New Oooooh Leeeeeens

We just spent three nights down by the Bayou in the wonderfully characteristic French Quarter of New Oooooh Leeeeeens. This is one sticky city that knows how to party, and if the heat don’t kill you, the drinking might. I always thought that San Francisco was a party metropolis, with its day drinking in Dolores Park and its all night dance parties, but New Orleans defiantly takes the cake. The bars never close, the drinks run large and in charge, and you can get a to-go cup for your beverage at any pub. Drunken frat boys stubble into the hotel lobby at seven in the morning shouting obscenities, and as vacationers from around the world come to life they look drained, hung over and hot as hell. I saw a college boy passed out on a park bench with a bottle of whisky in his hand, his head buried into his knees, and a box on the ground beneath him to catch his vomit. Good times. Winning the prize for biggest party ever also comes with its downsides – the streets reek like piss, booze, and rotting fruit (from all the lime wedges dropped from drinks) …but this is actually one reason that I feel at home here, it reminds me more of San Francisco than any place we have visited thus far. Actually, many other facets of this city remind me of home as well.

The architecture is absolutely stunning, and I love the old sensation of the city. Aged brick, rusted fire escapes, iron enclosed verandas, and cracked and crippled streets and alleys give the place a deep-rooted vibe that is quite irresistible. Much like back home, neighborhoods are stacked with houses, one on top of the other, leaving limited space for yards, walkways and parking. If anybody thought parking in San Francisco was a bitch, come to the French Quarters – it’s like North Beach times ten. The reality is, spending time here really causes me to miss the shit out of San Francisco.

So we got to town on Friday afternoon, and after the six hour drive from Memphis we were both ready for a cocktail. I made a sweet tea vodka and lemonade (my new favorite) and Jarvis cracked a Coors Light from the cooler. Its drop dead hot outside so we head to the pool for a chill out before our night on the town. Funny story – we actually meet a guy from Oakland and a very nice couple from Palo Alto within our first ten minutes of being in the wetlands, and it’s actually very refreshing to talk to some people from home. We have a few by the pool and then I go to the room to primp up for our evening.

We have to check out Bourbon Street, since it’s a notable destination in the French Quarters, but we are there for no more than twenty minutes when we decide that bar lined Disneyland for alcoholics isn’t our cup of tea. The street is packed with tourists from around the world drinking three foot tall daiquiris, chain smoking, booty bumping, and meandering the streets dodging mysterious stench puddles. Jarvis and I want a dive bar with some local music, so we go on a mission to find what we really came to this city to see. We end up on Frenchman Street which serves up a healthy dose of local artists, young street performers, cheep(er) eats, and dive bars full of all night dancing and cold PBRs. Now we’re in business. We see a guy perform who plays the shit out of some slide guitar, and his raspy deep voice reminds me a bit of a drunken Jim Morrison. The music here is off the chain – hits your soul hard, deep pounding rhythms, harmonica blues.

The rest of the weekend basically consists of this = drinking, music, sightseeing, and pool time. Yesterday we had some crab stuffed catfish with a Cajun stuffed potato and remoulade dipping sauce that was to die for. I officially love hush puppies. I’m in my happy place here in New Orleans, and I could actually see spending time here. Jarvis and I discuss the possibility of moving down to Louisiana for a period of time, but as Journey comes on the juke box I’m reminded that deep in my heart I truly can’t wait to get home to “My City by The Bay”. So, until next time New Orleans XoXo.