New Orleans, The Big Easy in the Garden District

Pelting rain and violent thunderstorms- taking it easy in steamy New Orleans

We arrive at New Orleans, back into the humidity and the heat.

The city is lush. It is scented with magnolia grandiflora trees. Resurrection ferns coat oak branches, verdant and strong, coaxed back into life by the downpours.  Spanish moss drapes from trees. Everywhere is green and lush, tropical. The swamps may be gone, but they are held at bay,  just beneath the surface. You can take the city out of the bayou but you can’t take the  bayou out of the city. 

The city tempts with all its finery but Mother Nature’s instincts are strong.  It only needs a storm, the breach of something manmade and it will discard its finery, drop its clothes and  return to its  steamy swamp heritage.  New Orleans with its wooden and brick houses seems as fragile as the iron lace filigree of its verandas. Its essence is the steamy humidity, the quiet danger of the bayou. The streets are home to Jazz musicians, tarot card readers, the cast of Pirates of the Caribbean and countless vampire films but squint and you half expect to see an alligator lumbering through the shadows. 

We attempt to explore but it is hot, so hot, so humid that in seconds clothes are damp with sweat. The heat drains all energy. I’ve gone off dairy. Gone are my usual caffé lattes now it’s a shot of coffee, maybe a long one, topped with ice.  My top lip is perpetually covered in sweat, mascara slides off and scrunched up hair never gets dry.

I dawdle  where shop doors open and release cool drafts of air-conditioned air onto baking hot streets. Buildings act like batteries absorbing heat during the day, reflecting it out at night.  Buses and street cars offer cooler air. We need aircon, rehydrating and live music. 

At Fritzel’s https://fritzelsjazz.com we listen to Jazz. In the break the musicians join us at the bar. Above the bar the TV is on a perpetual weather warning.  Red crescents of boiling clouds arch across maps. Others in the bar mutter and suck their teeth. The TV urges us to have an evacuation plan. 

But in England neither the weather nor the wildlife sets out to kill us  so we have no idea – should we hide under the stairs, but be drowned in a flood,  or go high but then the roof could be torn off?Are we supposed to shut all windows or open them so the air pressure can balance itself? Do they mean in general or now this second? We remember what Hurricane Katrina did to New Orleans.  Having left the unseasonal tornadoes that killed 18 behind we know we should take these things seriously. We don’t want to be the idiots that heroes have to rescue.

‘Should we be worried?’ we ask the bass player whose eyes are glued to the forecast.

‘It’s hot for this time of year’ he says ‘The temperatures in the Gulf are already too high- there will be big  hurricanes this season’ 

‘But do we need to do anything …now?’

‘Nah, they’ll tell you to evacuate if there’s a problem. Where y’all from?’

Noting that everyone is aware, but not worried, we dive into the vibe and enjoy doing nothing  GS drinks beers, me the sour lemonades and the occasional cocktail.

The sky goes steel grey then black.  Flashes of lightning are frequent, followed by low rolling thunder. We count the seconds that separate.  It gets closer until there are flashes and instant deafening claps all around us. Rain pelts down bouncing of the road, overwhelming the gutters.

I love the storms.  Does it get more romantic than listening to live Jazz in Fritzels while the storm rages outside, wondering whether anyone would notice if I just slipped outside? 

It is all I can do to stop myself standing under a torrent pouring from a gutter, standing drenched in rain water, dancing with lightening and thunder drums.

Cool cats in the rain

The number 11 bus jolts us home in a bubble of welcome air-conned air. We can’t find the local supermarket, but no worries-GS has got the hang of ordering food for delivery from Aldi.  It’s amazing, you order it and half an hour later it arrives.

We were a bit peckish. The allowed time came and went.

‘It’s out for delivery’ said GS. Shortly afterwards there was an anguished wail riven from deep in his soul.

‘NOOOOOOOO’  

‘What! What!’

‘The food’s being delivered in Key West!’  Oops

Pretty cottages
Spacious and light creative spaces at home on the edge of the Garden District
Fairy lights in the courtyard garden
Iron lacery

Home is a house swap in the Garden district of New Orleans.  The roads are wide and quiet. The houses wooden and pretty. Mardi Gras necklaces dangle from trees. Birds sing hidden in the branches during the day. Bright red Cardinal Birds and Sparrows.  Occasional voodoo  signs appear are on doors.  Most houses have a flickering gas lit porch light. I bought a book on the history of New Orleans, its history, ghost stories and vampire legends. 

The Mississippi is at the bottom of the road. At night we hear ships horn blast,  haunting. And of course thunder, lighting and pelting rain. We have fallen into one of those calming apps where you watch rain fall on leaves, trickle and drip.

Our house, I am going to guess 1880s, is elegant, cool and spacious.  The garden comes to the very windows so that the view from the kitchen window see is almost into a Chinoiserie panel, complete with brightly coloured birds hopping from branch to branch. A bird slams its phantom nemesis revealed in the kitchen glass window. GS sticks our best attempt at a raven to try and put it off, but it enrages the little bird with the blunt beak even further.

The veranda, fairy lights, lush plants, sofas to sink into under with a clinking glass of sangria.  It’s the Big Easy, there is no choice but to slow down, let your brain take it easy as sluggish as the wide muddy Mississippi. It is so pretty, so cool and calm, such sanctuary that it’s  hard to leave.

Plants and flowers creep up the stairs
Attempted bird defences
Japanese breakfast
Calm interiors

Our neighbourhood is calm.  Pretty clap board shot-gun houses painted in pastel colours with  columned verandas and rocking chairs observe a  leafy lane. At the end is a liquor store, and numerous restaurants.  

We now have a favourite breakfast- Japanese pancakes with shrimp, avocado, spinach and sweet chill sauce washed down with iced passion fruit tea.

That’s not the only Japanese influence. At the house they have a Japanese toilet, one of those which combines lavatory with bidet.  First, with somewhat alarming accuracy, it aims  jets of warm water us followed by wafts of hot drying air. It certainly puts the ooo into loo.


Don't mess with this
The sweet nature of New Orleanians

I hope you enjoy my little bloglets as much as I enjoy writing them. Do please comment and share, I’d love to hear your thoughts.

4 Comments

  1. You made me laugh out loud several times, especially the delivery from Aldi. That’s delivered in Key West instead of where you are. Your descriptions of the loo in loo in also made me laugh. In fact, I smiled the whole way through the read. You made me want to settle down and write a blog post of my own. I’m still picturing your flowing beautiful outfits. so what are you wearing today?

    1. Thank you so much Carol, I appreciate your words – and yes, write that blog -it is a lot of fun! And yes, in flowing robes! Thank you Carol 🙂

  2. Isabelle Cockburn-Busch

    Loved this bloglet where you have conjured up the steamy, heady, intoxicating atmosphere of New Orleans…

    1. Thank you Izzy!That is just it…so steamy and heady, definitely The Big Easy 🙂

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