The air is wet and the whisky makes my blood thin, but my piss like treacle.
It's seven pm. I haven't eaten. "guele de bois" is what the French call it. A fucking raucous hangover. That's what I say.
I left the hostel last night in search of food. I got lost. I walked for an hour, around the neighbourhood. Young men congregated on the paving stones, cursing each other and staring at me. I did my best to look tough. Hood up, head down, a cigarette in my hand and a tendency to spit. That seemed to do the trick. I stumbled across a police car. I knocked on the window and a burly officer wound it down.
"Hey man. Can you point me downtown?"
"It's that way" he said whilst nodding with his head.
"Are you on your own, sir?"
"Yeah" I said whilst blowing smoke in the opposite direction to his face. "Yeah. I am"
"Take this road straight down. Walk in the middle of the road so people can see you at all times.Be vigilant. People like you don't walk around here on their own"
That was a reassuring statement.
"Um, thanks" I replied. I thought about asking him for a lift downtown, but decided against it.
I walked away with butterflies in my stomach. I wanted to run. Like a pussy.
I walked round some houses, taking the road he said and then ended up on canal. I felt relieved. I knew canal led straight to the french quarter, so I put a spring in my step and lit another cigarette. I walked past more young men. I walked past young women too. They said things to me, but were not as intimidating as before. I walked past people living in tents under a bridge. Near Louis Armstrong park. Somewhere I've been told to keep away from.
I saw bright lights and the security of civilisation. I plucked up the courage to talk to a group of lads who were spitting on the floor.
"Hi. Can any of you tell me somewhere good to eat?" I asked. One member of the group came forward and took hold of the conversation. He was wearing a beenie hat and a jacket made by a company called Enyce.
"Sheet! Where you from son?"
"England" I replied with a lump in my throat. "England" I firmly repeated.
"Fuck man! Whereabouts? Never been a England before. Sheet."
"Manchester"
"Oh like them red devils?"
"Yeah that's it"
"Cool. Well there's a burger bar just down canal. Near burgundy. It's a few bucks for a shitty burger. That do ya?"
"Yeah. Just fine"
"You be careful now. There's a lot of people in this town. A lot. Sheet, even I'm letting you off"
I didn't understand what that meant, but took it as a compliment and carried on walking.
I got a shitty burger for a few bucks.
I thought about the people back home. My close friends and family. The people I don't talk to anymore. The people I don't like. The people I love. It's strange, when your at home, you are yourself, interacting with other people. But you don't know anyone better than yourself when you travel alone. You become someone else in your head. I think that someone else is the weakest, most animal part of you.
I turned onto Bourbon and was blinded by neon lights. Deafened by loud Music. I saw people drinking. People wearing brightly coloured beads. People laughing. People throwing brightly coloured beads. I felt alone.
I walked a long way down Bourbon street, just soaking it all up. I had a meloncholy smile. My hood was still up. I was chain smoking cigarettes. I turned into a bar that looked quiet. A bar that looked lonely. A man was on the piano playing 'Valentine Stomp' by Fats Waller.
"This is why I'm here" I thought, and took a seat at the bar.
I talked to the bar maid a lot. She was tall, she had tight black curls of hair on her head and had a voodoo smile. She told me about the storm. She told me about the poverty. She told me about life in New Orleans. I told her I liked the Music and that I play piano. She said maybe I could play one time. Maybe.
I left the bar and walked back the way I came. I lit a cigarette and looked up at a balcony. There were lots of girls on it. A group of men near me on the ground, counted from five to one in unison. When they reached one the girls lifted their tops. That was nice.
I turned into a bar and got a beer. I lit a cigarette, listened to Guns'n'Roses and watched people having fun together. I paid 5 bucks and rode a mechanical bull. I did quite well. I left that bar and went to another. And another. And another.
I found a nice little bar down an alley and perched outside. I bought whisky and smoked by the fountain. A group of people beckoned me over. I cooly jumped at the chance for some conversation. They were all flight attendants. They were all drunk. One of the girls there threw me a tiny bottle of Vodka from her bag. I necked it and she threw me another.
"How many of those have you got?" I asked with a smile on my face.
"Enough to get you as drunk as I'd like you to be. I stole them from the plane" She replied with a laugh.
I drank enough of them to get as drunk as she wanted me to be and she was pleased. Pleased.
We went to more bars, and I drank more whisky. We went to a bar where girls get paid to take their clothes off. I drank whisky and watched girls take their clothes off. I didn't enjoy it as much as I had hoped. I learned about the world of aviation and what it's like to work on a plane. The girl talked to me a lot, she was fun.
The night was long and I am yet to recover. I have to go out and eat, but I can't. It's absolutely pissing it down. It's been warm and bright all day. Now a tropical rain is keeping me inside.
All I have managed to do today is phone someone. Her name is Mandy. I know Mandy through a very good friend. My friend knows Mandy because once they used to kiss and hold hands. They lived together too. Mandy lives near here, and has said she will come to New Orleans and see me. That will be nice. I haven't seen her for a while, but she made it very easy for me on the phone. Mandy is a person who makes you feel comfortable. That's good when you are alone. Once I stayed up late with Mandy watching 'Quatermass and the pit' I enjoyed that. I wouldn't want to do it again though. Not while I'm in New Orleans.
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