I arrived in New Orleans on 31 October 2009 – my favorite day of the year! And New Orleans being the home of Anne Rice's vampires, what better day to arrive than Halloween? As the plane touched down on the runway the Captain said "Goodmorning Y'all and welcome to Nawlins!" And as a surge of adrenaline and excitement flooded through me, i thought "Absafuckinglutely". I took a cab from the airport and arrived at a house which I had agreed to rent having only seen photos on line. Waiting for me outside the house was my land lady – the cutest little Honduran woman you ever did see. I could not be more lucky – the house is huge by my standards (my Sydney apartment can fit in the kitchen of my new house!) though rather oddly laid out. It is a “shotgun house” – which means one room follows on from the other (so you could fire a shot from the front door and it would go all the way through the house) – as you enter the house you come into the living room, then you walk through the bedroom to reach the kitchen, then the bathroom to reach the courtyard. Yes that’s right, I have a courtyard! Not quite the same as my Sydney rooftop, but I’m sure it will lend itself well to similar festivities.
The area I live in, The Marigny, was recently voted one of the top 10 areas to live in the States. It is a very cute neighborhood, full of bars and coffee shops – so I suppose New Orleans’ answer to Potts Point. I actually live a stone’s throw away from the “coolest bar in town” – Mimi in the Marigny, which I’m sure will become a regular haunt for me. I have made an appearance a few times so far, but its usually the last stop of the night (nothing like Empire, I swear) which means I remember very little of it. New Orleans is a major party town – no matter what day of the week it is, everyone is out drinking in the evening, and being the socialite that I am () I can’t turn down an invite for a drink! Just to give you a vague idea of the extent of it all – there are some bars in the Quarter that don’t have a lock on the door, because they never close! And ordering an alcoholic beverage at a bar is like ordering a coffee – you can have it to stay or to go – yes drinking in the streets is not only permissible here but very common!
The Marigny is next to the famous French Quarter, and I walk along Royal Street (or sometimes Bourbon St) through the Quarter on my way to work every day. It is such a beautiful walk - contrary to what you may have heard the Quarter was largely untouched by Katrina and remains fabulously intact. The architecture here is quite unique and it feels as though I’m living in Disneyland! It’s a half and hour walk through the Quarter to Canal Street where I then catch the “Street Car” or “Trolly” (i.e. Tram) down St Charles Avenue to my office. So I live entirely the opposite end of town from work, but in the perfect location for crashing in the wee hours… Americans are astonished when I tell them I walk for the Marigny to Canal – despite the convenience of everything, everyone here drives which means they never need to walk further than the house next door. Having said that I pass a number of friendly faces every day – and it never ceases to amaze me that everyone looks to make eye contact and say “G’mawnin’” – in London you’d be suspected of being a serial killer for making eye contact on the morning commute!
So- transport – there are buses, or so I have heard though I’m not entirely convinced its just some form of urban myth. The trolley however is awesome – there are a few different lines, but so far I have only used the St Charles line – which literally just runs up and down St Charles (it’s a very long road!) There is no schedule for the trolleys, you could wait 5 minutes for one or 45 (no jokes – I really did!) And more often than not when one comes along there’s another one following close behind.
So one evening I met up with a fellow intern, we’ll call her Miss F, for coffee after work along Magazine St (New Orleans’ Kings Road London or Oxford Street Sydney). She told me a few things about what made her laugh and what annoyed her about the States, particularly the South – these included:
1. When someone hears even a word come out of your mouth the react instantly with “you’re not from around here are ya?”
2. When emphasizing a point they will say “You hear me?” Or when agreeing with a point being made they will say “I hear you!”
The list went on but I’ll create my own another day. After coffee I walked back up to St Charles to catch the trolley back into town. As I approached the stop, a trolley was just pulling away. From the opposite side of the road a woman ran to the stop. “Damn, we missed it.” She said when she reached me . “I know” I agreed rather glumly. She perked up instantly, almost jumping with excitement as she exclaimed “Your not from round here are ya!” I had to bite my lip – could this seriously be happening to me right after Miss F and I had been talking about it? “No I’m not” I confirmed when I finally trusted myself to speak without bursting out laughing. We then went on to discuss where I’m from (I kept it as simple as possible), why I’m here etc… and then she decided to take me under her wing, telling me all about how to be careful here, who to be wary of. The she pulled out a pen and paper, “You tell me your number cos I’m gonna check up on you!” She told me, I was too bewildered by the whole experience to disobey her command and promptly read out my number from my phone. She then gave me her number, and said “If you need anything, a hot meal, a hand around the house or just someone to talk to you call me! Ya hear me?” She looked at me so firmly, I was crossing my legs and holding onto my waist praying I wouldn’t break down there and then on the trolley tracks in front of her. I sucked in a deep breath, smiled and said “I hear ya!” Just then the trolley approached and I was unbelievably relieved to sit down after 45 minutes standing and waiting while trying not to let my body convulse with laughter. We continued to chat on the journey to Canal, and (we’ll call her V) is really very sweet, so we have (she called me to check up on me as she said she would!) and will stay in touch.
