She was a Venus De Milo in her sister’s jeans.

The next morning it was time to wake up and explore the city. So I woke up, walked out of the door to my room, was slapped in the face by ridiculous levels of heat and humidity and immediately reassessed the situation. I found some free oats in the kitchen and made some porridge on the stove. To be honest I could probably have cooked anything there and no one would have noticed because it’s all such a mess there’s no way it’s ever been sorted, but I’m nice, so I didn’t.

While I ate breakfast I got talking to some other people staying in the hostel. As Brits they’d had a fairly heavy night to celebrate the final day before American independence and throughout the morning and early afternoon more and more of them crawled out to the pool side before returning to their rooms, presumably to vomit, die and be reborn.

In the meantime we were sat at the pool side chatting about books and the like, our conversation interspersed with volleyball and water polo action with some fairly inebriated Kiwis. Two two litre bottles of vodka drunk concurrently beginning at 1pm probably isn’t the best idea, but I’ve seen them all since and can vouch for the fact that they’re all alive.

A couple from Holland I met in Nashville, Siebe and Minda, turned up at the pool during the day and after a while we got to discussing plans for the day. I’d mentioned Six Flags, a theme park left disused after Katrina, and after a little effort finding the address we set off, collecting Dan on the way.

He told us a wonderful story about his couchsurfing host who works for Domino’s pizza and had been delivering when he was robbed at gunpoint for the pizza he was carrying. They must have been ravenous because for some reason they left the money. They can’t have been very clever either. They used their own phone, lived just around the block, and left Domino’s paraphernalia strewn across their apartment. An open and shut case, even for the American police.

We were unsure what to expect when we got to Six Flags; the internet had varying reports regarding security, ways in, and arrests. At the first gate we were greeted by a sign which stated the park is ‘closed for storm’ and a fence topped with barbed wire. We drove on to another gate and I spotted a way past the fence but we didn’t want to leave the car alone while we went in so there aren’t really any photos, which is a shame. If we’d been in England, we’d have gone in.

We returned to the hostel a little disappointed but our mood was soon buoyed by songs from the hostel members in Nashville on the stereo and the beer we picked up from a convenience store on our way home. After some conversation, a fairly large group including Adam and Karl, the English guys who had given us a lift in Memphis, headed for the streetcar to watch the fireworks over the Mississippi river. As we were heading out afterwards I didn’t take my camera so unfortunately I have no photos until Nicola sends me the ones I took on her camera.

When the fireworks were over we were all fairly hungry and the large group from the hostel made our way to find food. You’d think this would be easy in a city like New Orleans, but with a group the size of ours there was never going to be a consensus. After far too long waiting for everyone else a group of us broke off and proceeded to take another eon deciding where to eat. In the end Frederick suggested we go to a bar he had been to which had live music and served food. At this point I would have eaten a homeless man, so I was quick to agree.

I chose a very tasty chicken quesedilla which was augmented by the kind of musical display which would have had Memphians hanging their collective heads in shame. It was open mic night, and we were treated to various styles of music. The highlight for me was a mini-me version of Slash who had been waiting for a while. That didn’t stop him though; he stood to the side of the stage and played along even though he wasn’t plugged in, which resulted in a fair amount of ridicule from parts of the crowd.

When the time came, he adjusted his hat, donned his Flying V, told the band the song they would be playing and the key they would be playing in and proceeded to give everyone a lesson in ‘how to be one of the coolest motherfuckers on the planet’ as his fingers blurred their way up and down the fretboard in a remarkably tasteful blend of bluesy shred.

After a little while longer in this bar and a few musicians later, we moved on to see in Siebe’s birthday on Bourbon Street. It was quieter than I expected but still vibrant and very much alive. We bar-hopped for the rest of the night, witnessing a combination of karaoke and live music before returning to the hostel. There was just enough time for Adam to blurt out the quote of the day by far; ‘I’m really sorry that I’ve come across as someone who doesn’t enjoy fun’, before we all went to bed.

The next day began with a few of us once again relaxing by the pool before we agreed it was high time to do something and made for the French Quarter, although not before Adam and Karl kept us waiting for seventeen hours. I don’t think I’ve ever met two males who take so long getting ready.The weather was threatening thunder as we approached the market where we spotted a selection of hot sauces for people to try. Having started off with a comparatively mild chipotle, I decided I would follow it up with some ‘One Drop Heart Stop’ and Adam and Karl soon followed suit. The name should have given it away, but I should warn you that soaking half a mouthful of bread in the stuff before devouring the lot turns out to be a fairly serious mistake.

After some more time spent wandering around the French Quarter Karl developed a sudden craving for crawfish. Following a little research we made our way to a restaurant where we were greeted by a pint-sized Samuel L Jackson and the wonderfully enticing speech ‘Y’all ready for lunch? C’mon, let’s do the damn thing’. How could we possibly refuse? Being fairly hungry but having not had crawfish before I didn’t want to order a lb in case I wasn’t a big fan so I opted for a satisfying shrimp po-boy instead. Luckily Adam and Karl had plenty to share, and after a quick tutorial from the waiter they tucked in, covering themselves, the table, and Nicola in particular in fresh crawfish juice.

When we were all cleaned up we went for a walk by the river where we learned that Jesus was a snowman who melted and a man attempted to scam me with absolutely no level of success. They tell you they bet they can guess where you got your flip-flops, and, finding this highly improbable, you take the bet. They then tell you that you ‘got them on your feet in New Orleans’. I wouldn’t have even known it was a scam unless Nicola had told me she’d read it in my guidebook because I misheard and cut him off at the beginning by telling him I got them in England.

