance in them that is filling, so eating them does not change an animal's dependence on foraging for food.    

We started back to the city about 4:30 aboard a 27-passenger bus.  Halfway across the long bridge spanning the eastern part of Lake Pontchartrain, while traveling in the left lane and doing probably better than 70 MPH, the outer right rear tire, over which Pam was seated, blew.

The driver pulled off on the left-hand breakdown lane. Every large truck that passed caused the bus to rock.

This was the view from my left side window seat.

Recognizing that we were not in a good place, and because it had two rear tires on each side, in a breath-holding, heart-racing maneuver, the driver pulled the van back into traffic, working it over to the right-hand lane and eventually off the bridge. 

Once off the bridge, we pulled to the side of the road to assess the status of the remaining rear tire. A passenger who was knowledgeable (or just faked it to get back in time for a dinner reservation) said it would get us the rest of the way back to the city.  This became a less bad idea when we were joined by two cars, one taking station ahead of us and the other behind us, both with their flashers on.  

The van went as far as the first hotel, tire thumping in the wheel well almost the entire way there.  

We all got out and had an opportunity to see the blown tire. If you look closely, you will notice that the edge of the wheel looks oddly ragged.

There was no tread, or more accurately no tire where the tread used to be. Only the tire wall that was high enough up to remain clear of the pavement (due to the second rear tire on that side and to the inside of this one) survived.

The owners transferred those of us going to other hotels into their cars and dropped us off. 

During the course of events, I mentally questioned some of the decisions made by our driver and the owners. I was not seated where I could accurately assess the viability of theorized options. The mood of those on the bus was stable throughout the experience and remained so even after we disembarked the bus. It would be safe to say that we'd found the afternoon more stressful than expected.

For dinner, having enjoyed it the last time we were here, we returned to Tableau in the French Quarter. The food was good, but the service a bit sloppy, causing me to sorely miss Britt, Rebecca and Bella (our waitstaff at Commander's Palace). 

Tableau is located two blocks from Jackson Square in one direction and Bourbon Street in another. If I was to eat there again and the weather was appropriate, I might request a table upstairs and outdoors.

After dinner we walked over to Bourbon Street and then up it to Canal Street. It was living up to its reputation - lots of people and competing music, hawkers trying to draw in passers-by, individuals who had over-imbibed and those working hard at achieving that status, and a police presence at every cross street.

From Canal Street we caught a taxi back to the hotel.