Now most of you may (or should at least) know that New Orleans is the birth place and home of jazz. On every street corner on my walk home there is someone playing the trumpet or guitar or singing something – in fact there’s even a little crevice along Royal where a woman stashes her piano to play of an evening for shrapnel from passers-by. Frenchman Street (a mere five blocks from my house) is the place to go to hear some good jazz, there are a number of bars and clubs along the street offering liver performances every night. While most tourists look no further than Bourbon Street for a good night out, now that I am a local I head straight for Frenchman! Among my new friends is a saxophone player (lets call him Sax) who plays at La Maison De Musique on Frenchman, with a fabulous band which includes a trumpet, drums, guitar and keyboard to name but a few.
Well its 4.30pm on a Friday night so I must be getting on – I have an hours journey home before I get ready to hit the bars for a night out in party-town! I’m sorry this first installment isn’t complete – next week I’ll tell you more about the people I have met and the work I’m doing.
So one evening I met up with a fellow intern, we’ll call her Miss F, for coffee after work along Magazine St (New Orleans’ Kings Road London or Oxford Street Sydney). She told me a few things about what made her laugh and what annoyed her about the States, particularly the South – these included:
1. When someone hears even a word come out of your mouth the react instantly with “you’re not from around here are ya?”
2. When emphasizing a point they will say “You hear me?” Or when agreeing with a point being made they will say “I hear you!”
The list went on but I’ll create my own another day. After coffee I walked back up to St Charles to catch the trolley back into town. As I approached the stop, a trolley was just pulling away. From the opposite side of the road a woman ran to the stop. “Damn, we missed it.” She said when she reached me . “I know” I agreed rather glumly. She perked up instantly, almost jumping with excitement as she exclaimed “Your not from round here are ya!” I had to bite my lip – could this seriously be happening to me right after Miss F and I had been talking about it? “No I’m not” I confirmed when I finally trusted myself to speak without bursting out laughing. We then went on to discuss where I’m from (I kept it as simple as possible), why I’m here etc… and then she decided to take me under her wing, telling me all about how to be careful here, who to be wary of. The she pulled out a pen and paper, “You tell me your number cos I’m gonna check up on you!” She told me, I was too bewildered by the whole experience to disobey her command and promptly read out my number from my phone. She then gave me her number, and said “If you need anything, a hot meal, a hand around the house or just someone to talk to you call me! Ya hear me?” She looked at me so firmly, I was crossing my legs and holding onto my waist praying I wouldn’t break down there and then on the trolley tracks in front of her. I sucked in a deep breath, smiled and said “I hear ya!” Just then the trolley approached and I was unbelievably relieved to sit down after 45 minutes standing and waiting while trying not to let my body convulse with laughter. We continued to chat on the journey to Canal, and (we’ll call her V) is really very sweet, so we have (she called me to check up on me as she said she would!) and will stay in touch.
Now most of you may (or should at least) know that New Orleans is the birth place and home of jazz. On every street corner on my walk home there is someone playing the trumpet or guitar or singing something – in fact there’s even a little crevice along Royal where a woman stashes her piano to play of an evening for shrapnel from passers-by. Frenchman Street (a mere five blocks from my house) is the place to go to hear some good jazz, there are a number of bars and clubs along the street offering liver performances every night. While most tourists look no further than Bourbon Street for a good night out, now that I am a local I head straight for Frenchman! Among my new friends is a saxophone player (lets call him Sax) who plays at La Maison De Musique on Frenchman, with a fabulous band which includes a trumpet, drums, guitar and keyboard to name but a few.
Well its 4.30pm on a Friday night so I must be getting on – I have an hours journey home before I get ready to hit the bars for a night out in party-town! I’m sorry this first installment isn’t complete – next week I’ll tell you more about the people I have met and the work I’m doing.
"I hear you!" Glad you are enjoying yourself in Nawlins. Keep in touch. Gramps
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