We are keen to get out and explore the French Quarter today, planning to see it day time, rather than the crazy of night. It’s a big bucket‑list tick for me, even if it’s nowhere on Matthew’s list. He’s here purely out of love and obligation, bless him.

After we’ve both risen and we think about heading off for the day, Matthew gets a weather alert on his phone. Seems there is quite the storm heading our way that delays our plan for the day. I check out the radar, while looking outside to see the sky darken and the wind pick up. Waiting it out is the only sensible choice.

When the sun finally returns, we order an Uber. Our driver is… erratic. Silent the entire way. Matthew and I exchange side‑eye that says, “Just hold on — we’ll survive this together”.

It’s evident as we step out of the Uber NOLA is a place there is always something happening. Heading up and down, in and out of the streets and shops, just soaking it all in. We wander the streets, dipping in and out of shops. The antique stores we hoped for are either closed or selling jewellery so expensive it needs its own security detail. No matter, my Disney suitcase is already full of treasures, and we still have 2 more stops to go.

We pass the hotel I was supposed to be at with my mum in March 2020 too. I couldn’t help but feel mixed emotions as this is a trip that should have been done and dusted so many years ago, but now here I was! Stupid COVID-19!

Because we’d had a later start our stomachs are calling us after a few stops including Jackson Square and the Catherdral.

We wander into an Irish pub down a side street, only to find out they don’t serve food – drinks menu handed over in a hopeful way. So after a quick drink, we head back onto Bourbon Street to hunt down lunch. We ask a few places if they’re serving food and get hit with a very enthusiastic series of “NOPE!” Meanwhile, spruikers are trying to lure us in from every direction, and the music is so chaotic we can’t tell which bar is responsible for which noise. Hoping for a quieter people watching spot, we persist, not before passing some iconic balcony sights.

I’ve learned how challenging it is to look up, while still watching where you’re walking, successfully stepping in not one, but 3 puddles. I guess no matter what continent I am on my clumsiness follows me.

It is hilarious to see the various people walking up and down the streets, wondering whether we look like tourists as much as they do. Although the guy that walked past with suitcase in one hand and an expensive camera in the other took the award for the most touristy-tourist we saw. Lots of groups, couples, old and young pass us by, mostly with a ‘to-go’ cocktail in hand. The matching t-shirt groups had me thinking whether it was just a souvenir of their trip for later, or whether it’s a deliberate choice to make sure they don’t lose each other in the crazy that will no doubt ensue for the remainder of the day/night. Either way – I love that for them.

We finally find somewhere we can chose without having someone try to ‘sell’ their place to us, which was both quieter and a spot we can people watch. Once seated, the people‑watching is elite. Highlights include:

• Mature women with bleach blonde hair walking with so much purpose – and without exception
• A guy on a bike approaching people with about 3 sets of beads on his hands trying to sell them on the street
• A creepy guy in what can only be described as a weird tennis outfit from the 80s pass about 4 times
• Amazing body proud women that walked the street like they owned it
• Men walking 3 steps behind their wives, red faced, sweaty and struggling to keep up.

Everything is entertaining, and we consume our lunch which was supposed to be a sampler of all kinds of southern classics – gumbo, red beans and rice, jambalaya and shrimp étouffée. It was just ok, but we were grateful to fill our bellies and have some fun watching the passing tourists. The creepy guy in white also eventually made his way into the restaurent, seems 5th time’s a charm for the walk past and grabs a table just behind us.

Our check arrives mid‑bite, unprompted, and the restaurant isn’t even busy. On principle, we linger. The presumptuous “tip suggestion” on the bill only strengthens our resolve.

Eventually we make our way out of the restaurant, and realise it’s not the same southern hospitality we’ve experienced at our other stops, but realise we are somewhere totally different, with a city vibe, and also happy to accept each place has it’s own kind of charm, even if it’s lukewarm.

We head to Café Beignet and order three of the fluffiest, simplest, most delicious treats I’ve had in ages. Messy, but worth every speck of powdered sugar.

Our NOLA visit is coming to an end and as we head to Canal Street where an Uber is easier to get, we are gifted the final memory to make our visit complete. We hear cheers from a balcony, and a fun bunch offering to throw us some beads. I cannot believe my luck given it’s only mid afternoon and feel so excited they quickly threw some beads down to us. I blow them a kiss, swiftly put them around our necks and smile as we can officially draw a line under our time on Bourbon Street.

Our Uber ride home was uneventful and not quite the rally drive we’d experienced on our way in. As we turn the final corner home, we spot a lemonade stand run by two gorgeous seven‑year‑old twins, supervised by their dad. Obviously we circle back – it feels like a mandatory American experience. We buy a lemonade each, chat for a bit, learn they are thinking about using the money for a good cause or perhaps just something good for themselves, and finally retreat to our apartment for some much‑needed relief from the post‑storm humidity.

We are calling it a day early as we are so keen to get to our next stop and plan to rise early, with a food delivery for dinner on the way, we are set for a much quieter night than Bourbon Street we’ve left behind. More adventures await as our final two stops will round out our eventful and story filled trip.

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