Charm and Heartbreak in the Big Easy

(Austin, TX)

There’s more to New Orleans than the French Quarter, we soon found out. Our new hostess, Shana, lived in the Garden District. She explained that back in the day when the British first bought out this area of the city, they overloaded it with all sorts of vegetation, to cover up the nasty smell of the river. Like the French Quarter, almost every house had two levels with beautiful open air porches on each floor, but in the Garden District this facade was always draped and framed with tropical trees, ferns, flower bushes, and the occasional cactus. Every house was prettier than the last.

It rarely stopped raining (in fact, it still hasn’t stopped raining, 5 days later now), so we didn’t get to roam around much, but we did take full advantage of the nightlife. After a short round at this dive bar/burger joint/laundromat/notary’s office (??), we met one of Shana’s co-workers on Frenchmen Street, where the live jazz brought the city’s reputation to life, and these bands did not disappoint. Not only did the tunes keep us on our toes, the musicians kind of kept to this smooth transition of members. A singer would accompany the band first, and then four saxophonists would casually join her, then take over while she faded into the audience for awhile, and so on, a constant ebb and flow. We heard later that the lead singer of the first act we saw had left in the middle of his show, jumped in onstage at a bar down the street for a few songs, and come back. No one missed a beat.

We later took a spin at Miss Mae’s, a twenty-four hour bar with dollar wells (yes please!), where we chatted it up with new acquaintances, including Shana’s insane co-worker who proceeded to talk at me for like two hours. He nearly cried describing the week the Saints won the Super Bowl (apparently the city was so obsessed with football and mardi gras parties that crime dropped like crazy), then went on about his absolutely absurd political theories and how he is one hundred percent destined to one day be President. I stopped listening after he told me he would die in office because people would love him so much they’d never vote him out – what country are you in?

The next day included one actually New Orleans-y activity – Po’ Boys for lunch/dinner (whatever you call it when you’ve become semi-nocturnal) at Parasols – a dive, but delicious. Then it was off again for drinks at The Saint, our final and favorite Big Easy bar. We stayed until nearly sunrise, doing karaoke and getting to know a few of Shana and Luke’s much more normal friends. Not one dull moment passed. When I finally made it back to Shana’s in the morning, I discovered one last surprise waiting for me on her doorstep – the over-talkative weirdo from the other night had left me a love letter, accompanied by four, count ‘em, four, mix CDs. He signed the letter POTUS: President of the United States. Swear to God, I am a magnet for the crazies. But Katie and I got a total kick out of seeing what music he chose. It’s such a shame I had to break his heart and leave.

Meanwhile, my heart was broken having to leave New Orleans. But we had deadlines to make in Texas, so we braved the incoming hurricane and moved on