The long way home

This is Andrea. I met Andrea at the hostel. Andrea takes photos. Andrea takes very good photos. Andrea is from Boston. Andrea sounds like she is from Boston. Andrea is shorter than me, which is good. It means I don't have to crane my neck when talking to her. I only spent one day/night with Andrea, but we had lots of fun. We talked and drank. That generally ends up being quite fun. All the photos in this post were taken by Andrea. Thanks Andrea.


Wednesday, I went to the French quarter for a nosey nosey. The sun was high and so was I. I walked down those streets looking for somebody to give me nothing to do. I ate food, and lots of it. New Orleans does food well. I had a poboy. A poboy is one big ass sandwich stacked to the brim with whatever you want. I hear it's name originates from 'poor boy', as it allows you to buy one sandwich, but have it for lunch and dinner.

I wandered along the water front of a river I'm not even going to try and spell, as it has a bucket load of s's and p's.It begins with the word 'miss'. Yeah I wandered that, listening to 'Rage against the Machine', they're a band I forgot about, and to be honest, it's probably for the best. I don't feel their Music anymore. When I was younger, and I thought I was angry, that's when I could dig that. Now it just sounds a bit silly. Anyways I nodded my head and let them play. I thought about all the locals I've met and what they've told me about the storm, what they feel, and what they think. I think that if Rage against the machine played a gig here, the whole town might just fucking explode. I could see these people letting loose to Rage and maybe taking it a level up.



I ducked into a phone shop and paid forty bucks for a sim card.

"Excuse me sir, will this sim card work with this phone?" I ask, holding up my English handset.

"Why of course. All sim. All phone sir. That how its works." I tried to decipher which country this guy was from, but gave up.

"Ok, but you're sure it's gonna work, right?"

"All sim. All phone sir."


So I got it home, and my horse shit fuck face mobile phone won't accept the sim card. Now I have to ask strangers if I can use their handset to put my Sim card in. They love that.

I spent the rest of Wednesday afternoon on the porch of the hostel with some guys that live there. They LIVE there. We drank pabst and just caught the sun. We were just shooting it, y'know. They told me stories from the great outdoors, they were getting on a bit, but they were still chasing that beat, chasing it right across the states.




The sun went down and my face was cosy. I got chatting to a guy from Indiana in the hostel, we decided to head into town. As we left the hostel we were accompanied by three others, Andrea, Megan and Andre. We formed a little band and caught the streetcar.

We hit Bourbon. I'd been to Bourbon before and was now sick of the place. It's cool to walk down. Once.
Bourbon is Newquay in a street. Boobs, Beer and Cunts. Most of them, anyway.
We watched a group of young guys playing brass, two of them are in a photo here. They were all young, all pretty ghetto. They played brass arrangements of Gangstarr and other hip hop artists' music. I enjoyed this a great deal and was glad Andrea took photos. I wanted to as well, but I also wanted to nod my head and cheer, without blowing my cover. Tourists are hated. Worldwide.

We ended up on Frenchmen. I like Frenchmen more than anywhere else. It's where real people meet. It's where real Music happens too.




We went into a small, dimly lit bar and ordered beer. A state brew is 'Abito' and I like it, its warm and golden. There were four guys jamming. A young bass player, two spanish guitar players and a cool-as-fuck pianist. They played gypsy jazz at a high tempo and everybody loved it. I was screaming inside, this shit was hitting me hard and to the point. I contained my excitement very well, partly because it was a small place, and partly because I may have ended up hurting someone. People danced and jigged, it felt as though we all knew each other, and that we had all organised this secret party, the best fucking party in town. I grabbed another beer and got heckled by a young couple. They were from Hertfordshire in England. I didn't care for that much, so I politely told them to fuck off and went back to the band.

Andrea took photos, Megan and Andre talked, Indiana guy went missing, and I just sat and feverishly tapped my foot. I skulled beers and the tunes just kept coming. They played a tune called 'There will never be another you'. I love this tune. It was written in 1942 and appeared in the film 'Iceland', though it wasn't until Art Tatum recorded it in '53 and Chet Baker in '54 that it really became known. I used to listen to it when I broke up with my girlfriend. I don't do that anymore.
I sang along and felt great. The pianist winked at me, and I smiled at him, then he sang just that little bit louder. Nice.

A small man with a trumpet turned up. His surname is Fine. Mr Fine.

Mr Fine is everything I want to be when I grow old. Sweet, funny and cool. So.Fucking.Cool.




We left the bar and I was sad. We started to make our way back. We stopped off at Bourbon again. More beer, more boobs. One girl was on a stage dancing. she took her shirt off and unleashed a huge pair of plastic boobs. Lots of men howled and whooped. I thought she looked like a fucking idiot. She seemed to be having a really good time up there, getting all that attention.

What an idiot.

We listened to Prince and danced. We all danced together, there is a photo of me and Megan dancing in here. Indiana whipped out a harmonica and started playing along. I've never been to Indiana, but I knew this guy was from Indiana.

We went home and slept. I slept like a log. Like a log.




