So, this is what a 4-star hotel looks like, feels like. The ATM is encased in wood trim and the elevator interior is plush with raised ornate cloth. In my room, there is a 47inch flat screen TV and rich burgundy, green, and gold colors. The bathroom offers thick towels and a terrycloth robe – which I didn’t wear but was tempted to steal – like I’ve heard about on TV or the movies. The toilet paper was folded to a point and sealed with a gold foil. The king size bed was welcoming with its array of down pillows covered by a royal emblem prominently displayed. The tall window sheers opened into a garden and pool… but the energy lived not inward but outward where the hotel sits, on the corner of Conti and the famous Bourbon Street.Leaving the clean and pristine environment of the hotel, I walked by the stone fountain and bell men dressed like English royalty and into… the damp, swampy environment of the French Quarter. At first, it smells damp and dark. Then, in come aromas of pastries and kitchen creations including everything from one dollar pizza by the slice to the high end Brennan high dining experiences – and finally the blended mysterious musty aroma that mixes it all together to present an atmosphere unique to New Orleans. Block after block, your ears are filled with competing rhythms of blaring live music – shifting from jazz trumpets to washed up 80’s rock bands and back to blues and dueling pianos. This is where Louis Armstrong’s cheeks puffed on his trumpet and Harry Connick Jr. played as a kid at the Red Door bar. On the corner, 20 young black men pull out their tubas, trombones, trumpets and drums and give the crowd a show – with streaming brass section melodies and harmonies and then pass buckets for donations – like its church.
This is a deeply spiritual place on the surface – but it also feels dark in the deep places. It is a city of above ground cemeteries and voodoo magic. The streets are lined with tarot card readers, posing pirates, and us curious people who come for the color, the rivers of beer, and a wild world without rules or memory. “What are you waiting for?,” the slender doorway girl asks. “No Cover”, the bouncer persuades, lulling us into his affordable trap. Above me, people lean over the second floor iron railed balconies to offer tourists beads if they comply with their unspoken dare. Later, a parade emerges from the crowd complete with floats and bead throwing riders. A group of old women follow behind to declare their freedom from cancer – and clothes - walking topless to display the remnant of their body that cancer failed to take from them. People dance here; they break rules. They declare independence and celebrate everything – fueled by the 4th or 5th or 6th round of drinks – the crowd grows rowdy – and the police grow in numbers to ensure this party does not end up in the morning news. People seem lonely; and I join them in this kindred hollowness. Walking these streets alerts the senses to your essence, your character, and your weaknesses. There is this odd sense of fullness but also emptiness. Everyone seems to be having fun, but each empty plastic cup begs for more, and every neon sign offers false promises. Everybody comes curious, and leaves aroused but even emptier. To me, it says less about this place, and more about us – this wanting congregation. Knowing the outcome, we entertain another drink though we’ve had too much. A 6am wake up call looms, but we walk the strip just one more time. Wedding bands imply fidelity, but one-time invitations in the shadows offer the lie that it’s a calculated risk. If you come here, just understand that you can have great clean fun… but it will also tease your character and sense of self. Know that you will be part of the unspoken dare to take off your mask (or put one on), to indulge, and to join the crowd. At random intervals, you judge the crowd, but then you get honest and you want to slide, you want to sin.
I decided on dinner at Red Fish Grille for some alligator gumbo, a glass of ruby red wine, and the sorbet of the day. The waiter suggested I watch my wallet and camera less they be stolen in a distracted moment. The gumbo is always good here – and the loaf of bread is amazing! One more walk down Bourbon Street and its back to my hotel for an attempt at an early night’s sleep – but not tonight. Despite two sleeping pills and a comfortable bed, I toss and turn for hours, sinking with each alarm clock hour that passes before my eyes. I know that 4:30am is coming soon, so when it’s 2:30 – you start to despair. You start to get angry and shout at the dark so sleeping is impossible. How will I navigate a taxi, the airport, and a day at the office on no sleep? But I got what I came for – and my brain needs time to process all these sights, and smells, and unnerving attractions. Exhausted, I’m falling awake on the inside – trying to make some sense of this… and maybe take home a lasting souvenir. They say that a man’s character is defined by what he does when all alone… but let me suggest that a better test of character may be a late night 2 hour stroll down Bourbon Street, when all your senses are made alive and all your inhibitions are lulled to sleep – you and a 1000 others just like you. The morning after prompts a prayer of gratitude that I survived the test this time – unless, of course the test was to stay away from the inevitable. So, maybe next time I should not tempt fate or trust myself so much – and next time just stay at the Holiday Inn by the airport. They may not qualify for 4-star ratings but it comes with free breakfast and they guarantee a good night’s sleep.
