PRIP TRIP: NEW ORLEANS, LA

A Four- Day Adventure in NOLA

St. Charles Street, NOLA

March 4- Mardi Gras

Stationed in Uptown, we had a great view of the parades, and as a first timer to Mardi Gras, it was essential to find a front row spot. The various parades are put on by krewes, or historic (for the most part) social clubs. Imitating European royalty, each krewe has a ranking structure of king, queen, dukes, knights, and captains. While there are several parades in a day, there is usually one main parade that at night. We caught the end of the Hermes parade and stayed for Krew d’Etat and Morpheus, the biggest parade of the day. All of these parades followed a similar route in Uptown, so we were able to stay in the same spot for each one, which happened to be the perfect spot for catching beads! No flashing was necessary, just a little yelling, some pointing, and eye catching does the trick.


While you are in New Orleans, whether it is for Mardi Gras or any other time of the year, you should definitely take advantage of the night life -- there is always something to do! We went to a new club in the Lower Garden District called Eiffel Society, which is a museum, bar, and music venue. The night we went the three local bands played, my favorite being a dub step band!

Mardi Gras Beads!

Eiffel Society, NOLA

March 5- Food, Music and Fun

The next day we went to parkway bakery to experience a true po’boy. Parkway Bakery is an institution in New Orleans, as evidenced by the nearly hour and a half wait we had in the middle of a monsoon. As the roads flooded to nearly cover car tires, we eventually made our way inside the restaurant only to find that the line continued on to snake its way around the perimeter of the restaurant. Although Parkway Bakery is always crowded, the two million Mardi Gras visitors are what made us wait with our hunger pains—and the fact that Obama recently visited only raised awareness.

Note to self—there is no such thing as a “quick bite” during Mardi Gras season. Expect lines and crowds wherever you go. All I can say is it was well worth the wait. Erin and Lauren got the classic fried shrimp po’boy. I got a po’boy with ham and cheese- tres francaise, and not so new Orleans style, but it hit the spot. We split an order of sweet potato fries and we were set. 

Shrimp Po'boy at Parkway Bakery

Sweet Potato Fries at Parkway Bakery

That night we hit the local favorite spot of Frenchmen street on the edge of the French Quarter. It’s known for its plethora of bars that range in style from heavy metal, to jazz, to middle eastern, to rock; it’s all there. We ended up walking through the quarter to Bourbon Street so our Mardi Gras virgin could see what it was all about. Packed wall-to-wall with people, sensory overload quickly took hold. We were on a quest to find a hurricane in a festive glass. Our mission proved to be much harder than expected, but leave it to the famous Pat O’Brians to have the solution.

Frenchmen Street

With that taken care of, we quickly made our way back to Frenchmen where we ended up staying to watch the band Naughty Professor at Maison. If you ever get a chance to listen to the guys, make sure you take advantage of the opportunity. They were great—a really young, energetic soul band with an awesome brass section.  One great thing about this time of year in New Orleans is meeting tourists. We met a guy who was in town for less than 24 hours! He had his backpack with him and was staying out all night until his flight at 6am the next morning. With so much dancing in the streets it was sad to leave one of my favorite parts of town. We still had a lot of partying to do though, we had to pace ourselves.

March 6- Around Town

           

The French Market, NOLA

We ventured to the French Market Sunday morning. Sitting a few blocks from the French Quarter, the market is full of everything you can imagine: Mardi Gras beads and masks (of course), handmade candles (http://www.frenchquartercandles.com/), seasonings and spices, fresh produce and food stands, trinkets and jewelry. 

           

Nearby, Aunt Sally’s Pralines (the best of New Orleans, according to Southern Living) offers samples of their tasty, but sugary treats.We walked by the Café du Monde, the traditional place to stop in for beignets, but the line was extremely long. We opted for a homier scene with a shorter wait: Café Beignet. The staff was friendly and the environment was welcoming. Their beignets, which come three to an order (under $3), were delicious, I only wish I could have them every Sunday!

