The Saints were playing that night in New Orleans and had gone 10-0 for the season, so even at 4 o'clock there were drunken revelers everywhere, a sea of black and gold football jerseys. New Orleans loves the Saints in a way I can't even comprehend. Atlantans don't have 1/10th the dedication to their teams. But the game wasn't for a few hours so we decided to hunt down some museums and such, figuring they'd be empty while the rest of town sat in bars watching hour after hour of pre-game shows.
Unfortunately the brochure I'd picked had a few things wrong and every place we searched for wasn't there. However, we did stumble across a museum-like antique gun, sword and coin shop across from the French Quarter police station, before heading into Cafe du Monde for a coffee.
A while back I had googled The Abbey, a bar I'd visited on previous trips to New Orleans, but had no luck finding it. I figured it had closed its doors and hadn't bothered looking for it on our Thanksgiving leg of the trip. But Cafe du Monde is nearby so we trekked a few blocks east and found The Abbey open for business.
I love this scrappy little dive bar. It's dark, with a little light oozing through some old stained glass windows turned light fixtures in the walls and ceiling, and you wouldn't want to see the room fully lit. It's a lot like the old Dottie's used to be in Atlanta, only 1/4 the size. But early, there weren't many people there and we were still in a wandering mood, so we trekked around the French Quarter, taking random turns until we found ourselves back at Boondock Saint where the pre-game show was almost over.
But we'd had enough. Our feet were tired, our livers possibly swollen, our bellies full of delicious food and heads weary from a mix of too much driving, too much fun, and too little sleep. We caught a cab back to the hotel and sacked out.
In the morning we got up early to beat the storm we'd fled in Galveston. It chased us all the way home.