Like the jet setter I pretend to be, 2 days after my first trip to New Orleans I went and headed right back again — this time with my husband. This was a lot more leisurely even though we had a slew of plans. We even behaved ourselves, sometimes going to bed at 10pm! He actually hated the city the first few days, but that changed rather quickly thanks to getting around more and hanging out with some of our new friends. Although there is still much more to see, it feels like an adopted city for me already.
Some things that happened:
Mister got a custom suit from Rubenstein’s. The whole experience was quite amazing, actually. Something that doesn’t happen often anymore these days, except maybe on Saville Row.
We took the St. Charles street car. A lot. Even took it to Whole Foods at one point because we are dorks.
Mister did a race on the levee and won 2nd place! We also were not used to the amount of food post-race that was provided, and at one point grabbed what we thought was plastic cups of lemonade. They turned out to be mint juleps!
The Saint has the best jukebox in the world.
The Quarter is a toilet. Literally. There’s mule poop combined with the horror of tourists. Many times I had to see people vomit or piss in the streets. But, once you get into the Quarter more, it’s alright.
They say the lights never go out in the Quarter. Well, during a crazy storm it did, and there we sat with our beers and votive candles. Hey, there are worse things than getting trapped in a bar in New Orleans during a black out.
Even the most unassuming and boring restaurant is still better than elsewhere in the country.
I walked a lot, and as a result, lost an entire dress size despite high levels of whiskey and carb intake. Nothing is really that far from anything. If I can walk almost the whole area with a bum leg, anyone can!
Had a nice little tour of the city and dinner with a Tulane history professor. He’s been in the city 40+ years and showed us around all the parts I didn’t see before including areas that totally reminded me of L.A. (St. Claude being Echo Park and areas near the lake being Burbank)
Stoop parties in the Quarter are lovely (little table and chairs with drinks and candles), until your hosts have to call 911 because a weirdo with a stuffed crow on his head is threatening to kill you all with 4 pound stone slates he is carrying around. Not only were the cops like, “eh” but the 911 operator didn’t believe us, and then called back to ask what a stone slate was — 10 minutes later. We were told many stories about this area and crime. The main take away is that people walk to the police station a lot because no cops will call EMS or give you a ride.
Despite my first NOPD experience being really annoying (truthfully they need a good house cleaning) I still walked around at night and felt safer as a rule than I do in most parts of Cleveland or Cambridge, MA. So there’s that.
Did the whole Lafayette graveyard/Ann Rice’s former house/oh look ‘that’s where Jefferson Davis died’ kind of deal.
Milkshakes from Sucre while visiting a cemetery is the best way to go.
We missed the Pyrate Wench Pageant. Oh well.
The oldest bar in America plays Ricky Martin and has Bud Light neon signs everywhere — it kills the ambiance. Don’t bother.
Amazing shows at so many galleries, we didn’t even get around to any museums. Went to Jonathan Ferrera, Mallory Page, The Shop NOLA, more than I can’t recall, and had a French 75 with illustrator Claudia Lynch.
Frenchman Street again was really awesome, even bought some merch from Luke Winslow-King. The odd thing about that? My husband had a dream last year that he bought the CD. He forgot about it until he looked at the spine and realized we were sitting in the same venue (Three Muses) as the dream. Freaky!
Any Mexican place that does nothing but play Wooden Shjips and The Stooges on loop is alright by me.
I’ve learned that in New Orleans, whatever plans you make, even if a wrench gets thrown in, somehow stuff all comes together and works out any way.
My husband threw down a challenge on our last night at dinner: if a pecan pie could be procured by someone within the half-hour, we would move there. And one was!
Now here are a ton of photos…….
Arty Farty 