Aunt Sally's Pralines

Cafe Beignet

           

That night, we ate at the Dat Dog. We discovered the small food stand when we were parking for the parade. Luckily, Dat Dog offers just about every type of meat (including alligator sausage) that you could put on a hot dog bun. The golden brown fries were the perfect side. Again, the staff was friendly and entertaining, and the owner sat down with us to eat outside! This was definitely a deliciously satisfying and quick option before heading down to the parade.  

Dat Dog Menu

Dinner at Dat Dog, NOLA

           

The first parade we went to was Endymion, the main parade on Sunday. Endymion is always known for their celebrity grand marshals, and this year’s hosts were Kelly Ripa and Anderson Cooper! 

Paparazzi at Mardi Gras! Parade host, Anderson Cooper.

Lauren Cleans up Mardi Gras style.

I couldn’t have asked for a better schedule! I had a lot of energy and was ready to catch some beads (in my yelling/pointing/eye catching ways). I quickly became friends with a family next to me and out bead catching became a team effort! No one was going home empty handed – in fact, we each had two shopping bags full!  

Bead catching team

March 7- Last Day? Just Kidding

We began our last full day by walking up and down Magazine Street. Known for its small boutiques, local restaurants, and antique stores, we ambled our way down the street until we found a restaurant that didn’t have an hour wait. We ate at La Divina, a local gelateria  and panini place. We were able to get in without a wait because the one waitress working left the sign flipped to ‘closed’- a smart trick to ease a hangover after a long night of parades.

Ms. Mae's

We made our way down to the Uptown institution of Ms. Maes- a 24- hour bar on the corner of Magazine and Napoleon. Due to the graces of the open container law, we took our bloody marys and mimosas down to “the fly”—short for the butterfly, the riverside portion of Audubon Park. We took advantage of the mid 70 degree weather and basked in the sun. This is when and where we made the decision to stay one more day- we just couldn’t bear to leave the city quite yet, what with all it had to offer.

We spent our last night back on Bourbon Street to meet up with Lauren’s friends who had never experienced Mardi Gras. Shock was evident in their faces at the sight of copious exposed tatas, the open container law, and just the sheer amount of people crammed in to a single street. After a long evening of celebrating, we ambled back to the car (if you can avoid driving to the quarter during Mardi Gras, please do so at all cost).

Bourbon Street, NOLA

March 8- The Treasured Coconut

   

The Zulu Parade

We couldn’t leave NOLA without attending the Zulu parade, which is known for its most treasured throw, the coconut. Each member of the Zulu social club decorates coconuts throughout the year, and they are a rare catch because you usually have to know someone in the parade to get one. However, after many unsuccessful attempts of telling the parade members I was new to Mardi Gras, my effort of staying with a float for quite some time paid off, and I came away with a coconut! There couldn’t have been a better way to end the parade! In fact, on our way back home, there were several parade floats handing out beads on the highway. Dangerous? Yes, but it could only happen in New Orleans.  

Parade float handing out Beads on the Highway

PRIP TRIP: NORTH BAY, CA

North Bay, California: A day trip through Salsalito, Muir Woods, Stinson Beach and Treasure Island.


View from Salsalito
Photo Credit: Chelsea Byers

 Upon moving in San Francisco, I was told repeatedly to get out of the city as much as possible. Man am I happy I listened. The city is great, don't get me wrong. There are endless things to do within this seven mile by seven mile peninsula, but aside from those chilly days on the beach, you tend to lose touch with nature.  So in order to reconnect with Mother Earth, I would highly recommend a trip to the North Bay. Laying so unassumingly across the Golden Gate bridge is a virtually untapped region of redwood trees and the most outrageous views imaginable. I made this adventure a solo trip, which was even more memorable, regardless of the awful self-timer pictures that came from it.