Thursday I checked out and went downtown. I bought another poboy. I ate half and it made me feel sick. I still have the other half in my bag. Lord knows why.

I walked to the bus station and got my ticket. I was going to Alexandria. That's where Mandy lives. I was going to stay in New Orleans until she got here, but I didn't extend my stay in the hostel. Apparently the hostels get real full over Mardi Gras. I failed to comprehend this, and so, was stuck with nowhere to go.

I sat and waited for the bus. I was sat next to a girl a little younger than me. I struck up conversation with her and she talked. And talked. And talked. She was about nineteen I suppose. She had long brown hair, pale skin and a virginal face. I don't know why, but that was the strongest vibe I got. That she was a virgin.
She talked at me about New Orleans and where she was going. She was very intense, though a very shy girl at the same time. I think she is one of those girls that has been starved of sex, maybe because she's scared of it, or maybe because she has firm parents. Either way, I think that if you slept with her she would scratch you lots, growl at you and tell you to "Come all over my womb!" Or something equally as terrifying.

The bus came and I got on. I sat next to a man named Todd. Todd's a prick. Todd tells girls how much he loves them over the phone. Real loud. Todd tells girls that he's going to make twelve grand a month this year, and that they should quit their jobs. Real loud. Todd says he can't stand blacks, on a bus in New Orleans. Real loud. What a prick.

It started to rain real hard and the thunder began to roar. We pulled out of the bus station and the driver drove straight into a wall. All I heard was "Oh hell!" from the old bus driver's mouth. We reversed and just carried on going.

Todd started talking at me. He started telling me about his job. Todd works on oil rigs. Todd's a prick. Todd has no hair on his head, and probably doesn't have any on his balls either. Todd's from Michigan. He drinks beer and likes to tell girls that he loves them. I suspect that he doesn't really know what love is though. He leant over at my laptop and watched me mix on Ableton. He watched for a good half hour, I don't know why. It's pretty shit when you can't hear anything. He tapped me on the arm and handed me a card.

On the business card was an Italian name.

"He can sure as hell hook you up boy" Todd said.

"With what?" I enthusiastically responded.

"With your Dj'ing! With your Dj'ing. Yeah that guy. That guy, he got all the contacts in the North. He pay ya around six hundred bucks a night for doing what you're doing there"

"Oh, awesome. Cheers mate" I said as I turned out the window to think about all the people that talk out their arse.

The card did look pretty professional though. It had obviously had some money spent on it. I put it in my pocket and turned back round to Todd, to talk some more. "Maybe he's not so bad after all" I thought.

Me and Todd chatted all the way to Baton Rouge. He's travelled Europe a lot and loves Germany. I love Germany too, so we had something in common to keep us talking.

We pulled into Baton Rouge and I got off. Todd hugged me and said good luck. I reciprocated. Todd's a nice guy, it's just a shame he's such a prick.

Baton Rouge means 'red stick'. The French named it after they landed here and saw lots of poles in the ground with blood all over them. This was so the rival natives could mark out their hunting territories. That's cool.

I had another bus ride from Baton Rouge to Alexandria. This was when I realised how far Mandy lives from New Orleans. I'd say it's the distance from London to Devon. I listened to Okkervil River and Calexico. It felt right.


I got in at ten or thereabouts. I was greeted with a cold air and a massive hug. It felt really good to hug someone. I hug people a lot back home. Not so much over here. Mandy had a huge smile on her face and I'm sure I did too.

"So, you want food then drink? Or just drink?" Mandy asked me in her familiar Southern accent.

"Food food food" Was my reply. We jumped in the car and went to a place called checkers. I had a Buford burger and chilli fries. The fries were awesome, though a bit of a health scare for an hour or so.

We headed into town and went to the pub. I think it's the only pub around here. It's called Finnegan's wake. Mandy get's given money for labour there at the weekends. I met lots of people and they were all very friendly. I met one of Mandy's brothers and her room mate. We drank Car bombs and beer. I also drank Caol Ila, my favourite whisky from back home. I was worried I'd never find it in the states, so it was a real treat to drink it in the bar where Mandy works. We drank more beer and shots. We talked about back home. We talked about each other. I told Mandy our friend Alex says hello, and that made her very happy. We spoke about my brother and his life, and we of course, spoke about our friend Sam and his life.

We drank a lot very quickly and the conversation had no room to breathe. I felt very safe. I felt very happy. I would have a photo of Mandy to put up, but I was in no fit state for photography. I'm sure there will be plenty soon. At about one thirty we got back in the car and drove home.

Mandy's house is very cosy. There is a homosexual dog, a cat with the same hair colour as me and lots of furniture. I have to drink bottled water here, because the taps taste funny. It's sunny this morning and I feel at home. Mandy is at work and her room mate is at the gym. I'm sat at a large desk writing this post, drinking water out of a bottle. I'm waiting for Mandy to finish work, then we go to the pub. Mandy has to work tonight, so i'm bar fly-ing it. I will watch a band and drink beer. I won't be alone though, I already know people well enough to sit down with them. This place is very friendly. This place is very cool.