Days 15 - Gnawing at N'Orlins

We left Jackson and Mississippi as soon as the rituals of breakfast and check out were complete. Jan's run of 4/4 do-it-yourself waffles came to an abrupt end as purple-coloured batter oozed from the machine. I proposed to a bewildered Jannick that it was perhaps blueberry flavour and he dubiously continued, but results were gloopy and he opted to join me in a cereal medley. The drive down to New Orleans was extremely straightforward, heading almost due south to the mouth of the Mississippi River. As woody forests gave way to marshy swamps, we watched the temperature gauge in the car rise a few degrees and gazed warily at the ominous rain clouds we were heading directly towards.

We'd been having stellar weather the whole trip, and even evaded rainstorms when they had been predicted, but the prospect of hurricane country seemed like a more sure bet. As expected, we did encounter some light drizzle on the way into the Louis Armstrong airport in New Orleans. Here we were meeting Joe - an old friend of Jannick's who is linking up with us for a nine-day stint as we shimmy our way across to the East Coast. Joe has just got back from a 2 month trip to South East Asia, so has already worn in his travelling shoes. He spent a couple of days in Texas with a friend before heading over to meet us in N.O. as well.

Joe checks his cheddar

After picking Joe up at the airport we stopped by at the rental agency to get him insured on the car (and ask for the obligatory cheeky free upgrade, to no avail - whodathunk?). Then we set off into town to land at our swankiest hotel yet, International House. As we split the double room by three, we managed to spend the minimum on the escalation in quality (even if two nights out of three are a little more cosy...).

The beds

Our shtuff, neatly organised for easy access

We moved in - enjoying a cup of the oh so fresh lemon ice water from the lobby on the ascent - and got settled. The car was still parked in the unloading zone outside so we needed to find a solution for its bulky frame. The places all around were charging premium parking for around $30 a day, but a legendary Wyclef Jean-looking member of the hotel staff gave us the tip of a lifetime, notifying us of the five free parking spaces in the immediate vicinity, which could potentially save us a tidy 90 bucks. We moved the car to a meter and walked over to Bourbon (like the liquor, not the biscuit) Street - the world famous main strip in New Orleans' French Quarter.

We strolled down the eclectic parade, weaving amongst fellow tourists, musicians, and beggars, and all started slightly at the sight of a bikini-clad stripper poking her head out onto the pavement at two in the afternoon. We ummed and erred as to where to eat, eventually landing on a place to try some famous Southern fried chicken. The deafening club tunes were an added bonus.

Can't argue with that review

We proceeded down the startling street, past tourist shops with beads and obscene T-shirts galore ('may I interest you in the sausage?'), and eventually hung a right and came to the river front. The harbour was huge, as I suppose we ought to have expected. We noticed the tram network that Wyclef had mentioned to us earlier, and Joe announced his unabashed enthusiasm to ride the rail. 

The River Mississippi

We surveyed the great river mouth for a moment or two and then headed back to the hotel, aware that the clock was ticking on our car and that spots were vacated around three o'clock. We paced back towards the hotel and did small leaps of joy at the sight of two free spots directly opposite Chez Ladz. Jan swung Molasses round and we captured the invaluable booty.

Dayummmm

We celebrated road war victory with a chill out and a trip to the gym before getting ready to go out. The prospect of Bourbon Street seemed like a daunting one for our first night in town, especially for jet lag Joe, so on recommendation from the receptionist, we decided on delaying the decadence and settled on Frenchmen Street first. This road stems off Bourbon Street, a little further after the point its excitement expires, but offers just as much jazz, food, and atmosphere as its seedier cousin. We would be fine without street solicitations and the evidence of poor life choices for one night.

Jannick had found a place called Snug Harbour for our dinner, so we headed there to fill our stomachs, walking past a seven-piece big band entertaining an entire intersection of people. The boys shared a bottle of rosé and we each had bowl of gumbo, a signature Louisiana soup usually made with some sort of shellfish and/or meat. Ours had shrimp, chicken, spicy sausage and rice in it and it was very tasty indeed.

Gumbomnom

By a stroke of feline luck, the establishment sat directly opposite us was The Spotted Cat Music Club, which is ranked as the number one night life attraction of things to do in New Orleans on Tripadvisor.com. We sauntered over to the small bar and obliged their one drink minimum policy. Once the band began to play, the place filled up, and we weren't disappointed. The trumpet player and leader of the band rose above the rest and cushioned brilliant brassy melodies over the top of the rhythm and though the vocals were sung sitting down, the performance had wonderful charisma.

Jazz cats

We polished up our beers and fought back heavy eyelids. As we left the bar, the band announced at 11.30 that they would be pausing after the next song. The set itself was to go on until 2am..! We hopped in a cab and rolled into our beds, all of us completely shattered. We needed our energy for tomorrow's prospect of Bourbon à la nuit.