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I wonder, do street barkers zero in on me because a woman alone looks like an easy mark, or because my outfit was so damned cute? Probably the former, but I'm going to presume the latter. Because my outfit was cute, if I do say so myself. The desk clerk at the hotel said I looked like a Barbie doll. I'd have to be a lot skinnier and a lot bustier to look like a Barbie doll, but I still appreciate the compliment.

I don't have the New Yorker ability to blow past someone who's talking to me without acknowledging their existance. Even if I know the only reason they're talking to me is to try and cajole me into spending money at their place of employment. More natural for me is to turn, smile, and make eye contact without slowing down. I did stop to chat with one barker who asked about my tattoo, but when he asked my name I realized it was time to move on. Tell a barker your name and you're going to end up sitting in his bar listening to a horrible cover band. It's a point of no return, like letting a vacuum cleaner salesman inside the door.

Anyway, aside from the barkers I had a lovely evening. First I walked down to the river and sat awhile reading my book, The Committment by Dan Savage. Then strolled over to Cafe Adelaide, which had been recommended by a resident foodie. By the time I got there, I realized that the beignets had left me way too full to enjoy a formal sit-down dinner. So I stopped in at Mother's, just a block away, for a po-boy.

Mother's looks like the kind of place that would be featured at Roadfood.com: decades-old, totally without pretention, and serves large quantities of simple, good food. I had no idea what a po-boy was before I went in there. Apparently a po-boy is a big, messy, meaty sandwich. Did I mention big? I ordered a small but I think I got a large. (If that was really the small, then I'm scared of the large.) I made a valiant attempt to eat the whole thing but only got about 2/3 through it. A small would have been perfect, though at least I managed to stop eating before I felt overfull and sick. I ordered the, um, I forget what it's called but it was the house special, with ham, sliced roast beef and shredded roast beef. It was really good. In fact that may be the best ham I've ever eaten.

The weather was so beautiful after dinner that I wanted to keep walking around the French Quarter. But I was getting tired so I figured I should head back to the hotel. The driving has been easier than I expected but I should still make an effort to get lots of rest every night. Tomorrow I have to deal with driving in Houston, which I'm a bit nervous about. Okay, a lot nervous. We always get lost in Houston, and that's with Georg there to navigate. I get flustered driving in strange cities under the best of circumstances. Hell, I get flustered driving in Raleigh. Tomorrow I've got to find the hotel on my own, and the Google directions make no sense at all. But things have gone so well so far, maybe this will turn out OK too.