VooDoo? VooDon’t.

Up pretty early and into downtown New Orleans for what turned out to be the chumpiest cemetary/voodoo tour of the French Quarter. Don’t throw yer money away like we did. Some hungover “resident” dragged us along for a whole 12 blocks, for a half-baked architecture lecture, through a cemetary and then to some “voodoo queen’s” altar/tourist pit. You know, being tourists and all. Pretty underwhelming.

You know, it’s easy to get excited about this stuff. Throw in some Evan Rose and a pinch of Dale, and suddenly it all sounds fun. If it sucks, we’ll make it fun. Well, not this time. We tried, we tried.

The cemetary was pretty interesting, and would’ve been a lot more fun if it wasn’t 100 million degrees out, with the sun just baking down on you like an ant under a microscope. Man.

I’m a northerner. I’m big. I get squirmy in the heat, fast. So it goes.

We could’ve/should’ve just walked the neighborhood ourselves, but thought the tour would “be fun” with insider tidbits. Yawn.

The smell of puke(?) is as pervasive at noon as it is at the height of a Saturday night all over the French Quarter. Pretty weird. Queasy steps, every time I check this place out. This was my third time, and mystery still remains. Puke? Sewage? Voodoo scents? Big mystery.

With the exotic scents of the French Quarter revving up our appetites, we headed over to a hearty lunch/supper at Deanie’s seafood pit. All kinds of shrimp and crab and crawdad and stuff. Being not too much of a seafood guy, I dabbled in a little shrimp and choked down a shoe leather steak. The rest of the crew enjoyed the seafood mess wholeheartedly.

Out of New Orleans, we drove north over Lake Ponchartrain’s 24-mile-long elevated highway, then caught I-10 over to Gulfport, marveling at the white sand beaches, mansions and cool breeze.

Went to bed early in a Days Inn. Quiet end to a mellow day.

Tomorrow we start junkin’ along the coast. Big fun,