Elisabeth Writing

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New Orleans is everything you think it is: vibrant, nearly shimmering with awareness, filled with the sounds of jazz that reverberate through the streets, and with the distinct smell of marijuana, cigarettes and incense. In short – it’s my kind of place.

I fell in love with it immediately.

That first night, my husband Matt and I were weary from traveling. Our hotel is part of an old building, with smaller guest houses, with its own kind of perception. The brass and gold antiques, the scarred wood and painted walls, all seemed to breathe. The courtyard, with a pond filled with koi fish, tropical plants and brick, was like an enchanted garden. We were exhausted, albeit excited, and we were just motivated enough to find some good food before we settled in for the night.

We stumbled on Marigny Brasserie, delighted with the menu and atmosphere. Our server recommended the fried green tomatoes as an appetizer; for an entree I got the shrimp po’boy, and Matt the seafood platter.

I have never tasted anything so essentially Southern in my life. It felt like a small taste of my hometown, Saint Augustine, with an extra spice that I’d always found lacking in other places. In short: fried perfection. I couldn’t even fit the sandwich in my mouth and eyed my pommes frittes dubiously; delicious, mouthwatering, and yet my eyes had been too big for my stomach. Still, what I did eat? Some of the best food I’ve ever had in my life.

And the jazz? The lead singer’s voice was pure soul. I found myself swaying in my seat, whisper-crooning along, caught in the music. The saxophone accompaniment and the guitar was, to put it simply, a sensual delight. There’s something about the way jazz skates along your bones, like liquid music.

Our server was as sweet as strawberry wine, calling me sweetie and quickly refilling my sprite and water every time I drank it dry (embarrassing, but, it is what it is).

And the peach cobbler a la mode? Oh my god. That dessert was a transcendent experience and nothing less. I sat there trying to distinguish the different flavors: peach (of course), cinnamon, caramel, a hint of clove? The way it melted into my mouth elicited a shiver of baker’s delight: I needed to find this recipe and try my damndest to recreate it, at some point. I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to; perhaps it was the whole experience of the place that made everything magical. But that cobbler felt like a piece of heaven in the French Quarter.

We got back to the hotel, more than full and more than content. We figured, as we slid in between cool sheets, that the night’s adventures were over.

Spoiler: we were wrong.

In the middle of the night (wish I’d checked the exact time, but alas!) we were both rudely awakened at the sound of the fire alarm going off. The wail and screeching hurt my ears. My heart pounding, worried about the possibility of fire, I swung my legs over the side and touched my feet to the floor – and it immediately stopped. Still shaky, and in a cold sweat, I peered out the front door window to see if I could see any smoke, or any of our neighbors rushing out but… nothing. I turned around and saw someone at the bathroom, merely a shadow in the dark. Matt? The shadow entered the bathroom and slammed the door.

Well, I thought, I guess Matt’s mad at being woken up by the alarm.

I shook my head and turned back towards the bed… where my husband was sprawled out, already fast asleep (he has a habit of falling asleep in a snap, a talent I envy).

So… who the hell had slammed the door and gone into the bathroom? I gingerly checked the bathroom, and any hiding spots and… nothing. No one.

I guess we somehow pissed off a ghost?

Trembling from adrenaline, I pulled the covers over my head and somehow managed to fall asleep. Welcome to New Orleans, I thought with a chuckle.

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DAY 2:

The next morning, we strolled over to Cafe Envie because we desperately needed coffee. The cafe was packed but there was just enough seating for us to squeeze into a table at the back. The French Quarter freeze – a blended iced coffee – immediately had me obsessed. I ordered French Toast and Matt ordered “the full breakfast.” We gobbled it down and sipped our coffee as we admired the beautiful architecture, the wondrous people that strolled by – some in costumes, some in cropped shirts and jeans.

We ambled through the park afterwards, walking off some of the calories from our breakfast. We took a carriage ride around the French quarter with a wonderful guide that made us laugh.

After a nap… we prepared for our GHOST TOUR!

We met at “The Voodoo Lounge” to take a tour with the French Quarter Phantoms.

Our guide was named Kweku; his dreads were pulled back into a ponytail and his voice boomed through the night as he called for our team to gather so that we might commence our tour. He asked which of us believed in ghosts, and nearly everyone raised their hands. And then he asked if anyone believed in vampires… and only a couple people raised their hands (myself included, of course).

Kweku had a twinkle in his eyes as he told us that it wasn’t his job to convince us either way; he was just here to tell us stories about the ghosts – and vampires – of New Orleans. We dutifully followed the storyteller through the streets. His voice rose and fell as we hopped around suspicious puddles and peered into lush courtyards beyond the wrought iron gates. He had a way of engaging everyone in his stories, of making you go still and quiet to hear the timbre of his words, to raise onto your tiptoes in order to catch a glimpse of a famous (or infamous) place, like the Lalaurie Mansion or the Ursuline Convent.

And at the end… even the nonbelievers had to wonder: were there actually vampires in New Orleans? Did the “casket girls” ever leave the Ursuline Convent? And what’s actually on the third floor? Did the ghosts of the enslaved victims at LaLaurie ever enact their vengeance on their terrible mistress?

Well… I suppose I can try to unravel those secrets in the next few days. Stay tuned… there are many more adventures to come, for this city teems with them.

(And please check out the tour if you’re in NOLA! I didn’t want to give away too many stories!)