skatoolaki

I’d never heard of Machu Picchu before, yet one day in 2000 (the year that brought about many great, life-altering, and prosperous changes in my life) I awoke from a night’s sleep with the words “Machu Picchu” repeating over and over in my head.

I had no idea what that meant, so when I got to work that morning I Googled it and learned that it was a place…and I knew I had to go there.

I still do not know what made me wake up with those words chanting in my head, but I know it was a calling and someday – when the time is right – I will make it to Machu Picchu.

A dear friend moved to Nashville around a year and a half ago to attend Belmont University, where he is working on his masters degree in Music. After a trip home for the Christmas holiday, we – myself, my fiancé, and a friend – followed him back to Nashville to spend the week of New Year’s.

It was my first time ever visiting Nashville and I was absolutely charmed with the city, which my fiancé and I decided looked – downtown – like a bright, clean, nice-smelling New Orleans’s French Quarter.

On the afternoon of New Year’s Eve, my friend took us to a purple-bricked building that titled itself World Famous Tootsies Orchid Lounge on Broadway. Wall-to-wall, nearly floor to ceiling, was stacked with yellowing and cracked framed photographs of all the faces that had graced Tootsies’s little stage. From insanely famous to only known to a few, there had to be literally thousands of star-studded boots that had tapped to a tune on those wooden stage floorboards!

There was a live band playing, with (sexy) singer and guitarist Jake Maurer. Onstage as well was a pretty blonde fiddler; as good as she was cute – the devil likely would’ve met his match against this girl!. Jake’s MySpace page lists a fiddler bandmate as Kari Nelson – hopefully we’ll see more of her in the future. In all honesty, we were packed nearly like sardines in that little bar, but everyone was having a wonderful time and the music was just top-notch.

It eventually got too crowded, so we moved next door to a larger yet less-packed bar called The Second Fiddle. This place had the largest, most interesting collection of old radio receivers I have ever seen. The walls were lined with shelves holding these relics of the original always-available music. I honestly didn’t even know that many types of old and antique radios existed!

We had a great time there before heading home to enjoy a private party at home to ring in the new year.

On our last day in Nashville, our friend took us to The Red Door Saloon, where we stayed until dark and I got to experience “real life” shuffleboard (to date, I’d only ever played it on the Wii). The bar had a great atmosphere, friendly patrons, and a very hip look overall.

I’d recommend visiting all of the few places we dropped in on during our stay in Nashville. Though most of our time was spent at home, catching up with old friends, I hope to return to Nashville next year and see some more of its sites and attractions.

The city, overall, is simply lovely; there is just no other way to describe it. It is clean, well laid-out, and most of the buildings fit a similar architectural-style; giving it all a very attractive and pleasantly uniform appearance. Vanderbilt University is nestled neatly within the city, its charming, collegiate facade not at all contrasting with the more modern structures in its vicinity.

Everything is just so carefully done to flatter its neighbors and enhance the overall beauty of the city. Coming from the dirty, random claptrap that is most Louisiana cities, it was a pleasant surprise. In fact, when driving by a two-story home near Vanderbilt – obviously housing some college students – it seemed so shockingly out of place to see dozens of beer bottles strewn along the front porch and tossed carelessly about the yard that we all reflected on just how incongruous it seemed in the otherwise tidy city.

I will definitely be returning to Nashville someday, and with plans to see and do more. Our time there was very special – made even moreso by our dear friend and host, who took special pains to make sure we at least saw the important hotspots and experienced some of Nashville’s lesser-known treats (such as Gigi’s Cupcakes and Cinco de Mayo, our friend’s favorite Mexican eatery).

I would recommend a trip to Nashville to anyone. The hilly countryside, the charming city, and the chance of bumping into a celebrity in little, downtown honkytonks will make a memorable trip for anyone.

Write up from At New Orleans...

“One of the all-time favorite tourist attractions of the New Orleans French Quarter is Jean Lafitte’s Blacksmith Shop, on the corner of Bourbon Street and St. Phillip Street. It was built sometime before 1772, and is one of the few remaining original “French architecture” structures in the French Quarter.

Two devastating fires, one in 1788, and the other in 1794, all but destroyed New Orleans. Hundreds of buildings – businesses and residences – were destroyed. New Orleans, and Louisiana, was under Spanish rule at the time, and the city was rebuilt as a Spanish styled city, replacing what was a crudely built French port and trading post.
Jean Lafitte’s Blacksmith Shop

Tradition has it that the Lafitte brothers operated this blacksmith shop as a legitimate appearing business, serving as a front for their privateer enterprises. One of the brothers was the infamous Jean Lafitte, Privateer, and co-hero of the Battle of New Orleans. Rumor has it that his treasure is buried in everyone’s backyard. There are many myths and rumors about the life of Jean Lafitte, but very little has been substantiated.

We do know that Jean Lafitte operated from Barataria Island in Barataria Bay, south of New Orleans. The local authorities knew where his camp was located, and even succeeded in overrunning it once. Because of his assistance to Andrew Jackson during the Battle of New Orleans, he received a Presidential pardon, and then disappeared into the foggy mists, for all time. Later, The United States built Fort Livingston on his island, and its ruins are there to this day. If you visit the Town of Lafitte, you may get a boat ride to the island.

