DH and I went to New Orleans last weekend–and we had a fantastic time!!!
Here’s how it happened. One day DH called me at work. “Want to g o to New Orleans to hear Buddy Guy?”
“When?” I love to listen to Buddy and I love Nawlins, so that was a no-brainer
“Two weeks.”
Gulp. Two weeks. Too close to get a good price to fly down, and that just happened to be the same weekend as Jazz Fest, but who cared? It was New Orleans. And Buddy Guy.
So I went to work. I found flights, then started looking for a hotel room. That was the hard part.
I tried our favorite hotel, Place de Arms, which is built around a beautiful courtyard, but they were full. (Duh) Then I tried the Bourbon-Orleans Hotel, which is reported to be haunted by bfs Marilyn, Meg and Dale (they experienced it and had a great time.) No vacancies.
I tried every chain I could think of, then started doing searches for online places like “hotels in the French Quarter.” Finally, just when we were beginning to think we’d have to find a place outisde the French Quarter, I found an opening at the Ramada Inn on Bourbon. I swallowed hard when I saw the price per night, but grabbed the space.
We got into New Orleans about 2:00 in the afternoon, checked in, then asked a guy at the hotel desk for directions to the House of Blues, where Buddy Guy would be playing that night.
He pointed at the street on a map and said, “It’s only a few blocks.”
At this point, I should confess something to you. I have a problem with directions. More than that–when I fill out a form with the question, “Do you have any handicaps?” I answer, ”Yes! Directionally challenged.”
DH and I found the street easily enough, but I turned us the wrong direction. We walked. And walked.
The sun was low in the sky, and the buildings along the street stopped having store fronts and started looking less than friendly. Finally, I said, “Let’s go back and ask someone which way to go.”
After a moment (just long enough to glance down the street) DH agreed.
So we walked a long way back and asked a man whose job it was to sign up people for tours if he could tell us where the House of Blues was located.
“Sure. We’re at the 200 block. It’s in the 700 block.”
I frowned, hoping he wouldn’t point the way we’d just come. “Which way?”
“That way.”
Whew! It was the other way. So we walked to the HOB. Then we went back to the hotel, changed, returned and, after a little shopping, stood in line to get in behind a couple who was very entertaining.
The powers that be came past to put bracelets on us that indicated we were old enough to buy alcohol. I didn’t know what was going on until DH and I’d been banded and the couple in front of us had been banded. Then they put one on the man in front of them, but asked to see the woman’s ID.
The woman just in front of me, who already had her “I’m not jail-bait” bracelet weaved toward her husband. “Honey! I need my ID!”
“No, you don’t,” he answered.
She put her hand on his neck, then slid her fingers to his ear and leaned closer. “If I don’t have it, I won’t be able to get anything else to drink.”
“No. You have that bracelet on. You can drink.”
“But they didn’t check my id.”
I thought sure she was about to be insulted, and most likely start a fight, but she just looked at me and giggled. ”Guess I got through that one.”
I smiled back, unsure what she was talking about. Instead of asking, I tucked her tag, which was flapping in the wind, into her dress. Then she turned fully toward me. “My husband just got an email on his I-phone from Victoria’s Secret. They told him he was late paying a bill, and I thought he was going to be mad at me. But i just pointed to my chest (she arched as she pointed at herself) and said, ‘Isn’t it worth it?’”
Snort.
She chattered on. “We’ve got four kids at home. The oldest one is 12, the youngest 6 months.”
How do you answer that? Congratulations? Too bad? Poor kids?
I honestly didn’t know if she just enjoyed having an empty ear to talk to or if she’d had to much to drink with dinner that i looked familiar, but she entertained me until her husband got tired of listening and started making out with her.
Finally we got inside and planted ourselves right in front of the stage. There were no chairs, no tables. We waited and waited and waited and finally BACK DOOR SLAM came on stage. BDS is a young group, but whoa! Talk about talent. The singer was a fantastic guitarist, and the guy on drums wowed us.
Then, at long last, Buddy Guy came out. The man has talent oozing out of every pore on his body. And he has a way of make a connection with each person in the place. One woman practically crawled up on stage with him. Another, a girl who wasn’t old enough to be banded (but was drinking pretty heavy anyway) nodded so hard when he sang about “making love to you tonight” I was afraid her head had come loose.
Buddy came out into the audience and walked around, singing to everyone. He went upstairs. He was everywhere, energetic, and even though he had a sore throat, he sang for 1 1/2 hours. And sometimes my DH sang along!
Buddy didn’t do an encore. After all that, you can’t blame the guy.
When it was over, at about 1 a.m. we walked back to Bourbon street. The place was as active as it had been in the early evening, except there were people on balconies with beads to throw to anyone who would flash!
That quaint little tradition doesn’t just go on during Mardi Gras. (surprise!) Even though it’s illegal, people still do it! (surprise, again!)
Did I get any beads as I walked down Bourbon? Yup.
Did I flash?
Snort!