“I got bourbon faced on Shit St” (this could well be a local saying)

I awoke to find the clock at 8am. I had no idea where I was, and it took a good few moments to realize I was in another country, once again. ‘Twas a long day yesterday… the girls worked it out at 36 hrs without bed, and while we had all napped when and where we could en route, we had arrived at New Orleans very very tired.

Our (eventual) flight to N.O. was uneventful and found us reunited with our luggage.  Phew!! It also found us arriving at 11pm Saturday night where it was very warm and extremely humid. We were the last plane in and it was very quiet and extremely closed at the airport.

Once we were introduced to our hotel rooms we quickly skedaddled for the hubbub of Bourbon St in the French Quarter. I had been looking forward to this for quite a while, and arriving at such a late time (thanks again VIRGIN!!) was no obstacle – it was packed. With a population of around 370,000 in N.O. itself, I reckon only 100,000 or so were tucked up at home in bed. For Bourbon St itself was a seething mass (read mess) of drunken revelers. Bourbon St (I believe may be pronounce Burr-bonn – unless the locals are pulling my leg). Either way, the French Qtr on a Saturday night rocks. After comparing the area with Bangalow Rd in Phuket, only drunker,  we sought out a bar playing some soulful tunes. After watching a jazz band for a short while (long enough for the rats to become acquainted with us) we found  a small bar with no band and washed down a shrimp Po Boy at 2 in the morn with a couple of local brews.

 

“Goooood Mornin, New Orleans!” (vale Mr Williams)

Having rested our eyes – at last – for a few hrs we repaired for breakfast. A diner provided us with a plethora of local breakfast dishes, and I commenced on a delightful eggs couchon – poached eggs with pulled pork on a biscuit. And filling…. Well we had had a Po boy only 6 hrs earlier. So after leaving half on the plate (as did the others) we headed off for the obligatory On-Off bus. We have always found this mode of transport a congenial way of getting  a lay of the land. This one introduced us to a bit of the history, and a lot of the beautiful houses that are unique to this part of the world. The small frontages were misleading as the houses sprawl back to provide a sizable living space. And as a lot of the historical buildings in Britain were fashioned by the tax laws of the day, so to were these properties, being taxed at one time on the width of their street front. Silly when you think of it, as rearwards and upwards they went.

Oh, and we saw Nicholas Cage’s “pyramid” burial plot that he has pre purchased. Now I know he’s a weirdo. Goes to show what a string of bad films will do to a person. *

Early arvo saw the boys sampling some local wares in a waterfront bar on the Mississippi. We had sent the girls on their way ( a shopping outlet had recently opened and they just had to visit) My first impression was not anything flash – the river, not the brew – but I knew that would change as we journey our way north in the days to come. Back to the beer – pretty bloody good! And a blues band played their very very unique version of Shine On You Crazy Diamond! Only in the Big Easy.

Sunday night saw us trudge along Bon Bon St, or whatever they now call it, once again. Being earlier it was more subdued, but heaps of merrymakers were shaking their booty to the myriad of bands. Boy can these locals dance, swaying and hopping around to the big jazz sound! There was music on the street, there was music in the bars, tehere was music all around. And it was loud. A massive wall of sound spewed out into this one street from so many music venues.

We made our way to Frenchmans St which the locals now favour, describing it as what Biurbon St once was prior to denigrating to the spew filled area it now is. Frenchmans more than made up for it. Bars/music venues galore. Without the  crassness the visitors present just down the road. We watched a little blues, had dinner (blackened fish for yours truly, another local cuisine to cross off my extensive list) then a little walk back home at a more appropriate hour (I think about midnight).

On the way we stumbled across Café Du Monde – apparently THE place to go for the sweet delicacy known as beignets, a French donut. This place was a hoot – I believe it has a respected name for locals and tourists alike, but it was spectacularly ordinary place. Worth a laugh if you get our Asian waiter. Better still, avoid. The donuts were nice but!

So – stumps in the wee hours again. I love this life.

*Footnote – this reminds me of what Mark Twain once said: “I did not attend his funeral, but I sent a nice letter saying I approved of it”.