For the past several decades, Lafitte’s Blacksmith Shop, privately owned, is operated as a bar and restaurant, and is a favorite haunt for tourists and locals alike. I must confess, that back in the 1960’s, I was a student at the Jean McCrady Art School, across the street and down the block. There were many nights when our class, having finished our work for the evening, would adjourn to the Blacksmith Shop for a cold nightcap. Today, it remains a popular gathering place, and a favorite haunt for the New Orleans Kats and French Quarter Rats.”

Write up from Everything.com:

“Located on Bourbon Street in the Vieux Carré, Marie Laveau’s House of Voodoo is one of New Orleans’ most famous tourist attractions. It sells a wide variety of candles, oils, roots, beads, blood, bones, charms and other material supplies for practicing the voodoo religion. It also offers tarot card readings and an assortment of literature and promotional items for sale.

The most famous name in New Orleans voodoo legend is Marie Laveau. During the first half of the 19th century, this devout catholic mulatto woman cast and lifted spells, brewed up love potions and predicted people’s futures. Prominent politicians sought her help, as did many citizens during the yellow fever epidemic. One of her fifteen children, Marie II (who was a voodoo priestess as well), briefly lived in the French Quarter house where the voodoo shop now resides.

Current voodoo practices in New Orleans range from candle, herb, and oil hoodoo to full-scale religious rituals involving blood sacrifice. Some elements of Santeria have been incorporated, although the female-dominated voodoo is viewed by many as the sister religion of the male-dominated Santeria. Most everything a practitioner of these faiths would need, within the limits of law and just short of livestock, can be bought inside this small clapboard house, including the infamous “Black Death” brand of cigarettes.

There is a shrine built to honor the Widow Paris inside the shop, and custom dictates that visitors should pay their respects by leaving a piece of fruit or candy for Msl. Laveau, and something shiny (ie: a coin or spare key) or a cigarette for Papa Legba. It’s a touristy ritual, but it’s kind of cool.

If amulets and hexing tools are on your shopping list but you don’t have time to make it down to the Quarter, there is another Marie Laveau’s House of Voodoo shop in the Riverwalk Mall that opened during the late 1980s. Can’t find that perfect gift for your Goth friend at Spencer’s? Marie Laveau’s sells the cheapest rosaries in the city, and carries a lot of skull-themed items. The mall store sells the same stuff as the original store, but without the rustic character and gutter fumes.”

This is THE place to go after a night of partying in the Quarter – or during the day for a great lunch, or even at night for a quick meal.

The atmosphere is always fun and kickin’, and the food is never anything but delicious. A true New Orleans classic – don’t come through without stopping in.

The Grill is open Tuesday and Wednesday 8:0am – 12:00am and 24 hrs daily from 8:00am on Thursday – 12:00am Monday night.

From the official website…

“Jackson Square, located on the Mississippi River, in the heart of the French Quarter, has been the focal point of the city since the founding of New Orleans. It pays tribute to Andrew Jackson, the Baroness Pontalba, and has been home to an open-air artists colony for well over half a century. Surrounding Jackson Square are museums, shops and restaurants.”

My first time at the HoB was with my now-boyfriend, the last weekend in August, in 2001. It was our first date and he was taking me to see The Counting Crows.

We had a charming supper at the restaurant, then headed into the club where friends of his were holding our seats. I absolutely loved the intimate atmosphere of the club; everyone was so close to the band, it was as if they were just hanging out, performing for a small group of friends. An amazing experience all around – the HoB and The Counting Crows.

We truly bonded, and now…almost six years later…we’re still together and ridiculously happy.

Established in 1907, Maringouin (Cajun French for “mosquito”) was a fast-growing and bustling little town with two large economic advantages: it had two waterways running through it (Bayou Maringouin and Bayou Grosse Tete), and an active railroad going straight down its center.

At the height of its growth, the small town boasted a hotel and even it’s own movie theater.

Maringouin is now a sleepy, old town; a fading memory of long-gone days when small, Cajun towns boomed and people, most now long dead, lived out their dreams and wove their lives into the fabric of a small, close-knit community.

I highly recommend this quiet, little cemetery to anyone that enjoys old cemeteries, graveyards, and studying the past and ancestry.

On the weekend of Mother’s Day, 2006, myself, my sister and my mother made a trip out to the Natchez Trace to do some exploring and sight-seeing. The very first thing we stumbled upon touched us so deeply that the rest of our excursions paled in comparison.

Just off the Trace we found a small, unmarked cemetery surrounded by a beautiful wrought-iron fence and ringed with somber oaks. As we marveled at the beauty of the elaborate tombstones, we realized we were looking at the graves of a single, ill-starred couple’s children; nearly every grave bore their names marking the children as their own.

Seven youths lay interred in this peaceful, yet sorrowful, place and it left a deep impact on each of us. We returned again the next day and lay a peach rose on each grave.

I became determined to learn who these children, and their luckless parents, were. I wanted to know what had taken their young lives, and how they came to rest in this small, unmarked cemetery off the Natchez Trace. It bore no name, no mention on our tour map, or along the road which it sat a ways back from.

All I had were names and dates, and so began my journey to learn what had become of the Brandon Children. The fruits of my research gave birth to this page.

I’m sure others have been as touched by the lovely, little cemetery – surrounded by strong oaks like a mother’s embrace – as we were. Who could not be moved by the brokenhearted yet beautiful verses a grieving mother wrote and had etched into each grave? For those that wanted to know more, as we did, I am sharing the information I have found.

(I have the info on the Brandon family at http://thebrandonchildren.com/)