Nawlins. NOLA. Crescent City. The Big Easy. Whatever you wanna call it, New Orleans has a reputation as one of the most laid back, yet vibrant places on the planet, and we were on our way to check out if it’s international fame was well-earned.
But first we had to get there. As we headed west towards the state line, our drive took us through the city of Mobile. A sign on the highway pointed out the upcoming Battleship Memorial Park, home to the retired USS Alabama. Never one to turn down a good military museum, we headed down the off ramp to check it out. It was worth the detour. Not only are you able to explore the epic WW2 battleship, but the park was also home to USS Drum, a retired WW2 submarine. The kids (yeah ok, and me) had a blast squeezing through the cramped interiors of these vintage war machines, and inspecting the other exhibits. A real highlight for me was the unbelievable A-12 spyplane parked casually outside the building. This predecessor to the SR71 Blackbird was capable of Mach 3.29, and actually set the speed record for an air breathing plane all the way back in the sixties – a record never broken to this day.
Fan-boy moment over, we climbed back into the van and carried on. We crossed through three states on our way to New Orleans. We started the day in Alabama before stopping for lunch in Mississippi. Then we eventually arrived in Louisiana, finding our digs for the night just outside the city.
To kick off our day exploring The Big Easy, I had booked us lunch aboard the riverboat “City Of New Orleans”. This beautiful, refurbished paddle-powered cruiser hosts daily jazz cruises on the mighty Mississippi River.
Lunch was a hearty slap up southern affair, consisting of fried catfish, jambalaya and andouille sausage with a white chocolate bread pudding for dessert. Sounds great, right? I thought so, but apparently it’s slightly too challenging for our more vanilla-palated minors who turned their noses up at this Cajun flavour bomb in favour of a plain old plate of white rice. Hunter has no problem chomping on crab claws and grilled steak, but you should see his reaction when faced with creole potato salad! Ah well, you like what you like I guess.
With full bellies we were able to kick back, relax and enjoy an hour of live Jazz on the top deck courtesy of Duke Heitger and The Steamboat Stompers. What a perfectly apt way to experience the great Mississippi Delta, supping on a cocktail and listening to some live jazz on a paddle boat. Stick a fork in me, I’m done! Check out the good ‘ol boy twirling his gal round the deck. Talk about the old phrase “dance like nobody is watching”!
When the boat dropped us back at the dock a few hours later, we were ready to explore the old French quarter. To be honest, I think you could spend a whole week in the various suburbs of New Orleans and never run out of places to explore and things to do (especially if you’re fond of a liquid diet and nightlife). But we only had a day to spare here, and we really wanted to see the iconic heart of New Orleans that’s so famous for it’s colourful, balcony lined streets, and it’s melting pot of art, music and culture.
First off we headed for Jackson Square, a cityblock-sized, green oasis dominated by the central eponymous statue of Andrew Jackson. Jackson is a hero to residents of New Orleans as he thwarted an attempt by us pesky Brits to gain control over this strategic port city during the War of 1812. The park is flanked on both sides by the beautiful Pontalba buildings, with what are apparently the oldest rentable apartments in the United States sitting atop rows of fancy boutiques. The street at the North-West end of the square plays host to an array of fortune tellers and artists, plying their trades in the shadow of the awesome St. Louis Cathedral.
Bam immediately spotted a sign offering henna tattoos and excitedly joined the line to receive one of these hippy-tastic tourist stamps to enhance her self-curated look. While the girls waited, the boys checked out the performers. This street has, in days gone by, played hosts to the greats of the local music scene. Louie Armstrong, Mr Bojangles, Harry Anderson, Trombone Shorty – all these and more started out playing these streets. In fact most of them were once upon a time arrested for doing so. So, who was providing the ear honey for our listening pleasure on the day of our visit? None other than (drum roll please…), some plastered old geezer, warbling the words to various rock ‘n roll classics, supported by a backing track. He was not alone. He had not one, not two, not three, but four equally inebriated groupies on his surrounding benches, eagerly dancing along (while seated) to his mediocre rasping soundtrack. Apparently it was all too much for one of them. He had fallen into a coma, presumably having been completely blown away by the sheer volume of talent sat next to him. To be fair it was pretty entertaining, in a hilarious kinda way. But five minutes was enough. I didn’t wanna go the same way as coma boy.
Instead, we chose to have a peek inside the Cathedral while Bam slowly neared the front of the henna line. This cathedral is actually the oldest in North America, and has been the site of a catholic place of worship since 1727. Mooching around it’s beautiful interior was a great way to waste just enough time to finally witness Bam take her seat in the chair, while Henna Jenna expertly applied a delicate filigree of brown sludge to the the tiny canvas of her hand. The realisation then dawned that she would have to avoid disturbing or smudging the henna for at least the next hour. A hard task for a scatty little thing like Bam.
