NEW ORLEANS, my my myyyyyy, this city is crazy. If I thought Nashville was mad, then this is like Nashville but on meth. If New Orleans was a person it would be that guy in every friendship group who takes it way too far on every night out and who you are low key worried about becoming a serious drug addict or alcoholic. So, you know… the fun one.
Bourbon Street is the infamous strip in NOLA and it’s kind of dirty but in a good way. You’ll see people pouring out of bars at all hours, women (old women) regularly getting their nipples out in exchange for beaded necklaces and you’ll even hear the sweet sounds of jazz music in the midst of the dirtiness.
Let’s get away from the city for a minute. Really do consider getting a tour out of the city whether that be taking a swamp tour or visiting a plantation. I was lucky enough to visit Oak Alley Plantation and was the youngest person on the tour. All in, it was $65 for transport there and back as well as a tour of the house. If you’ve got a good tour guide you’ll even get a short history lesson on the hour or so journey there.
When we got back into the city, we bought a bottle of SoCo and headed for the bars. First one we spotted, ‘Bourbon Cowboy’; it had a mechanical bull so of course that was the first port of call. Rode the bull didn’t I?! Once the novelty of the bull had worn off and bald, military man Ray from Texas started to get a little TOO friendly, we moved on.
Next bar was the home of HUGE ASS BEERS and course we got one. Did I spill mine all over someone on the street from the balcony? Course I did. Turns out, my faux pas did not go unnoticed and the man stormed into the bar, up the stairs and tried to start a fight with my pal Seán. After countless attempts to tell him it was my fault, Blake Ward (so American) would not listen. Imagine an over privileged but really good looking frat boy, yeah… that. Escaping a punch in the face, we ended the night with a pizza from a woman who’s knowledge on local meth dealers could not be rivalled.
The following evening we decided to be a little more cultured and try some of the local cuisine. Draygos in the Hilton was recommended to us and albeit a little pricey, once seeing countless lobster dishes on the menu, I decided that was DEFFO a bit of me. For dessert we headed down to Cafe de Monde to try the infamous beignets and they did not disappoint fellas.
New Orleans is famous for two major things, its food and its music. We couldn’t leave without experiencing some traditional jazz so decided to get in line for Preservation Hall. Preservation Hall is a small intimate venue that was established in 1961 There’s no air conditioning so get ready for some serious bum juice. There’s no photography or recording allowed and there’s no microphone. What there is of course is great jazz music. It feels authentic because it is. At $20 a ticket, it’s worth it.
The hall is just off Bourbon Street so if you thought you were in for a relaxing evening of jazz, think again. As soon as you step out of the building you are once again reminded that you are in the mental district.
A night out on Bourbon Street is like if someone got every single hen party and stag do, every single lads and gals night out, every single addict and vomited them onto the street. Rules don’t seem to apply and you’ll end up appreciating the crazy things in life.
New Orleans is full of characters and I wouldn’t have it any other way. I saw a man go into the hotel swimming pool with a shower cap on. I saw another man sitting in only his dressing gown outside the Ritz smoking a cig and I saw some old woman, (who I’m going to say was at least 80) ride down Bourbon Street in a people bike wearing nothing but a bra and skirt blasting out ‘Move Bitch Get Out the Way’.
New Orleans, you were jokes but I think I would die there amongst all the craziness if you hosted me for more than a weekend.
Next stop ———> Los Angeles, California