The trouble with this trip is that it requires a car. Lucky for me, I have one. Lucky for you, Yelp offers some sweet deals on zipcars. Keep an eye out, and take advantage of them whenever you can. It is totally worth it.
After crossing the Golden Gate and paying that god-awful toll, you are immediately put into a little town called Salsalito. Take the road to the left that sends you winding your way up the side of a hill. Find a parking spot, and take in the most breathtaking view of the city and the Golden Gate Bridge possible. Once you've gotten your photos in, say goodbye to the city for the day, and start making your way to Muir Woods.


Muir Woods
Photo Credit: Chelsea Byers

Muir Woods National Monument is part of the Golden Gate National Recreation Area and a highly visited destination along the Mount Tamalpais Mill Valley Scenic Road. The 559 acres of land encompass hundreds of massive redwood trees, making for an impossible breathtaking walk through nature. Silence is required in many parts of the walk, allowing for patrons to take in the mystical sounds of nature.  On the way out, be sure to hit up the cafe and speak with the cute barista. All the oxygen in the woods will get you light-headed enough to strike up a conversation, hopefully leading to a free coffee -  which you will definitely need, considering this day is only half over. 

Bohemian Grove in Muir Woods
Photo Credit: Chelsea Byers

From Muir woods, continue out the windy road toward Stinson beach. It's a gorgeous sight to see, coming out of the overgrown red woods, and looking at the waves crashing along the cliff side. I parked my car overlooking the beach, and propped myself up on the hood, where I enjoyed the picnic lunch I had packed for myself - Brie, Avocado, Red Onions, Spinach and Sprouts on a Baguette and orange slices on the side - and then continued down to the water so I could dip my toes in the Pacific. I only stayed long enough to get caught gawking at the surfers that occupy the water before making my way around the bay. 

Stinson Beach Picnic Spot
Photo Credit: Chelsea Byers

My last stop on this long gorgeous day trip was Treasure Island. In order to get there, you have to wind your way from North Bay down to Oakland and cross the Oakland Bay Bridge. Treasure Island is the half way point between Oakland and San Francisco and provides the most spectacular place to watch the sunset. Watching the sun dip beneath the horizon, with my toes dangling into the Bay, I found myself living the Otis Redding Song - Sitting on the Dock of the Bay. But really, if there is a better place to be caught wasting time, I'd like to hear about it.

Sunset at Treasure Island
Photo Credit: Chelsea Byers

So there it is, your escape from the city. I always find that making plans limits room for opportunity, so hop in a car and let the wind blow you where it may.

-Chelsea Byers, Staff Writer
chelseabyers@prippie.com

PRIP TRIP: HAIGHT ASHBURY, SAN FRANCISCO, CA



Haight Ashbury Landmark
Photo Credit: Chelsea Byers



[Day] Trippin' in the Haight

As any true flower child should, I felt it absolutely necessary to pay homage to Haight Ashbury. My own personal hajj to this not-so-holy land included just two bus rides and a short walk. I can assure you  that I have, and will be making this pilgrimage multiple times. 

Noted and revered for the role it played in the 1960s hippie movement, the Haight is a haven for the left-over, rock and roll, drug culture hippie burn-outs, providing an interesting dynamic for an afternoon stroll. The Haight Ashbury district, named for the intersection of Haight Street and Ashbury Street, encompasses more than ten blocks of stores, coffee shops, and restaurants, and draws hundreds to the streets daily.




The walls in Haight Ashbury are very colorful and vibrant, echoing the life of the district.
Photo Credit: Chelsea Byers

 

Between the beads, the tie dye and the endless shelves of hippie memorabilia, getting lost in the shops of the Haight is an adventure in itself. More than once I have found myself seemingly trapped in one of many vintage clothing shops, scrambling to find the means to purchase a hand-crafted piece of hippie couture from the flower days that I cannot live without. Thankfully, the selection of second-hand stores is to die for. Crossroads (a SF favorite) and Buffalo Exchange are just a few that I have found myself rummaging through. While I haven't found the gall to splurge, I have yet  to leave the Haight without a new bumper sticker proclaiming "Peace and Love" or "Make Art Not War" for the car that I do not have in the city. Pointless as my purchases may be, I am always satisfied.

