To wander around in New Orleans in late July is to experience a swampy, unrelenting heat that not even the strongest drink can cure.
The Spanish architecture of the French Quarter and the Spanish moss on the old oak trees charm tourists and locals alike. Powdered sugar from the beignets coat the floor tiles of Cafe Du Monde, and everyone follows their ears to the next band jamming in the street.
The scent of marijuana is as intense as the humidity.
The voodoo shops rival the souvenir stores. Tarot card readers and fortune tellers sit in the streets at little tables, making knowing eye contact.
My first night in the city I ate at Mothers, a cafeteria-style restaurant with "downhome southern fare since 1938". I ordered a cheesy egg biscuit, cheesy grits, green beans and a Spicy Bloody Mary. I couldn't finish any of it, it was enormous.
I got a takeaway box and joked to the waiter that I wished I could take the huge Bloody Mary with me. "Actually," he said, "You can!"
That's right, you can walk down the streets of New Orleans with drinks in your hand! I sipped it on my way back to my hotel, watching the blurry pink sun go down from its smudged windows.
I type these words from an Amtrak train headed to Mississippi. It was not my first visit to New Orleans, and it won't be my last. Despite turning 36 in New Orleans, I didn't just want a hedonistic joyride. I was alone, on a budget, and wanting to remember my time. I did okay. I never stayed out too late.
I met an entertaining musician who tried to buy my pecan pie and promised to introduce me to every musician in town, but I wasn't sure what he wanted in return. I took shots with beautiful bartenders.
I went to the bayou where I watched the airboat driver throw marshmallows to baby alligators. I listened to his strong Louisiana accent as he described the different 'gators he'd caught with his bare hands.
I got teary eyed with a stranger at a bar talking about hope, division and despair in America.
On a historic river cruise I spoke in detail with a Jamaican man about ancient civilisations and aliens.
I found Hotel Chateau in the French Quarter. I loved the location, the architecture, the price, the pool, but it was Elaine who greeted me when I got in who might have made New Orleans for me. With a big open smile, I felt the energy of a kind, welcoming person.
Meeting Elaine was a burst of joy that reminded me the reason I love to travel has nothing, really, to do with alligator sightings or ghost tours and everything to do with the kind people who take time to connect with you. Elaine is originally from New Orleans but, after Katrina, she left for many years. Now she's back again. She showed me the hotel penthouse.
We talked about when you look out for kind people, kind people will find you.
Elaine sent me out to the French market, where I saw lots of live music including the afore-mentioned musician, Grammy nominated Guitar Slim Jr.
I wandered through the markets. Bar the "gator burgers" and the live music in the background, there is something universal about markets like this in every city. I paused when I met a man selling his books, one titled How The Rails Became My Rehab. His name is Brian Paul Brightdawn. I was excited to talk, but he was a little bit more cautious with me, despite our mutual interests in trains and substance; I told him about my rewarding Dry January experience. He didn't have any social media and wasn't really worried about keeping in touch.
"I'm just another guy selling stuff at a flea market," he told me.
Last night I took a pretty street car ride to meet up with a woman named Elizabeth who founded Net Charter High School, for kids who had been expelled. We had drinks at the patio of the Columns restaurant looking out at the magnolia trees. She told me about the guns and violence her students deal with on a regular basis.
There is a tragic side of New Orleans, one that's getting worse. I felt it on the bus ride into the city, where under the bridges I noticed dozens of tents where people were living. She told me about what her students go through, and suddenly it felt naive and out of touch to talk about travel, culture, river cruises and swamp tours.
We don't like to dwell on these things on a Big Easy Bender. But I was grateful for her time and her stories of her life in New Orleans.
She dropped me off near Bourbon Street, and I dripped sweat walking back to my hotel. I paused to take photos of the cityscape and the enormous moon, a typical tipsy, thirsty tourist in New Orleans.
Iconically New Orleans
A street festival ritual that started in the African American community, often during weddings and funerals, "the second line" is the roving party that follows the band, and all community members are welcome to join in. A brass band typically forms the first line, and from there, people in the streets are welcome to trail along behind the musicians. They are the second line, and it's a common and joyous occurrence in New Orleans.
