We wanted to desperately get out of the mid-west, after a long and
bitterly cold winter. The we being me, periya thala, route thala (route
will henceforth be spelled rootu for effect.) and motta thala. My plan
to drive to Grand Canyon and back was quite rightly shot down by motta
thala and we decided to go down south to New Orleans instead. With a
very nebulous plan, periya thalai's rented car and a place to sleep in
the French Quarters of NOLA, we set out around 10:30 am on Monday. I
first took over the wheels, and after a traffic jam and lunch at around 3
pm in Tennesse, motta thala made it till Alabama by which time it was
around 9pm. We got to New Orleans at mid night with periya thala taking
up that leg of the drive.
Our rooms were in the French quarters of the city, known for its night life, food and music. Since it was St. Patrick's day, people were drunk as piss and the whole place had an air that I had last experienced in Thailand. Although we just got to the city after a long drive, we still decided to go out, all the while ruing the fact that we were not wearing green clothes. After hopping in and out of a few bars, periya thala and rootu thala decided that they would rather converse about exascale computing and watch justice league, while motta thala was hatching plans to somehow make me dance with random girls in the clubs. All I wanted to do was to listen to some music and relax. So when it dawned on us that it was way past jazz hours and well into house music time, we decided to call it a night around 3am.
After waking up next morning, motta thala and rootu thala had so much hydrochoric acid in their stomach that their breath was turning blue litmus red. Reappearing after their search for good crepes, the team reassembled to take a steamboat ride down and back up the mighty Mississippi. The two hour cruise was relaxing and all the thalais were happy since the weather was perfect, we all got to listen to a steam organ for the first time, and the cranberry juice on board the boat was delicious. Hungry as ever, we got dinner around 5pm. The dinner got off to a rough start when motta thalai unsuspectingly ordered a spicy drink, which was called "Taste of New Orleans" or some such name but was not for the faint hearted or faint stomached. Even though he had to pass on that, we walked out impressed with the food and hungry for some music.
Some lazy googling suggested that we attend a concert at the Preservation hall. This place offers three hour-long jazz concerts from 8-11pm each night, and the reserved seats get sold out within 1pm each day. So, unsure if we would be able to get in, we still made a dash for it only to find out that the line was as long as the block. The place itself is tiny and can maybe hold 100 people including the reserved seats. After waiting for an hour and a half, we got in for the 9pm concert. The place being small, lends a terrific atmosphere where you are very close to the band. I'd like to think that the atmosphere was exactly how it was when Jazz masters of old, from the twenties, performed in the local bars and concert halls. The name and the ambiance certainly suggests a concerted effort to do the same. The band was tight, bossed the show and the stage, and held us in bliss, awe and respect. I personally felt that the trombone player owned the show with the others not far behind at all. If anyone is considering a trip to New Orleans, put this on top of your list. Their recordings are good, but up close and live they are great. We did a bit of bar hopping and called it a night just after midnight.
Next morning it was time to say goodbye to a New Orleans and drive east along the Gulf coast. We took a scenic route along US90 which is parallel to the gulf coast. That was when my decision to drive the three hour stretch fell out of favor with me, while the thalais were happily enjoying the views of the white sands and the beautiful Gulf coast. I managed to sneak in a few glances, and we reached Pensacola Beach in Florida by 2pm. The sight of the sea was enough to bring the Madras boy out of me and I took of my shirt to go straight into the cool waters of the Gulf of Mexico. Periya thala, after hesitating a little bit, got in and he seemed to enjoy the water the most. He easily spent the most time in the water while motta thala and rootu thala just lazed on the sand, clicking pictures of girls in bikinis. It was sunny, warm and beautiful. In other words, it was not West Lafayette during the winter. Around 5pm, motta thala started missing Indiana and wanted to go home as soon as possible. So we decided to drive all the way back overnight, stopping for a desi dinner at Alabama, and a late night waffle snack somewhere in Tennessee. With three people driving, it was all ok when we got back around 7am on Thursday. A few hundred dollars poorer but richer in other ways.
Our rooms were in the French quarters of the city, known for its night life, food and music. Since it was St. Patrick's day, people were drunk as piss and the whole place had an air that I had last experienced in Thailand. Although we just got to the city after a long drive, we still decided to go out, all the while ruing the fact that we were not wearing green clothes. After hopping in and out of a few bars, periya thala and rootu thala decided that they would rather converse about exascale computing and watch justice league, while motta thala was hatching plans to somehow make me dance with random girls in the clubs. All I wanted to do was to listen to some music and relax. So when it dawned on us that it was way past jazz hours and well into house music time, we decided to call it a night around 3am.
After waking up next morning, motta thala and rootu thala had so much hydrochoric acid in their stomach that their breath was turning blue litmus red. Reappearing after their search for good crepes, the team reassembled to take a steamboat ride down and back up the mighty Mississippi. The two hour cruise was relaxing and all the thalais were happy since the weather was perfect, we all got to listen to a steam organ for the first time, and the cranberry juice on board the boat was delicious. Hungry as ever, we got dinner around 5pm. The dinner got off to a rough start when motta thalai unsuspectingly ordered a spicy drink, which was called "Taste of New Orleans" or some such name but was not for the faint hearted or faint stomached. Even though he had to pass on that, we walked out impressed with the food and hungry for some music.
Some lazy googling suggested that we attend a concert at the Preservation hall. This place offers three hour-long jazz concerts from 8-11pm each night, and the reserved seats get sold out within 1pm each day. So, unsure if we would be able to get in, we still made a dash for it only to find out that the line was as long as the block. The place itself is tiny and can maybe hold 100 people including the reserved seats. After waiting for an hour and a half, we got in for the 9pm concert. The place being small, lends a terrific atmosphere where you are very close to the band. I'd like to think that the atmosphere was exactly how it was when Jazz masters of old, from the twenties, performed in the local bars and concert halls. The name and the ambiance certainly suggests a concerted effort to do the same. The band was tight, bossed the show and the stage, and held us in bliss, awe and respect. I personally felt that the trombone player owned the show with the others not far behind at all. If anyone is considering a trip to New Orleans, put this on top of your list. Their recordings are good, but up close and live they are great. We did a bit of bar hopping and called it a night just after midnight.
Next morning it was time to say goodbye to a New Orleans and drive east along the Gulf coast. We took a scenic route along US90 which is parallel to the gulf coast. That was when my decision to drive the three hour stretch fell out of favor with me, while the thalais were happily enjoying the views of the white sands and the beautiful Gulf coast. I managed to sneak in a few glances, and we reached Pensacola Beach in Florida by 2pm. The sight of the sea was enough to bring the Madras boy out of me and I took of my shirt to go straight into the cool waters of the Gulf of Mexico. Periya thala, after hesitating a little bit, got in and he seemed to enjoy the water the most. He easily spent the most time in the water while motta thala and rootu thala just lazed on the sand, clicking pictures of girls in bikinis. It was sunny, warm and beautiful. In other words, it was not West Lafayette during the winter. Around 5pm, motta thala started missing Indiana and wanted to go home as soon as possible. So we decided to drive all the way back overnight, stopping for a desi dinner at Alabama, and a late night waffle snack somewhere in Tennessee. With three people driving, it was all ok when we got back around 7am on Thursday. A few hundred dollars poorer but richer in other ways.
