Goodbye NOLA

Despite a terribly inauspicious beginning, I fell as hard for this town as anyone could.

Despite considering cutting short my vacation after the first frigid weekend, by the time my visit drew to a close, I was already price-checking direct flights from Detroit.

Despite a marked preference for getting the whole getting-out-of-town thing over with as quickly as possible, I wasn't too dejected when I found out my flight was delayed.

Especially not when the Zulus showed up. At the airport. With full costumes. And brass.

I threw airport decorum to the wind and created my own second line. To hell with it. Why wouldn't I? It was like United had conspired with or against me to make my last day in NOLA something special.

The Zulus were there to welcome their Queen, who flew in from Texas for the carnival ball. I second lined by myself down to the arrivals gate and back up to the escalator they took up to their party. The guards, when asked when the party would end, replied, "When the champagne runs out, I guess."

So I decided not to go through security, but to wait outside for the Zulus, should they leave before my flight.

They did.

I shimmied out to their limos in my second line of one, declined a few generous half-invitations, smiled at the sheer craziness of what New Orleans is, and headed to security.