Ah, vacation … those little and not long enough blips in our schedule when we get the opportunity to get away from the hustle and bustle of normal everyday life.
I’ve always joked that I work 50 weeks out of the year so I can enjoy the other two.
Last week, Nancy and I met our youngest daughter for a week of R&R in Biloxi, Mississippi.
Our daughter lives in Missouri, and we met at the condo on the Gulf of Mexico coast we had reserved in January.
The accommodations were incredible. The view was spectacular.
We had never been to Biloxi, and we didn’t go there to lose money in the seemingly never-ending row of casinos. We traveled to enjoy the sights and sounds of the Gulf Coast, to be devoured in the local culture and to do another first – take a day trip to New Orleans.
When we travel to a new destination, I always enjoy immersing myself in the culture of the area. In Biloxi, that meant sea life.
We learned about the devastation of Hurricane Katrina – in which Biloxi was a direct hit as evidenced by the remnants still visible 17 years later. We learned about shrimping, and even ventured into the gulf on a shrimping boat where the seagulls and dolphins fought to get closest to the action. We also learned about Jefferson Davis, the president of the South during the Civil War, as we toured his home and estate.
And, I immensely enjoyed the seafood – fresh, mouth-watering seafood that brought my palate alive with every delectable bite. Oh my goodness! …
It truly was a wonderful week filled with great things and great company.
But … As part of my traveling experiences, and being the career newspaperman I am, I also enjoy reading the local papers of where we are. It’s always a priority to grab one or more and peruse its pages.
We arrived on the Saturday afternoon before Independence Day. On Sunday morning – and I always wake up super early on vacation just like I do on a normal day – my first order of business was to find the local paper – in this case the Gulfport Sun Herald.
I still prefer to hold that actual newspaper in my hands and flip the pages as I browse and read. I’m still the same way with books and magazines, too. Call me old fashioned, but there’s still something special about reading that way. …
There was a convenience store a short ways along the shoreline road, so I thought an early morning walk to and from there along the gulf would be great.
It was, but it already was hot … and humid.
The shirt I wore that morning lasted an hour before I had to change.
Anyway, I got my paper and looked through it over a cup of coffee when I got back to the condo. To my surprise, it included an actual comics section like the good, old days complete with Peanuts, the greatest strip of all time.
Later in the day, when we ventured out and about, I decided to look for another Sunday paper or two. New Orleans and Mobile, Alabama, were short drives and the Mississippi state capital, Jackson, was about 150 miles away.
Nothing. I couldn’t even find another vendor that sold the Sun Herald. Even the local bookstore that claimed to have 1 million books did not sell newspapers. There also were no racks to be seen.
We ventured to other coastal towns and I couldn’t find papers there, either.
I was baffled … and disappointed. Was there no other news fit to print? Tuesday was our day trip to New Orleans. We decided to go early, enjoy the sights and sounds and get out of Dodge before dark so not to be consumed and/or overwhelmed by the party crowd. That’s just not our scene.
When we arrived and parked, we were greeted by a band playing wonderful jazz music from a nearby restaurant. It was exactly how I imagined New Orleans and its culture.
We walked to the place, stopped, listened and enjoyed.
While browsing through the French Quarter, including Bourbon Street, it started to rain. It picked up in intensity as the minutes passed, and by the time we found a trolley stop and boarded, it was a gully-washer.
The rain came down in buckets and the lightning and thunder were intense. I hadn’t seen it rain that hard in a long, long time.
And it kept coming.
About 45 minutes and 2.25 inches later, downtown New Orleans was flooded. Streets were closed and the trolley stopped operating, forcing us to get out into shin-deep water on the streets and the ongoing downpour.
We were soaking wet in seconds and experienced what I call wet sock syndrome immediately. To my knowledge, it was the first time I’ve been caught in a flash flood while on foot.
But, we persevered. And the storm passed.
The town cleared out like COVID-19 had returned in pandemic proportions. We had some streets and stores almost to ourselves and twice enjoyed beignets. We listened to more jazz music, visited Louis Armstrong Park and ended up having another great day as we dried out.
Except for the socks.
The other days were awesome, too, as quality and relaxing time was spent doing some of the aforementioned things. There were too many special times to list them all, most noticeably sitting on our 10th-floor patio overlooking the gulf, watching the sunsets and slowing down time as best we could.
But all good things must come to an end, and here I am back in the saddle again.
Just please make sure to let us know if you ever can’t find a Boerne Star.
And, as always, thanks for reading.
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