Independence Day found me smack dab in the middle of a weeklong trip to New Orleans. While G., C. and I had briefly discussed heading down for the Essence Festival in separate conversations last year, no plans were ever formed. This year, planning was quickly underway and everything came together beautifully to the point that months in advance, four of us had both flights and concert tickets in hand. G.’s family hosted and were the epitome of southern hospitality. We ate great local food (jambalaya, gumbo, po’boys), slept in comfortable beds, and basked in good company. While our main purpose for being in town was to attend the concerts and related events, we took full advantage of the opportunity to soak up the culture of a truly unique city.
Insisting that we wake up before 5am so that we could go watch the Steve Harvey Show as it broadcast live at the Convention Center was not one of my brighter ideas. On the occasion when my eyes try to open at such an hour, I usually force them close in my attempt to get another hour or two of sleep in before I have to get up and start my day. But since we were on vacation...We might have survived the morning if we hadn’t spent the previous night barhopping in the French Quarter but since we did, most of us were in crash mode for the better part of the morning. But it’s all about the experience right? Other than that first day, G., C., V., and I enjoyed leisurely mornings followed by days spent shopping, dropping in on the conferences at the Convention Center, people watching, taking the ferry, daiquiri runs, family barbeques, and checking out the changes around town since Hurricane Katrina.
By far, some of our best concert moments include second line dancing with some wanna-be pimps, getting up close and personal with Chrissette Michelle and Estelle in the super lounges, and watching the Mary J. Blige and Alicia Keys performances from the floor of the Superdome. How we got to the floor is a story in and of itself, one that includes a complete loss of dignity, crawling across entire rows of people so that we could get to the security entrance that would give us the best chance of gaining access to the floor where our hook-up was saving premium seats for us. Under normal circumstances I don’t like to beg. I abhor it. So having to beg and being rejected multiple times before the guards took pity on us and finally allowed us entrance left me feeling a bit like groupie that first night. It was more than I was willing to take so being questioned by security and asked to produce a floor ticket while my friends looked on was enough to send me over the edge. I was ready to bite someone's head off and would have surely been kicked out of the arena but thankfully our hook-up came by in the nick of time and helped salvage what could have been an embarrassing end to an interesting evening. Yet, it only took Mary J. walking out on stage to bring us all to our feet and help us forget just how precarious our position really was. Behold, the beauty of great music!
Coming up, highlights of my recent trip to fabulous Las Vegas!
