After the frustrating layover and mad dash to the gate, we board the second plane to our destination, landing at Louis Armstrong Airport at sundown. The terminals are jam-packed with tourists pouring in for the second week of Mardi Gras festivities.
Crabby and exhausted, we shoulder our backpacks, head out into the balmy evening, and slump into the private shuttle. On the ride to the hotel, our moods lift as the colorful city glides past our windows, then plummet when traffic moves at a snail"s pace in the congested French Quarter. A collective sigh sounds when the shuttle parks at Bourbon Orleans Hotel, followed by simultaneous laughter and whoops.
At the end of Orleans Street, beyond wrought-iron gates flanking Saint Anthony’s Garden, floodlights cast an open-armed shadow of Jesus Chri
