Have you ever been in a place that is so exciting, so atmospheric, so wonderful, that you can’t wait to return? When I think (with affection) of New Orleans, I can immediately relive the noise, the music, the ad lib street parades, the smell of spicy and delicious food, of sticky hurricanes and other confected drinks, and I want to immerse myself into whatever New Orleans has got to offer.
But my memories extend to a time before pandemics and the cost of living crisis, before people stopped coming and spending money, before they stopped eating out, and before street entertainers found full-time jobs.
We arrive in New Orleans at lunchtime, far too early to check into our room, so we have our luggage held whilst we explore The French Quarter. Our hotel is located in a great position near the top of Royal Street. But we walk in the opposite direction, down into the very pulse of The French Quarter. A block or so away is Café Beignet, a tiny restaurant that serves simple meals and good quality coffee. It is not too hot yet, and it is very pleasant sitting outdoors. We order and enjoy nice food, good coffee, a wonderful atmosphere, and plenty of fresh air.
But I cannot shake the feeling that something significant is missing.
We explore the street for a while, ducking in and out of shops. A jazz band is playing on a corner, and we watch them for a while, even getting our photos taken with the musicians for a tip before wandering further, turning into Toulouse and heading towards Jackson Brewery. Before we cross the road, we find a bar that has a wall of frozen cocktails and before long we are sipping on huge frozen drinks. Mine is a margarita, whilst my travel mate opts for a sticky strawberry daquiri. Trying to avoid a brain freeze by letting the drink progressively melt before sipping, I watch other patrons with interest as they select and drink frozen concoctions of rainbow colours that appear to have negligible alcoholic content.
We move on along the street, eventually meeting our hotel. As large spots of rain fall, we settle ourselves into our room on the top floor with a view (if I squint) of the mighty Mississippi River.
We have a date tonight with Jean Lafitte and a tour guide. We leave the hotel with plenty of time to spare as fighting through the crowds of revellers in Bourbon Street has always been a challenge. As we weave through the streets, hearing hits of the 1970s blaring from the windows of the bars, I realise what is missing.
The crowds.
OK, so it’s Thursday evening, almost the beginning of a weekend in late spring. Perhaps the crowds, the students on break from university, the families on holidays, have not yet arrived in Party Town.
As we turn into Bourbon Street, I realise that the street is nearly empty, almost devoid of people, apart from a few hanging around Jean Lafitte’s. The 1970s bands are bothering me. The streets should be filled with competing jazz, loud and exciting. There should be shoulder-to-shoulder people all yelling to make themselves heard, and yet, all I can hear is a second-rate singer warbling their rendition of 'American Pie'.
We meet Coty, our guide for the next two hours. Giving a ghost-detecting device to the other lady participating in our tour, we set off to not only find ghosts but to learn about the not-so-nice history of New Orleans. Who knew that Jean Lafitte’s bar sold alcohol to patrons with prescriptions during Prohibition? In fact, apart from the more recent Covid lockdown in 2020, Jean Lafitte has never closed since it was built around 1722. And to put that into perspective, that was 48 years before Captain Cook explored the east coast of Australia. Being inside the ancient building, absorbing the atmosphere, and learning about the history is significant.
It's amazing how quickly two hours can pass and after taking a history lesson about many of the oldest buildings and listening to the most awful and gruesome events that happened in the French Quarter over the centuries, we end up at the back of the cathedral, where a shadow of Jesus is reflected upon the smooth grey wall. On closer inspection, the reflection is a clever position of lights surrounding a statue of Mary. However, once the tour guide mentioned that it actually looks like Geoffrey, the Toys R Us giraffe, I could not unsee it.
Our tour finishes here, and we are directed around the corner to The Gumbo Shop, where we eat a late and delicious dinner.
Just before midnight, my phone alarm sounds with a message that severe and dangerous weather is expected overnight. Despite another warning during the night, we are not affected by the weather.
During our second day in New Orleans, and whilst we are taking the paddle steamer, Natchez, I realise that New Orleans still has many of its wonderful attributes like its food and its friendly people, but I feel that it has lost part of its heart, its atmosphere, and most importantly, its music. Where is the jazz, the zydeco? Where are the street performers? Where is the soul and atmosphere of New Orleans?
The French Quarter is still the centre for New Orleans’ tourists, but for anyone who has been there before, and who has witnessed the thing that makes New Orleans one of the most unforgettable experiences they have ever had, I feel that this post-Covid city has lost its mojo.
For now.
Quote: Bob Dylan
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