Laissez les bon temps rouler!

Room with a view

I hate to start this post with a cliché about the climate here in New Orleans, but it has to be said. It is HOT. It’s not just me that thinks so; according  to the meteorological know-how of our cab driver on the way from the airport:

“Phewee! It’s sure hot enough to make a crazy dog clever.”

I’m not entirely sure I understand his logic, though I wholeheartedly share his sentiment.

Hot it may be, but what better way to experience arguably America’s most vibrant city; famed for its sunsoaked days and steamy summer nights. After all, everyone comes here to feel a little Southern sass n’ sizzle.

New Orleans, William Faulkner once wrote, is a place “where imagination takes precedence over fact.” Anyone familiar with the city that care forgot will doubtless agree; the Big Easy is utterly bewitching.

From the moment you set foot in the city, whose motto is ‘Laissez les bon temps rouler’- ‘let the good times roll’, you’re under the spell of its sensory paradise. The sights, sounds, and tastes don’t so much touch you, as grab hold of you, sweep you along on a whirlwind romance and bombard you to breaking point until you’re head over heels in love. Inevitably you return home and the affair is over.

Like all lost loves, New Orleans will haunt your thoughts, teasing and enticing you back for more. I should know; this is my fourth visit in as many years. My thirst for her cocktail of carnival and curios isn’t quenched yet. Yes sir. I’ve got it bad for New Orleans.

Unsurprisingly, I’m not the only one to fall for her charms. The city, in particular its most famous district, Le Vieux Carre or the French Quarter, has seduced generations of travellers and inspired the creative juices of some of America’s greatest authors, leaving her cobbled streets peppered with literary landmarks.

Wander through Pirate’s Alley in the footsteps of one time resident William Faulkner; head to one of Sherwood Anderson’s famed 20th Century literary salons; lunch with Tennessee Williams at Lafitte’s Blacksmith Shop or join Truman Capote and Ernest Hemingway at the Hotel Monteleone’s Carousel Bar for a tall tale and a sazerac.

For me, at least, this is what captures the essence of New Orleans. As Bob Dylan said “The past don’t pass away so quick here.”

Stepping back into the present, sitting here on our hotel balcony under the clickety-clack of a ceiling fan that is elegantly swirling the sounds and smells of the French Quarter evening all around me, I feel like I’m home.