Ah, New Orleans—the city where fire ants bite, rats wave hello, and locals think you should suck on crawfish heads like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Over the course of five days, we dodged wildlife, ate things we never thought we’d eat, and stumbled into enough unexpected moments to keep us laughing all the way out of town.

The RV Park: A Masterclass in Gator Balls and Wildlife Avoidance

Our base camp was New Orleans RV and Marina, perched on the shores of Lake Pontchartrain—a body of water that proudly holds two titles: “Most Polluted” and “Most Snake-Infested.” Dreamy, right? Fortunately, we didn’t encounter either, though the RV resort’s signs were quick to remind us that gators and snakes might still be watching. Comforting.

What the resort did have was a massive bar and restaurant called The Lighthouse, which served surprisingly good gator balls (don’t ask), delicious gumbo, and a respectable hazy IPA. Bonus: they were dog-friendly! We loved walking the chis (Auggie, Finnegan, and Casey) around the grounds, stopping just short of the water’s edge because, let’s face it, our dogs are bite-sized snacks in gator terms.

Wildlife scorecard so far:

• 1 rat, spotted running along the docks like it owned the place (cool from a distance).
• Fire ants that I mistook for “just dirt.” After pausing a little too long in an ant hill, I quickly learned that tiny fire ants are not tiny in their hatred.

Oh, and there was a pool. A beautiful pool that was NOT heated, so we admired it from afar while bundled in hoodies, sipping beer, and wondering who actually uses an unheated pool in December.

Day One: Bourbon Street, Crawfish Boil, and an Irish Surprise

With John’s work shift done, we loaded up the chis and headed into the French Quarter, naively thinking a midweek afternoon would be quiet. It was not. Bourbon Street was alive and chaotic—like Mardi Gras had accidentally spilled over into a random Wednesday.

We landed at a delightfully divey, dog-friendly spot called The Three-Legged Dog, where we got to experience our first crawfish boil. Eating crawfish is like performing surgery on a tiny lobster: twist off the head, peel the tail, and—if you’re brave—suck the juices out of the head (locals insist it’s “the best part”). I gave it a shot. I remain unconvinced.

The dogs had their own little nook and even got a taste of the seafood because, of course, they were living their best bougie lives.

Feeling adventurous, we booked a Voodoo History Walk. We imagined dark alleyways, secrets of the occult, and maybe a chicken feather or two. What we got was… our guide’s life story. We learned a little about voodoo, a little about architecture, and a lot about his former jobs, hobbies, and questionable time management skills (he kept us 30 minutes late, with no apologies).

We finally escaped and stumbled upon a place we’d noticed earlier: The Irish Museum, a tiny spot run by two construction workers who “open it whenever they feel like it.” That night, they felt like it. I settled by the fire with the chis while John grabbed us drinks.

That’s when I noticed a group of young men holding books. Thinking they were in a book club, I asked, “What are you reading?”
Their answer? A book about The Troubles in Ireland. Oh, perfect.
“John the Rockstar Husband Laverty! Get over here!” I yelled.

And so began an evening of Irish history, local tips (apparently the Road to Pensacola > I-10), and a group of strangers who thought John was the coolest guy in the room. The bar closed around us as we chatted about Ireland, politics, and whether we could ever eat crawfish properly.

Day Two: Fireworks at the French Market and a Train That Hates Us

Leaving the dogs behind (a brave decision), we spent a few hours at the French Market, browsing stalls of souvenirs, trinkets, and—of course—small gator heads for sale. We hemmed and hawed over one, decided against it, and returned home for supper.

That evening, we packed up the chis and headed to City Park, where an old oak grove was lit up like Christmas on steroids. The lights were magical; the train that zipped through the park? Less so. Every time we got comfortable admiring the scenery, it snuck up out of nowhere, like a toddler with a kazoo. The dogs were not amused.

Day Three: Eye Cream and Jazz Hands

This time, we tackled the French Quarter “for real”—just the two of us. We started at the market and wandered past street bands playing everything from iconic jazz to Beyoncé’s greatest hits. Along the way, I somehow got roped into letting a man put eye cream on me for half an hour. I’ll never get that time back.

We admired the famous Carousel Bar (no seats, sigh) and found a cozy jazz joint for dinner. The highlight of the evening? Ending the night with an iconic beignet and café au lait at Café du Monde. Covered in powdered sugar, I felt like I’d earned my tourist badge.

Day Four: Garden District Gossip and Hurricane History

For our last full day, we explored the Garden District with a self-guided tour on my phone. This neighbourhood is Southern Gothic perfection, with homes so stunning you’d think they were movie sets (and some actually are). Highlights included:

• Anne Rice’s Witches House
• Sandra Bullock’s mansion
• John Goodman’s house
• And the infamous Nicolas Cage foreclosure special

We wrapped up the afternoon at a local dive bar that loves dogs (are you sensing a theme here?) and took a somber drive to one of the levee break sites from Hurricane Katrina—a quiet, sobering moment amidst all the chaos and charm of the city.

Farewell to NOLA

Our last morning was spent packing up, grabbing a couple of t-shirts from the RV park’s gift shop, and saying goodbye to the rats, fire ants, and theoretical gators we’d somehow managed to avoid.

New Orleans was a sensory overload of jazz, history, and unexpected hilarity. We ate things we never thought we’d eat (I’m looking at you, crawfish), met quirky characters we’ll never forget, and already know we’ll be back to do it all again—minus the fire ants.

Until next time, Big Easy—you were an absolute trip.