A Taste of Bourbon

Posted on January 17, 2015 under Storytelling with one comment

Oh when those saints go marching in

( Photos courtesy of Peter MacDonald )

So, how did you ring in the New Year? Some of the more sensible folks watched the thrilling Canada/ U.S. World Junior hockey game. Some of you babysat your grandchildren while your offspring went out on the town. A few attended an 11:30 p.m. pajama party at a seniors’ complex. (Still waiting to hear the report on that one!) And some folks simply turned off the lights at 10:00 and let the New Year unfold … without any participation on their part.

Would you like to have spent New Year’s Eve in a crowd of a couple of hundred thousand (or a million perhaps) people?

By chance, my son and I arrived in New Orleans, a.k.a. “The Big Easy”, on New Year’s Eve day. Our original plan to be in Memphis got scuttled when we met Elvis in downtown Nashville a few nights earlier. When we realized that he was alive and well, we decided to take a pass on Graceland and headed for the Gulf of Mexico.

It was a dazzling sunny day. We had been blessed with exceptionally good weather since we left Nova Scotia almost 4,000 kilometers behind us. As far as surprises go, besides the incredibly low price of gas, we were shocked at how cold it was in the Deep South. We’re wondering if “global warming” is the appropriate catchall phrase. Methinks that climate change is a safer bet for surely it has gotten colder by times in places like Alabama and Mississippi, according to the locals.

We crossed the bridge over Lake Pontchartrain and thoughts of Hurricane Katrina sprang to mind. Some of the parishes in New Orleans have not yet recovered from the devastating flooding when the levees were breeched during that powerful storm. It was the costliest natural disaster in U.S. history.

Through the magic of Facebook, we had managed to secure lodging at a “friend of a friend’s” house just outside the downtown core. And good thing. The price for a hotel room in the city centre started at $599 U.S. Luckily, none were available. As we had several hours to kill before going out for creole, we decided to check out the French Quarter.

We parked the car, crossed Canal Street and entered no man’s land. It was scarcely 3:00 in the afternoon and the party was in full swing. Our trek began on Rue Royal and quickly we were mesmerized by a group of street musicians playing jazz. A boy, who couldn’t have been much more than 10, was playing a snare drum. He was a show stopper. Throngs of people leaned in with their cameras and cell phones to capture the magic. There were lots of other acts and the crowds were crushing. The French Quarter is always a major tourist mecca, but throw in New Year’s Eve and the Sugar Bowl (the national collegiate football semi-final), and you get the picture.

We turned down a side street and peered through the windows of Preservation Hall, purportedly the birth place of jazz. Sadly they were closed for a few days.

And then, we walked on to Bourbon Street. I can tell you this. They were serving more than bourbon as people, many of them supporters of the two football teams (Alabama Crimson Tide and Ohio State Buckeyes) clogged this most famous of all streets in New Orleans. On this particular day you are allowed to wander the streets with open liquor. Every imaginable concoction was being consumed, including the iconic “hurricane”. I chose to take a pass on that beverage in view of our recent lightning strike. Why tempt fate?

We meandered down to Jackson Square and stood on the banks of the mighty Mississippi River.

It was a perfect afternoon.

We headed to the suburbs to have dinner with our host. After a 4:30 a.m. start that day, a seven hour drive, several hours of walking “The Quarter” and a big meal, a wave of fatigue hit me. The thought of ringing in the New Year seemed as appealing as going to Jupiter. But fearing scorn from family and friends at being in New Orleans and not watching the birth of 2015, I decided that a power snooze might do the trick.

My head had scarcely hit the pillow when I heard the faint sound of a firecracker. “Charming,” I thought, “Some good natured parents are having a bit of a show for the little ones before bedtime.” Within 10 minutes, it was full on blitzkrieg and it stayed that way for several hours as this was just the preamble to the big spectacle at midnight. We were astonished to find out that just about every household in New Orleans has its own fireworks display right on the street. The next morning it looked like Armageddon as I walked to a nearby McDonald’s for a coffee.

We thought about taking a taxi back downtown but the possibility of not being able to get a cab home in the wee hours altered our plans. We would simply drive there, park, toast the New Year and head back to the house.

Have you ever tried to park at Mic Mac Mall on Christmas Eve? Supersize that thought. We drove every square inch of the downtown and you couldn’t have found a place to park your skateboard. We refused to pay the $80 tab to go into one of the parking garages close to the action. As the clock inched towards midnight, the prospect of spending New Years in our car loomed large. A short distance outside the city core we found a parkade that was open and there were no rates posted. Feeling a bit desperate, we decided to take the plunge and parked on an upper level. Ominously, every parking spot said “reserved”. I had visons of the car being towed and me walking down to the banks of the “Muddy Mississippi “ and simply letting the current take me to continue my voyage in the Gulf of Mexico.

We arrived on Bourbon Street a few minutes before midnight. The street was littered with humanity and garbage. We partook of the bedlam, grabbed the first slice of pizza of 2015 and headed back to retrieve our car. With a degree of dread we approached the pay machine. I pondered a re-mortgage of the house as the card with the barcode was gobbled up. Within seconds it slid back out. A large grin creased both of our faces as we saw the amount to be tendered: $3.00. Even with the exchange rate that’s a pretty good deal for a night out in the big city.

With the Superdome lit up like a Christmas tree in the rear view mirror, our car slid easily on to the freeway. On to our next adventure.