Goodbye Razzmatazz, hello Jazz

North America » United States » Louisiana » New Orleans
August 25th 2014

Published: July 28th 2017

Geo: 29.9537, -90.0778

Leaving Las Vegas, we were struck again by the huge number of people still playing the tables and machines at 8am as we departed from New York, via Las Vegas to our next location - New Orleans. However, first we had to contend with the airport system for Southwest Airlines - the USA's version of Ryanair. When we arrived at the airport, after a taxi ride with possibly the friendliest, most interested taxi driver of all time, we found ourselves faced with three potential queues to get into, none of which were signposted but which everyone else seemed to instinctively and successfully navigate. Since we had already printed our boarding passes off, we were directed into a line where we had to scan our boarding pass and this then gave us the option of checking in up to four bags. In e we had confirmed our luggage, we were then called forward by name to the baggage drop. Then it was up to secretly, where we could again join numerous lines. We were directed to one, and then sorted into groups of those who were to be scanned and those who were to be metal detected. Shoes was was mandatory, unless you were over 75 in which case, you could keep them on! Boarding the plane was also a confusing but efficient process. On check in, you were assigned a boarding position letter and number. They had three signs, A, B and C and then a series of numbers from 1-12 right through to 37 - 48. When the sign turned to your letter, you went and stood next to the group of numbers that included yours (we were B16 so stood in the 13-24 section) and then the sections made a ready-made queue, entirely based on when you had checked in. The earlier 4you checked in, the earlier you could board and thus have a better pick of the seats on the plane. It meant that the elbowing and jostling and standing for hours for fear of being sat miles away from each other and having no cabin storage as completely eradicated. If you took the time to check in early, you boarded early and could sit comfortably and simply wait for your line to. Oars, guaranteed of your spot. Maybe one day the low-cost carriers in the UK will catch up and budget travel will become more comfortable and organised. Then again, maybe not! As we were shattered from the late night and early start, we both decided to use the plane journey as a rest point. However, after about 30 minutes of cruising at altitude, I happened to glance out of the window and had to shake Stacey awake. Right below our window was the most incredible sight - the Grand Canyon, in all its splendour sprawled out underneath us, stretching for miles in every direction. Dome the height we were flying at, we could still see all of the crevices in the rocks and the changing colours created by the light and shade. However, we also had the added beauty of the clouds dotting the reds of the canyons with fluffy whites, casting shadows on the rocks below. It was incredible - our much longed-for flight over the canyon, the whole canyon from rim to rim and we didn't even have to lay for it. What a privilege. The flight over the canyon, in a fast-moving aircraft took at least twenty minutes, so it gives you some sense of scale of how large it is, when a flight at the same speed and altitude from London to Amsterdam takes around 55 minutes. We sailed into the airport, having passed over the vast pains of the south and middle of the country and then found ourselves flying over the waterways just outside New Orleans. Once we had landed and had an incredibly short and efficient journey through baggage control and out onto the concourse we grabbed a taxi and headed for our hotel, right in the heart of the French Quarter. The taxi ride took us over bayous, along the swampy shores of the lakes surrounding the city and finally into the ornate French Quarter itself. Edged by stunning three and four story buildings, each with ornate, wrought iron balconies, the streets are narrow and cross cross the quarter with evocatively French-sounding names. Our hotel could not have been better located. Right on the corner of Bourbon and. Orleans street, we were literally a 1 minute walked right into the heart if the party capital of the South. A two minute walk in the opposite direction had is in Jackson Square, named for the American General who was in charge of the army that defeated the British at the battle of New Orleans during the War of Independence. In this square was the oldest church in America - the cathedral of St Louis. As we entered the beautiful streets, our fears about Southern attitudes were immediately allayed. Directly left of our hotel's street was St. Ann's street and the first thing we saw, dangling from the railings of the balconies above the shops, bars and restaurants were huge rainbow flags billowing in the wind. The "one way" street sign had been altered to read "gone gay." This was not appear to be a city which shuns its gay community, but one that embraces the flamboyancy that so often comes with the territory of a gay quarter and places as much importance on this as of its carnival tradition. Indeed, next weekend will see a huge gay pride parade weave its way through the city, meandering and weaving along the same streets and the world famous mardi gras celebrations. We quickly changed, got our bearings while enjoying a complimentary cocktail in the bar and then headed straight across the street to a well-recommended restaurant, where we enjoyed absolutely stunning food. Soft, light, warm bread was brought to our table, with a dish of garlic butter. The wine list was extensive and the service impeccable. We ordered a couple of appetisers, plenty big enough to fill us up and they were divine. Stacey enjoyed a dish of steak medallions topped with a mushroom sauce. I chose a soup, which was served with more of the freshly baked bread. The soup was chicken, sausage, peppers, paprika and tomatoes and the flavours mingled and tingled together in my mouth. After dinner, we booked ourselves onto a ghost tour beginning at 7.30. With our hotel holding the distinction of being one of the most haunted hotels in the area, we wanted to understand what we were letting ourselves in for. New Orleans has an incredibly dark past. With voodoo, witches, pirates and ghosts, there are plenty of spooky, gory and downright terrifying stories to be told, and with such an high concentration of stunningly ornate graveyards and cemeteries there are undoubtedly ghosts roaming the buildings and streets around the city. It was hard work trying to decipher the accent of the tour guide, who, despite being clear and informative, had a strong Louisiana twang to his words, which did make if difficult to understand at times. The accents here are different to the southern accents I've heard before, which tend to be soft and lilting. The accent here are still southern and rolling, but they have a harder edge, a spicier and hotter tone which reflects the cuisine and culture of the city. However, after a while, the accent did become clearer to us and we were told amusing stories of pirates, spine-chilling stories of vampire brothers and shocking stories of the mistreatment of slaves. We learned of spurned wives, of mistresses, of greed, of lust and cruelty. It was an ape retraining way to pass two hours and get our bearings in the bustling area. However, it was stiflingly hot. The humidity index was off the scale and the air was thick with the threat of rain and heavy with moisture sucked from the lifeblood swamps and rivers of the area. By the time the tour had finished its leisurely route, we were in need of a cold shower and a sleep.

Goodbye Razzmatazz, hello Jazz

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