The camera alas is dead; I am not.  Saturday's treatment consisted of:
10 grms of vitamin C, a fair bit of whisky, a few beers, and as much walking around in the humid air as I could stand.

The Spotted Cat had another fine band; too disorientated to remember their name.  Clarinet, accordion, banjo, upright bass and drums.  A range of styles that encompassed Klezmer and Bulgarian as well as the traditional jazz repertoire.  Led by the clarinetist with a calm and self-effacing style.  At one point he deftly got rid of a strange interloper who wandered in with a snare drum and sticks and proceeded to join in.  As the band drummer was playing without sticks, ie using his hands, this was intrusive. But the kid wandered out again without looking too quashed and we all got on with playing and listening.  Went for a meal across the road and they were into their final three numbers as I returned.  That was all I could manage and I took my flu racked body to bed.

Sunday brought the realisation of the death knell for my camera.  The camera is dead - Long live the (new) camera

Well I couldn't let the rest of the trip go without a photgraphic record and plastic always feels so painless. 

The 'French' Quarter is in my view at least as much a 'Spanish' Quarter.  As the street sign above, one of many, makes clear, the Spanish were in control for forty years (just in case you can't read this its 1762 to 1803) and laid out the quarter. 

What I cannot quite work out is the relationship between the Americans, who'd kicked us Brits out in 1776 through their war of independence, and the French and Spanish who were obviously still major players.  One for further study.

So, a little later than hoped, some New Orlerans buildings:

Try as I might I just cannot control the placing of pictures on this blog.  

So one at a time.  Musicians abound in the streets of Sunday; here ouside the law courts:

Here's some more:

And here's a nice bit of tilework close to my Hotel

I bought some fairly disgusting Cherry flavoured Wal-Flu to deal with my ailments.  Before going out to take these pictures I also had a long hot bath to sweat it out; and read about half of Tom Hendrix's book.  Its simply written and I found I was tearing through it at a rate of knots. 

Finally here's a piece of street furniture:

The hotel were reassuringly understanding about my illness, telling me to take my time and ensuring housekeeping left me to last.  Nevertheless I did not want to spend another, relatively expensive, night there so I steeled myself for moving on.

I decided on a fairly short hop eastwards to Mobile, 120 miles or so.  Around 70 miles in I started to get that drowsy feeling you may be familiar with from car driving. That feeling where your concentration starts to wander.  In a car you open the window/turn up the blower/put on some abrasive music or some such.  On a bike its a different problem.  I've done 10 hour bike rides and never felt like this.  So I pulled off at the next available exit, found a store closed on Sundays, got off the bike in its shade, put my gloves beneath my head and lay down.  Dozing happily I heard a car draw up nearby and suddenly a voice spoke to me. Opening my eyes I look up to see an entirely toothless, but not old, female face enquiring into my welfare.  I explain.  "OK Honey, just so long as you are alright.  We don't get many people lying on the ground round here" I expect they don't.  The bizarre angle from which this brief conversation was conducted left a vision of her face in my head, hard to shake.

As the second half of the journey to Mobile elapsed I began to notice the 'flu had moved into a new stage, one of phenomenal flatulence.  There  are times, I reflected, when its a good job to be travelling alone. 

In Mobile, after turning down two hotels even more expensive that New Orleans, I find just down the road from them the cheapest of the trip so far. A Budget Motel.  Wi-fi but no breakfast.  Which was fine as it turned out, I found a nice breakfast cafe.  On Sunday night, still in poor form, I did find Hopjacks.  Here is their selection of draft beers:

Thats right, about 50 or 60 draft beers.  And it being Sunday they were all half price.  Oh er missus.  I couldn't manage more than two pints sadly, but they washed down a pizza very comfortably.

Not the best of nights sleep but in the morning I found 'A Drop of Tea' where I had one; and on enquiring about a National Maritime Museum of the Gulf, marked on my map, was given a brochure for someting entirely different; downtown Mobile heritage.

Turns out that the history of Mobile is remarkably similar to New Orleans - Spanish followed by French control and development.  And although it is not so intensely preserved it is nevertheless preserved as a heritage site.

SPOT THE DIFFERENCE: A BUILDING IN DOWNTOWN MOBILE

 

 

AND ANOTHER

Before taking these I discovered that although my map confidently predicted the National Maritime Museum was due for completion in 2008, it was in fact still under construction and now due for 2012.  I had been quite looking forward to finding out just what kind of state the Gulf actually was in nowadays after B.P. Horizon's unwanted contribution to the environment.  Not too brilliant I have gathered from other sources. In the event no info there so I went across Mobile Bay to explore beaches and so on; having decided to take it easy for a day and not move on.  I found a nice looking spot, a bit of a nature reserve, and was about to get my swimming gear together when I noticed this:

OK Perhaps not.  Later though I did find a swimming spot.  So I can add Mobile Bay, which is part of the Gulf of Mexico, to my list of South China Sea and Indian Ocean.  It was a bit breezy and therefore choppy, but then again there were pelicans flying overhead and a fish flew too, not just once but twice, so I was sure not to miss it.

Exploring downtown Mobile in the late afternoon I came across a strange flag flying outside a hotel. Enquiring within I was confronted with a totally amazing, and I think reconstructed, lobby where the four corners referenced the US, France, Spain and UK, as the four owners of the territory on which the hotel stood.

This was our man - George III  But the flag they associated with him, which brought it to my attention in the first place, I saw in a shop window later.

I'm not sure I have ever seen a flag of St George and St Andrew as one; but that seems to be their take on the British flag of the time.

So a quiet and restful day to allow the body to recuperate.  Feeling nearly better and ready for the next stage.  East and North, back up to Washington for next weekend.