There were no near death experiences. No one was in a fight or physically thrown from a bar. No one hid from clowns. There were not any Mexican standoffs, no human circles in the park, nor were there any food fights. No one met a girl on Bourbon Street, took her home, and later refused to buy her breakfast (cough, Dr. Jeff, cough). No one even threw up in his or her own hand (cough…).
That doesn’t mean that this trip to New Orleans wasn’t a memorable experience. We ate oysters, crawfish, muffalettas, jambalaya, gumbo, and po-boys. We drank oversized sugary drinks as we watched a fireworks display over the Mississippi River. We gambled and toured the 9th Ward and Garden District. We got warned by the cops not to wear bandanas on Bourbon Street. We started spontaneous dance parties to horrible cover bands.
I love New Orleans. I love the liberal open container laws and the legalized gambling. I love the policemen high-fiving drunken tourists in the middle of the street. I love that the city has the best food in the world. I love the underlying sense of danger. I love that the city draws out and celebrates every one of my vices. I love that the entire time you are in the city, you feel as if your life is a movie.
I could never live there, but I cannot wait to go back.
What I’m Listening To – Crying Lightning – Arctic Monkeys, Stillness Is The Move – The Dirty Projectors, & That Summer, At Home I Had Become The Invisible Boy – The Twilight Sad
Next Stop: Houston (for two nights, to decompress)
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