New Orleans - September 2019

With nothing other than my longing for you, I set off for New Orleans for the weekend. Feeling very little these days other than a certainty that love is dead, I was hoping to find something to awaken my heart and open my mind to the concept that romance may well be a possibility once more. I was feeling particularly afraid of the flight for some reason and so I arrived at the airport early. To find a bar, I had to walk to the far side of the terminal because the two bars near the gate were both closed for renovations (how can they close both bars at the same time?). I sat at the last seat and ordered a beer. The bar started to fill up and a guy sat next to me and rapid-fire drank three whiskeys. I had time to waste so I slowly sipped two beers. I paid and got onto the plane. Window seat… locked in by two large, tattooed guys. I had to get up and pee twice during the flight and both times I felt bad for troubling them… but getting older earns a certain level of respect. I had two beers on the plane, although my choice ran out after the first one (because the idiot flight attendant gave two beers for free to the girls in front of me who he was desperately trying to pick up.) Don’t bother, man, everyone has a boyfriend.
Landing in New Orleans I discovered an option to take a shuttle from the airport to downtown with a cheap return and, as it went to several hotels, I thought it would be a great way to see the French quarter and get ideas of where to have dinner that night. Waiting for the shuttle, I met a guy who had just flown in from London and lived in the town next door to the town I lived in. Needless to say, we sat together on the shuttle and spoke all the way downtown. It was pleasant but we were different and didn’t opt to exchange numbers or plan to meet. It was clear that we were both on our own trips of discovery and wanted to do this alone. I wanted to meet locals, listen to music, try the food, and explore the place by foot. He had booked tours and was very interested in American football and so on.
Arriving at the Mercantile hotel I was greeted by an extremely friendly and welcoming lady at reception. Within minutes I was in my room and having a shower before venturing straight back down for dinner in one of the very local restaurants. I had a beer named Jucifer and things just got better from that moment on. Walking down the street I started to feel enamoured by the city’s eccentric buildings and colours and graffiti as the sun started to set. I found a quiet bar and sauntered in. It seemed peaceful and yet modern and cool. Almost like a little shack but with interesting bar ladies. It was called ‘The Howling Wolf Den’ or something similar. I ordered a local New Orleans IPA named Hopitoula and as I started to sip it, young and beautiful people started flocking in in small groups. They were all going into a room around the back and I wondered what was happening. I asked the bar lady and she informed me that a live band was playing in one room and there was an open mic in the other. I finished my drink and ordered a beer called Hoppywright. Carrying this potent piece of magic, I walked into the open mic night area, paid $5, and suddenly felt like an old man lost amongst hundreds of beautiful people in their early-twenties. The musicians were talented, but the most spectacular part of the whole night was the lady working behind the bar in this room. The bar was a dark and dusty old thing, like a bar abandoned from some old western town… and like a burning star, mixing drinks with deft efficiency, elegance and grace, was this astonishing lady of a beauty so immense that it could cause grown men to weep. I finished my beer and walked over to her… I asked if she could make anything that was Vodka with strawberry… she put her head to the side, put her hands into the air, and said ‘vodka cranberry?’ I said okay and accepted anything that this fine lady had to offer. Sadly, she was overwhelmed by customers perpetually from that point on
I moved back into the front bar where I had started and the bar lady said ‘ah, you are back?’ with a lovely smile that made me feel welcome. At this point, she became buried in an onslaught of customers. When the onslaught ended, I held out my hand to shake hers. She came to shake my hand but just before actually doing so, as I said ‘well done, you survived…’ she rolled her eyes, withdrew her hand and walked away. I felt a bit embarrassed, so I got to my feet and walked outside to finish my drink. In a delirium, I walked back to my hotel and went to sleep.
The second day I awoke early from a bad sleep but felt calm and relaxed knowing that I had the whole day to walk, explore, eat, drink, and that the night would end with a Bad Religion concert. Bad Religion being my favourite band, a band I have seen countless times but one that I love seeing as often as possible in as many different places as possible. I lay in bed and chatted online with some of my friends in Europe and also one in Miami who was awake early to watch English soccer. Still early in the morning, I decided to go for a walk towards the Mississippi river and then to explore the French quarter.
Arriving at the river I saw a steamboat for the first time and it reminded me of Mark Twain’s Life on the Mississippi which I had read countless years before. There was the vibration of bass in the air from music everywhere and as I walked along the river I saw people already up and alive, already performing, already mixing, selling and buying. I walked away from the river and into the streets of the French quarter to see the buildings, the people, the shops. I walked through the French market, it was now 10:30 am, and saw some people buying beers. In New Orleans it is legal to drink alcohol whilst walking the streets and this stirred a deep childlike excitement within me. By 10:45 I was hungry and thirsty (and rationalising with myself that is was 11:45 in my own time zone) so I walked into a bar and sat at the bar. My intention had been to order a coke but, of course, when the bar lady asked what I wanted, I ordered a beer.
The bar began to fill up and a couple in their fifties came and sat next to me. The lady ordered a luminous blue drink and I asked her what it was. She said that she had no idea… it was rum with ‘something’. By this time, 11:30, many people in the bar had a buzz and there was a general party atmosphere developing, it was incredible. I started to chat to the couple and the barman and we all drank together. I had one eye on the clock because that evening I had the concert and was also due to meet Emily Davis, a lady I had been in contact with for a decade or more and who now had a band of her own that was opening for Bad Religion. Around 2pm, completely wasted, I left the bar and started to walk back to my hotel. As I walked, I suddenly cursed myself for not ordering one of those luminous blue drinks that I could have sipped as I walked.
I passed out on my bed for 1.5 hours and awoke feeling fresh, still a little bit drunk, relaxed, and ready to go again. Emily messaged me and said ‘we are loading our gear, doing soundcheck, and will be out after that… about 30 minutes.’ I told her that I would be in a bar next to the venue. I had a shower and walked towards the House of Blues. I found a little bar next door and ordered a beer from a very miserable looking lady who told me she was extremely nauseous. After the beer I walked next door and met Emily Davis and the Murder Police. Emily and her two guitarists were really pleasant, humble people and it was a pleasure to share a drink with them.
The concert itself was one of Euphoria for me. Emily and the band were amazing, and, for the Bad Religion show, I stood right at the stage (something I have not done since I was a youngster) and sang along to every word of every song whilst bouncing with the throng of Bad Religion admirers around me. It was an amazing day, an amazing, night, and an amazing weekend overall. New Orleans is a very special place and, although it is more touristy than I had originally anticipated, it is a place I will definitely return to for a winter break.