When I need to catch a second wind, the Haight provides many options for a cup of Jo. Coffee to the People, and the People's Cafe are amongst the best, both providing a relaxing space to chill out. Despite its small land space, the Haight can get overwhelming between the amounts of people in the streets, all the things to look at, and all the places to spend your money. Though it is nothing compared to its peak in the 60s (I say it like I was there), the Haight exists as a tribute to all things peaceful and loving. You bring your love to the Haight, and go to the Haight to love. It's that simple.

-Chelsea Byers, Staff Writer

chelseabyers@prippie.com

PRIP TRIP- CHARLESTON, SC



Photo Credit: Bulldog Tours



Spirits Stay Here

A trip through the haunted hallways of Charleston, South Carolina’s oldest jail

At around age seven, upon my family’s move to a one hundred- year- old farm house complete with five acres of mysterious forest land, I start to wonder if the creaking of the black, wooden stairs at night could possibly be a spirit lurking near my bedroom. I am scared, but deep down I want to see a ghost. Maybe he will be my friend, like Casper.

Fast forward thirteen years. I find myself pulled in by the advertising ploys of the Bulldog Ghost Tours during one of my frequent vacations to Charleston, SC. For ten years I have ignored the company’s graphic signs decorated with ghosts and eyeballs. After seeing one of the tours on an “America’s Most Haunted” episode, I decide to finally give in to that childhood desire to search for the supernatural. I convince my friend to come along, and we round the historic stone buildings of Market Street, entering through the door of the Bulldog Tours office. Although I want to believe that the tour relies on special effects alone, I begin to second- guess my decision to attend when I see the sign that reads “Rated R. Not for Children.” I ask the ticket vendor what this means. He answers with, “let’s just say this one time a brick was mysteriously thrown at someone’s head in the jail’s basement.” We hesitate to hand over the fifteen dollars per person, but I am determined to take on the adrenaline pumping excursion.

That night our black Jeep Grand Cherokee grates its tires upon the gravel drive leading up to the crumbling, cobwebbed prison. The moon is full, and see- through misty clouds overlap its golden-yellow glow. As we step out of the car, I wonder just how far outside of the jail’s premises the spirits will dare to wander. The two towers in the front of the jail feature barred windows. The bars are made of red rust; they have grown tired from years of criminal restraint. Rounding the corner of the building, my friend and I pass through a crooked archway and spot a group of six others. The thirty- year-old woman with the black fanny pack and white sneakers is the only reminder that we are still in the year 2009.

I pick out our tour guide as the one wearing a name tag. Susan, as it is written in a fittingly horrific black font, looks to me as if she could be a ghost herself. Her wild reddish- blonde hair is held back behind the edges of her hat, and her unnaturally haunting voice is perfect for her job. She leads us to the jail doors, but before we enter, tells us how “brave you are for even stepping foot inside these dangerous walls. Some professional ghost hunters make it to this point, barely inside the door, and feel that the spirits are too overwhelming for them to enter. They sense the voices of the paranormal.” I look back at the car, and then up at my friend, but I can’t turn back now. 

Charleston, South Carolina, is home to the spirits of some of America’s oldest convicts. In 1680 Charleston officials began drawing blueprints for the plot of land where the jail still stands. The square was also to include a hospital, a poorhouse, and a workhouse for runaway slaves. Construction of the jail was completed by slaves in 1802, and the jail remained in operation until 1939. Once they were admitted inside of the stone walls, a convict’s chances of survival were slim. Upon entry, prisoners were placed in a holding room where their bodies were stretched with torture device made up of rope hanging from the ceiling and floor. This pulled the hands and feet in opposite directions. Those able to endure the pain and filth of this room were placed in cells, some holding ten prisoners inside of an eight- foot, barred square box. The unluckiest and most evil of the crooks were placed in the basement, where solitary confinement was classified as storage of the body (still alive… for now) inside a seven- by- two foot steel box.