We made our way through the town towards the famous Bourbon Street in search of the famous doughy snacks favoured by the locals, the delicious beignet. And what better place to try them, than Cafe Beignet itself in Musical Legends Park. We shared a portion of these sugar dusted Cajun doughnuts while listening to some live jazz and enjoying a cool drink. You can really see why this town earned itself the nickname The Big Easy. Life here is so laid back it’s almost horizontal. New Orleanians have a love affair with drinking, and seem perfectly happy to consume their entire daily calorific intake in a liquid fashion, starting with breakfast mimosas and ending with whiskey sundowners. The stench of marijuana also hangs heavy in the air as we wander down Bourbon Street, another sure sign the locals definitely are taking it easy. We even pass by a Technicolor van selling medicinal (of course it is) pot on the side of the road.
This is a town of big characters, and everyone seems to find their niche. A way to earn a buck or two while just being themselves. We took a picture with a guy wearing a dinosaur onesie in return for a dollar. We paid a few bucks to listen to a homeless dude sing a heart breaking blues song in a voice that would put most modern musicians to shame. We also paid the dirty jokes guy to entertain us for ten minutes with family friendly puns and stories of his carnival days as a kid when he earnt and lost a fortune. These guys are what makes this city so entertaining. They are the living, breathing heart of New Orleans, and the reason it is so intoxicating.
We came across a green Mohican sporting punk sat at a vintage typewriter offering bespoke poetry while his friends The Ugly Vipers provided live music on the street corner. We couldn’t resist having him pen us a poem, as we had found the same experience in Madrid many months ago courtesy of Mr Alvaro Piedolobo. He was amazed that anyone else in the world was doing the same thing as him when I showed him photos of his Spanish counterpart thousands of miles away. He told us how New Orleans was the perfect place for him and his gutter punk (his words), nihilistic friends because there was nowhere else in the world where they could get away with what they get away with here.
We made our way back through the town as marching bands led parades of stilt walkers and carnival clad revellers through the streets behind a motorcycle cop cavalcade. We made stops in the various well known shops, such as Marie Laveau’s House of Voodoo, Boutique du Vampyre and the Lafitte Trading Company to name a few, before sitting down for dinner in the Crescent City Brewhouse. Alligator bites are a common staple here, and are surprisingly delicious along with local oysters, prawns and crab hush puppies. A fitting end to the day as the sun began to set over the Crescent City. Time to head for home before darkness falls and the city becomes awash with drunken hedonists and ghost tours seeking the spookier, seedier side of New Orleans.
The next day we made our way to Slidell on the edge of the city for another iconic southern Louisiana experience. Cajun Encounters run daily tours of the bayou at the beautifully named Honey Island Swamp.
We joined Captain Dustin aboard his flat bottomed skiff for a glide through gator territory, as he regaled us, in his syrupy southern drawl, with his expert knowledge of life on the bayou. We hurtled up the river, and it wasn’t long before we had spotted turtles, vultures and even a majestic bald eagle perched in the trees. But let’s be honest, we were all here for the same thing – we wanted to see alligators in their natural habitat. Luckily, Dustin knew the perfect place. Past the collapsed pontoons and abandoned cranes that littered the muddy banks lay what he described as his “honey hole”. A place where the gators had learned that approaching boats meant a chance of morsels of food. Sure enough they approached on all sides, the larger ones fending off the smaller ones in a show of superiority, all to secure a protein pellet or two to supplement their fishy diets.
The bigger ones were visible on the open river too, but didn’t let us get too close before submerging away from sight. I guess that’s how they got so big in the first place. Dustin was happy to explain how the local alligator hunting operated, whereby licensed alligator hunters were allowed to catch a certain amount of animals during the month of September every year. They do this by dangling an animal carcass on a line several feet above the water to entice the gator to leap up and grab his tasty treat. The meat was placed high enough to preclude the smaller gators from reaching it, as they were paid by the foot for their “tags”. The hunters would then return, reel in the line, and dispatch the unfortunate animal via a .45 to the back of the skull. This sounds like a typically red neck affair, most unlike any other hunting as it requires no subtlety, no finesse and no lying in wait for hours on end. The hunters are pretty much free to cruise the area, blasting out Lynyrd Skynyrd while making their way through a six pack or two.
We then explored a side tributary, where we came face across a family of swamp dwelling raccoons near the famous whisky tree. It was here where moonshiners used to meet, during the days of prohibition, to share their illegal wares in the depths of the swamp and away from prying eyes. Apparently if you stick a rolled up twenty in the hole in the trunk and return the next day, even to this day you will find a bottle of the finest moonshine in the area.
Weirdly, this tree and this inlet were apparently also the inspiration for the scenes in Disney’s Princess And The Frog, and specifically the whiskey tree became the “wishing tree” in the film.
As we made our way back down the river we got a close up look at the fishing shacks moored along the banks, as well as the houses of the permanent residents. While I appreciate the idea of a bit of solitude, I think this might be a step too far for me. That, and the idea of sharing my garden with a bunch of gators and snapping turtles.
That was it for Louisiana. Next stop for us would be the great state of Texas for a bit of lunar based fun in Houston.