So I did it, I survived the hardest hitting seven days I've had for a while, and it's all thanks to the festival of Jazz in New Orleans. I'd been warned before departure last Monday that if you could make it for a week without a holiday immediately after then you were officially classed as 'hardcore'... well stand back ladies and gentlemen, it is now my middle name. Take a town that looks like it hasn't changed since the early 1900s (it hasn't), add jazz and blues musicians, 30c heat and smiling eyes and you get the most memorable holiday of a lifetime...
My brain has been engulfed by brass bands, soul singers, swing dancers and travelling wonders and what really struck me out there was the seemingly effortless lifestyle that lead to such happy results. The town has been struck with devastation in the past and even through this everyone seems to be smiling. The bars are so ridiculously cool the locals have no idea how much money we spend in London to create this look... everyone wears a hat, dons the leathers and works the style without even knowing. I'm hooked, me and my harmonica are going back even if it means I have to sell all my worldly possessions... I will be going to the jazz ball!
The music seen and heard during the day festival was quite different to the after dark festivities. Famous names such as BB King, Van Morrison, Jose Feliciano and The Gyspy Kings graced the stages in daylight and as soon as the sun set the true jazz kicked off. The Dirty Dozen Brass Band was the highlight, playing from midnight until 3am by which point my makeup was round my neck, dress soaked through and bourbon everywhere. A nifty trip to a strip club ended the night and at 7am the sun was up and ready to start a new day... and that was early!
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