We arrived in New Orleans late at night after an… interesting but still totally brill drive down the Mississippi River. We arrived at our hostel the ‘India House’ close to the French Quarter area.
It was a great hostel and we quickly made friends with some Aussies who said the ‘C’ word a lot. Apparently being called the ‘C’ word means you’re their mate. Being called ‘mate’ however, is a good indication that they don’t like you.
The following night we all found ourselves at a local college party. The party was so far, the most stereotypically American thing we had experienced. Free, terrible, ‘lite’ beer, beer pong and lots of under 21s. Our cover stories of why we were there (considering we were British) changed so often I think we actually told the same people two or three different things. I’m fairly sure we were Eastern European for a while. After being there for a few hours they actually ran out of beer. Upon discovering this gruesome reality, and throwing any previous international cover to the wind, Laurence pipes up in his best drunken American accent and shouts “What?! They ran out of beer?! …GOD COLLEGE SUCKS!” To which a jock nearby joins in “YYEAAAHH!”
We then all managed to blag our way into the college club, got drunk and danced to Spice Girls.
The famous street for tourism in the French Quarter is Bourbon St. It is the very embodiment of all manor of debaucheries. Hookers, strip clubs and heavy heavy heavy heavy drinking. New Orleans is quite different from the rest of the United States. For one, you can drink on the street. So 24 hours a day, and I mean 24 hours a day, there is a lumbering crowd of hazy eyed tourists and crazy locals staggering around with giant cocktails. One such cocktail is called the New Orleans Hand Grenade. It’s bloody strong. Two or three of these and you’re on your arse.
We got talking to a guy in a Hand Grenade bar on Bourbon St later that day. He had already had 4 or 5 and he was absolutely smashed. It was 12pm and he said he’d been drinking since 8am and considering what city we were in we didn’t doubt him a single bit. He was drunk and generous, so bought us Hand Grenades each and asked us if we’d ever had a Statue of Liberty shot to which we admitted to never having heard of it. So, producing a ten dollar bill, he bought three shots of 100-and-something proof alcohol, told us to dip our fingers in the shot and point to the sky. He then lit our fingers on fire and instructed us to drink fast before blowing out our flaming hands. After a few more drinks and shots we could barely understand a word he was saying due to his heavily slurring. But then he got onto the subject of his recent release out if prison, and with a slight grin on his face he tells us he was recently released from prison for trying to murder someone. It doesn’t really matter how many hand grenades you’ve had, when a dude tells you he tried to kill someone whilst sporting a little smile you sober up pretty quickly. Before he told us this we got a picture with him. We think it’s probably best we don’t put it up, but ask either if us to show you it. It’s one creepy ass face once you know what he got banged up for. So we all left, he fell over and went to popeyes fried chicken and we scarpered hoping not to bump into him again and completely confused as to why so much random weird shit happens to us.