5 Things You Have To Do In New Orleans

April 2018:

new orleans

April 26, 2018

a few friends have asked about our New Orleans trip lately. so i'm leaving this here, to set the scene, because new orleans. it's hard not to write about the nature of mankind once you're there and a drink or two in... 

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{The Julep Talking}  

The well-worn streets stretch on for miles if you walk them in circles. The familiar blends with the unknown until the familiar comes back into view. The city is awash in an exotic blend of cultures and creeds- hippies who protest civilization by refusing to bathe, the classy girl with her elegant style and poise paying no heed to the chaos in symphony around her, the journalist and his girlfriend vying for an edge, the loud crowd, the weekend parties, the old man sitting in the crowded cafe- cliches piled so high you become one just by breathing the same air.

The music, perpetuated between stages and cafes by little boys who sit beating a bucket in tribal thudding until your heart blends with the city. then you’re standing there, the sun’s fallen low enough to cast everything in a golden sheen, and you love everyone; you can hardly move for fear of breaking the city’s spell. Maybe it’s the Julep talking, the crawfish pie, the fried oysters, or the soft jazz that lures me back. Every time I go I feel a kinship with this place, with its people. I feel like I belong here. 

As the curtain closes over the sunset on the Mississippi’s crescent, the evil spirits come out to dance and what a moment ago was charming has become almost scary with its relishing of the darkness. People who were interesting and full of surprises not two hours ago have hit Bourbon St. and come back loud and belligerent. People I was intrigued by at lunch; I’m recoiling from. This part of the city I don’t love. This place where everyone has completely abandoned themselves- it’s rank and dismal.

The women on display- items for sale- a commodity, not a person. A service, not a soul. I want to stay here. I want to feed them, to clothe them, to restore their dignity, their worth. How did you end up here? Did it start with a journey to find yourself? How long have you been lost? How did it get this bad? I can’t save them. I can’t wrap them up and bring them home. In a city so intent on their own destruction, so determined in their depravity, I can't do anything but continue walking onto the next display.  This city owns me, it is everything different yet all things familiar. We meander through the brick streets, down Bourbon, up Royal. We'll drop by the Hotel Monteleone, find the last seat available at the carousel. It’s posh elegance sets the stage. we’ll watch those with over inflated self-worth establish their superiority. The somber barkeep up to his neck in tourists. I don't stay there very long. I'll wander back to my hotel, stopping to dip my feet into the pool in the courtyard at the Hotel Lemon. I'll be sheltered from the evening crowd, but I'll still hear the city. It’s out there, continuing on, an unending Mardi Gras. 

The morning breaks over the city. It's groggy, like a little sister that tends to party a little too much, struggling to the coffee in the morning. Cafe DuMonde welcoming in the slightly hungover like a loving mom. Cafe au lait served piping hot and fresh beignets piled high in powdered sugar. It's forgiveness on a sticky plastic tray served by a little Asian woman. There's a guy out front swaying with his saxophone... his skill depends on exactly how much you had to drink the night before. 

I’ll make my way through the markets. Another day of shopping, relaxing poolside, reveling in the calming chaos of the city, until the sun surrenders and give the city back over to its pleasures. The cycle as steady as your own heartbeat, and I realize once again: I love this place, because it's me. In all its fierce pride, its hearty hearth, its transgression and forgiveness, it's humanity at its worst and its best. It's New Orleans.