As our tour crawls on, I find myself in the main cell room. Susan turns off the lights and I keep reminding myself that this same building is now shared by a small Charleston college. Students attend classes here daily without dying. Right? Susan’s story matches the gloomy mood of the dark space. “Lavinia Fisher, the first serial killer,” she begins. “She was imprisoned in this room. Her spirit lives on. A paranormal investigator from a television show set up an EVP device that records voices coming from the other dimensions. The voice heard in this room is believed to be Lavinia’s. Her only words: ‘YOU ARE NOT WELCOME HERE.’”

I guess Susan has been taking note of the fact that my face is paler and the finger marks I am digging into my friend’s arm are close to an inch deep. She jumps at me with Lavinia’s phrase and I jump back with fear, at least a foot into the air. I realize that Susan is mocking my anxiety, and the rest of the group seems to enjoy the laugh as well. Susan backs away and concludes the visit to this room with Lavinia’s famous phrase, which she supposedly announced in 1819 just before throwing herself off of the platform at her hanging. “If you have a message to send to Hell, give it to me and I’ll carry it for ya!”

We follow Susan into the last room of the tour, the basement. A haunted stairway is the only way down, and I snap pictures as we walk in the dark to see if I might catch a spirit on my Canon’s digital screen. “When a spirit is near, there will be a sudden change in temperature,” Susan’s paranormal voice informs us. In the basement, furniture is strewn across the room, placed in stacks for storage. I confuse the scatters of a mouse with the possible movement of a phantom. Just then we hear Susan calling out in a lower tone than before.

“Jay, I am now calling upon the spirit of Jayyyy.”

She has a creepily enthusiastic tone to her voice, as if she is making music for Jay’s ghoulish dance. “Maybe it’s her special spirit voice,” my friend suggests? My chuckle turns to a cold, deep, breath as I feel the temperature in the basement drop ten digits in less than five seconds. The brown- haired woman with the fanny pack screams and wants to leave. Susan explains that the ghost of Jay may be near. He was a small child who played in the prison and means no harm. Staring into the dark, I am sure I see a tiny flicker of light in the back corner of the room, behind a stack of unstable chairs. Hairs stand up on the back of my neck, and the tour group huddles together, looking impatiently upward, toward the stairway that led us to this point. Susan continues her calling and closes her eyes, as if she is holding a sort of internal dialogue with the unknown. I return to thinking of her as a ghost.

As we are led out of the deteriorating building, I take the stairs two by two. I don’t want to be in the back of the group, left for spirits to snatch me. Susan asks us for our full attention as a serious expression grabs her face. “The spirits need to know not to bother the tourists. They need to know to stay behind.” We repeat after our guide as she slowly states the words that each tourist MUST state for sure safety upon departure.

“Spirits Stay Here.”

My tan boots dig into the gravel with each quick step I take toward the car. I repeat the phrase to myself probably too many times. My friend tells me I’m paranoid, but I guess it is better to be paranoid than to take a chance with the villainous paranormal of the old Charleston City Jail.

 - Bianca Jane Mitchell, Editor
biancajanemitchell@prippie.com

PRIP TRIP- CINCINNATI, OHIO

prippie™ took a break to celebrate the start of fall by visiting the largest Oktoberfest celebration in the United States in Cincinnati, Ohio. From the Brats, to the Authentic German Beers, to the bands, and the rides, it definitely lived up to it's reputation as being the best celebration in the country.





Brats





Some Prippie Girls Enjoying Oktoberfest!

 


Authentic German Beer