Lorna Codrai wins this week’s Just Back travel writing competition and £250 for her account off a hazy night out in New Orleans’ most famous quarter.
It is 1pm and I still haven’t left my hotel room. Lying half-dressed on the bed with an ice pack on my forehead was not what I had in mind for the day before my birthday.
An hour later, my migraine subsides just enough for me to venture outside and enjoy the rest of the day. I head towards the Quarter, stopping to pick up candles and a cupcake for myself tomorrow.
I saunter past Café Du Monde, inhaling that sweet, almost sickly smell; my migraine threatens to return. I detour through Jackson Square to escape, and wander into Pat O’Brien’s to try a rum-infused hurricane. Mixing alcohol with a vulnerable head is not a good idea but the place is alive with jazz, colour and infinite smells. I am swayed.
A man – tall, thin and with a thick moustache – sits next to me at the bar and orders the same. Moments later, he is joined by, presumably, his wife – petite with strawberry blonde hair.
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The man, John from Wisconsin, strikes up a conversation and is delighted to hear a British accent. We bond over our shared love of Johnny Cash and Ferris Bueller’s Day Off. My affinity for the Eighties goes down well, as does my Guns N’ Roses T-shirt; I am deemed cool by a couple twice my age. It’s taken a while but I start to taste the alcohol beneath the fruitiness of the hurricane.
John and his wife, Sarah, shuffle us along to the piano room next door where further hurricanes and mint juleps ensue. Their friend Harry – for some reason wearing a sash – joins us and we end up singing along to Elton John with the piano lady. After a terrifying rendition of Bennie and the Jets, we’re all feeling pretty peckish so we stagger over to a Mexican restaurant opposite the French Market.
After a brief stop for Harry to have his palm read, we arrive and order pineapple cilantro margaritas, which will apparently “change our lives” – not quite life-changing, but they are amazing. We are in and out surprisingly quickly, then Sarah suggests the dive bar next door.
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It’s the size of a London phone booth with gargoyles hanging from the ceiling and a very questionable bathroom; it smells like our would-be breath the next morning. John and Harry order whiskey and Sarah orders us apple sour shots. Three down the hatch. “Please, not another,” I jokingly plead, but Sarah isn’t having it. She drinks mine instead.
It’s 11.45pm and everyone decides to head out. I have made no mention of my birthday, now just moments away. John, Sarah and Harry grab a cab outside the bar – not before we exchange numbers and hug goodbye. We never see each other again.
I wander over the streetcar tracks towards my hotel, the echoes of Bourbon Street slipping further away. The night sky, asleep, but the streets of New Orleans never tire.
I crawl onto the bed, fully dressed, make-up on. I look worse for wear, but I am happier than I look. 12.06am. Happy birthday. Then I remember… I left my cupcake and candles at Pat O’Brien’s.
How to enter the next round
Email your entry, in 500 words (with the text in the body of the email), to justback@telegraph.co.uk. For terms and conditions, see telegraph.co.uk/tt-justback.
The winner will receive £250 in the currency of their choice from the Post Office.
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post office
The Post Office is the UK’s largest travel money provider, offering up to 80 currencies in more than 11,500 branches with 0 per cent commission.
All currencies can also be ordered online for next day branch or home delivery. Check exchange rates at postoffice.co.uk/travel-money/currency-converter.
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