Jazzed To Be Here

Imagine if Byron Bay and the Amsterdam Red Light District had a love-child - all the blues-tooting, grass-smoking genetics of Byron Bay mixed up in a petrie dish with the bright lights and dirty street germs of Amsterdam. What do you get?

New Orleans.

Sorry, N'awleans.

As I flew out of Miami, bound for The South, the realisation that I was going to New Orleans and would probably end up dead in a drive-by-shooting really hit home. I believe, 'Kristen, what the hell are you freaking doing? Are you crazy? Are you freaking crazy for walking so blatantly to your GRAVE?!!' passed through my head a few times before we touched down on the tarmac.

But New Orleans is not the delapidated dive I expected. The city is a bustling hub of street cars shuffling people between districts, as old, toothless men blast jazzy tunes from the sidewalks. The houses stand two, three stories high, supported by pillars and curling cast-iron gates where hanging plants dangle like christmas decorations.

Like most major cities, there seems to be more tourists than locals, but those native to New Orleans possess a pleasant and polite kindess that identifies them from the crowd of photo-snappers. On my arrival at the AAE Bourbon House Hostel, the receptionist was helpful enough to show me where everything was in relation to the hostel and how to get there. It's these simplicities that make travelling alone not quite as daunting.

It was a relief to be able to wander around the city today with only my self and my feet to determine the direction. The French Quarter, the main draw-card of New Orleans, is a standard block layout and is easy to negotiate with a map. Bourbon Street, much like Kings Cross or the Red Light District, is where the music and mayhem happens at night. But in the cruel light of day, all its dirty corners and cheap illuminated strip joints look trashy and tasteless. Stores selling cheaps New Orlean nicnacs are everywhere - everything from magnets and postcards to feathered masks and giant plastic necklaces sporting peace and marijuana symbols.Turn off Bourbon and onto Royal Street and you meet a totally different vibe, with gallery after independent gallery line the street walk.

Around lunch time, the hopeful musicians begin to drag their music cases out into the street and turn the place into an outdoor jazz club. This, served with a side of Gator and Shrimp Gumbo is exactly how lunch should be spent. It's easy to enjoy their sexy, sultry sounds and think nothing more of it, but at the end of the day, they're just as much a business as the restaurant you're eating at. It's something the New Orleanians seem to respect and appreciate and the tip jars and music cases are consistently filled with beer-soaked one dollar bills.

It's been five years since Hurricane Katrina ripped a wound through the heart of New Orleans and while the city has rebuilt itself, 'the storm' is still referred to in quiet reverence by tourists and locals alike. The storm remains a historical scar that is referred to much like Christ's crucifiction - 'before the storm' and 'after the storm'. Tours can be taken along the Mississippi River where the majority of Hurricane Katrina's damage was directed, but like visiting Ground Zero, there seems to be something immoral about turning a memorial into a tourist exploit.

As much as I'd like to think I'm safe walking from place to place, I can't help but feel like I'm looking over my shoulder 99 percent of the time. Down Town and the Garden District feel like safe havens, but there are definitely areas you wouldn't want to wander into in the middle of the day, let alone after dark. Going for a 'wander' is potentially dangerous, as the good and bad streets seem to be intermingled. 'Walk where the crowds are walking' was the advice I was given and that's what I've been doing, with one hand clutched firmly around my bag.

But I'm okay, Mum. I promise.

Off to get some gator sausage. Delish.

Ciao for now. xo