The Courtyard of the Two Sisters was three blocks from our hotel. Even at nine in the morning, the humidity sucked our energy away and our progress toward the Courtyard was halting. Our seating was in an enclosed courtyard where huge fans hung from the eves of the building, offering a small bit of relief from the heat. Waiters and waitresses in stiff white shirts and pressed black aprons outnumbered us two to one. Mimosas came by the half liter, a half-liter of orange juice and a half- liter of champagne. Two buffet lines offered an elegant array of everything one would hope for. Our waitress brought us fans and I instantly wanted to be rich and lazy and to be able to wander here every day for a late breakfast or early lunch. I promised myself to check out the price of white linen suits on Amazon as soon as we got back to the room.

I can’t begin to list the foods I tried, but I know that I concluded with Bananas Foster, bread pudding, and ice cream.

We should have hired a peddle-cab, or even a couple of wheel barrows to haul us back to the hotel but in the spirit of physical fitness and a huge amount of caloric guilt we staggered back to the hotel in a daze of carbohydrate overload.

From a strategic spot on the bed, I supervised while Lydia prepared us for the next morning’s departure. We had a jazz riverboat buffet cruise (yes more food) scheduled for the evening and didn’t want to have to deal with packing post feast.

The dock for the Riverboat Natchez was just across the street from the hotel. The humid air and heat did nothing to dampen the volume of the calliope concert coming from its upper deck. The Natchez is one of the few steamboats in operation and the power of the steam from its huge boiler gave the calliope volume only equaled by a pair of bagpipes at full wail. We wandered away until the concert was over.

When we returned, we boarded immediately and were seated in the dining hall. I confess to a longing for “normal” food and opted for the roast beef and potatoes, though some bread pudding did find its way onto my dish later. A jazz band accompanied dinner and were generally good other than the musician who felt compelled to do Louis Armstrong impressions during two songs. I’m of the opinion that if you aren’t Louis, don’t try to sing like him. (Side note, I remember an interview that Edward R Murrow did with Mr. Armstrong when I was little {the picture was black and white} and Murrow asked Louis what a cool cat was and Armstrong replied “If you don’t know, you ain’t).

After dinner, the boat pulled out for a two-hour cruise down and then up the Mississippi, while the band played under a full moon. We sat on a green bench on the middle deck and cuddled, enjoying our time together. It was a beautiful night. That being said, I have to add that for all of its charm and quirky behavior, we could hardly wait to get back to our airconditioned room. New Orleans is just too damn hot.

The Road