After all this excitement we caught a streetcar back to the hostel and sat and talked. We were soon joined by an Aussie girl called Selina who told us about a gig by a band called Rebirth who would be playing in a small bar in the opposite direction to Bourbon Street. We were convinced, and so was a fairly odd Israeli called Daniel who was absolutely disgusted when he calculated the prime factors of the 1760 yards in a mile.

Some of us caught a taxi out there and some of them got a lift with him. When we arrived the miniscule bar seemed fairly packed, but people just kept on piling in. I’m not 100% sure that people pay attention to maximum occupancy laws over here. As they were due to start at 10pm, arriving at roughly 11pm gave us plenty of time before they began at around 11:20. Talk about laid back. Once they started we were treated to a wonderful brass-band jazz cacophony which couldn’t have been more what I’d expected from a band in New Orleans. I was a little worried afterwards that I had gone deaf in my left ear, but this turned out to be baseless. Another member of the audience informed me of the very interesting nature of the band. There are three groups and the members progress through the ranks, starting out on the street until they’re good enough to move up, with the result that each band as an abstract entity stays in the same venues but they’re not made up of the same members for long. Philosophy buffs may here ponder the Ship of Theseus.

After the gig we caught a taxi back to the hostel once Adam had finished insulting two different groups of girls; one from France and one from Oxford. The charming English gentleman strikes again. When we arrived the whisky he had drunk decided we had to go for a swim in the off-limits-after-11 pool so after changing I hopped in with him, Karl and Serena for a while. It wasn’t long before I realised what time it was. With a swamp tour booked for 7:45 in the morning I was not going to get a lot of sleep. That wasn’t helped by the fact that although climbing out of the pool into the night air was fairly pleasant, walking into my air-conditioned room felt as though I’d just been blasted full in the body by a jet of liquid nitrogen.

I awoke to a glorious day and went to get breakfast. As Siebe and Minda were checking out that day before going on a cooking course they had very kindly told me I could eat what food they had left. Bonus. Once we’d had breakfast, Nicola and I caught the bus outside the hostel which took us to another bus for the journey to Slidell which was driven by a man who fulfilled almost every Hispanic stereotype. The deal-breaker? His name was ‘Mr Adam’. In typical me fashion I slept for most of the journey, but his comments were difficult to understand because of his accent and a fairly muffled PA system, and the Greyhound into New Orleans had already covered much of the journey so I didn’t really miss a lot.

The tour began with an introduction from our guide who quickly established himself as passionate but slightly bitter about basically everything. He also made a lot of claims which I fear need verification. Apparently he’s one of only two people in the world who can harvest horsehair, although having shown a boatload of people I’m fairly sure that’s no longer true, especially considering the highly likely possibility that he shows every boatload of people. I have now seen a wild raccoon.

Here is some generic swamp:

Seeing an alligator of this size launch itself out of the water in an attempt to catch and eat a turtle is an impressive, and, I’m told, very rare sight.

After more swamp touring and tales of a dead grandad we caught the bus back to New Orleans. I managed to stay awake long enough to see the imposing thunderstorm which was forming over the city and very soon the bus was inside it. Mr Adam was kind enough to drop us off in the French Quarter and the worst of the rain was over. In just a short time many of the streets had turned into rivers with the drainage system hopelessly insufficient in the short term. Of course, before long the water evaporated anyway.

Hungry by now, we made our way to a bar on a side street. Suffice it to say that this hovel would not appear in any guidebooks; a very rough barmaid having some questionable conversations with some customers who were presumably her friends took long enough to take our drink orders*, and when we tried to order food she said she’d have to get the waitress. Roughly twenty minutes later she remembered, and the waitress soon came out to inform us that she didn’t have a working fryer. It was time to leave. In the meantime we’d kept ourselves entertained by watching a man’s futile struggle against the flood water armed only with an already saturated mop and a TV channel dedicated solely to hunting with bows and arrows. Thirteen year old boys shouldn’t be allowed to shoot and kill massive bucks.

*Although by English standards the service would have been excellent. I think I’m going native.

After a short walk along a street with some art galleries, including a fantastic exhibition of Craig Tracy’s photography of bodypainting (I recommend you Google it right now) we found a deli with good character and good food which was a big improvement on the hick bar we’d been in not half an hour before. After we’d eaten we strolled around more of the city before walking back to the hostel via a convenience store where we bought a tub of Ben & Jerry’s which was soon to be devoured. After some more talking to people, I started writing this blog entry before packing.

As I had another early morning for my next bus journey I didn’t really fancy the bright lights of Bourbon Street so we investigated cinemas in the local area. We hunted for a while before making our way through a mall which was abandoned due to the time of day. It was a fairly surreal experience and would have made an excellent place to shoot a horror-short if you’re that way inclined. The cinema offered food and drink which we both declined having eaten on the way, but we did take advantage of the very comfortable and spacious seats . We saw Super 8, which I thoroughly enjoyed, although Nicola’s description of ‘a bunch of kids are making a film and then there’s an accident’ was fairly unsuccessful in conveying what I was actually about to see. I’ve told her to bin her application for a job with Empire.

After the film we returned to the hostel where we found Lord of the Rings Risk waiting on the kitchen table. Nicola had never played but seemed to be having a disproportionate amount of fun pretending to shoot a cave troll with an archer as I explained the rules. If only I’d been staying another day I’d have kicked her ass all over Middle Earth but it was getting late so we said goodbye and went to bed.

The next morning I caught a taxi to the Greyhound station and had an urge to write I haven’t felt in a long time. I added more throughout the journey and a few pages of my notebook are now filled with various lyrics, lines of poetry, and the beginnings of a story which may actually have potential.