“Are you crazy? Didn’t you hear Hurricane Isaac is now headed our way?” said the airport porters as MBH (my better half) and I arrived in Louisiana. “We’re Aussies,“ I argued. “We’re used to natural disasters.”
My partner and I had made travel arrangements with friends to visit New Orleans, eager to experience the Gone with the Wind-style plantation homes and meander through the jazz-filled streets of the French Quarter. The bonus of the gay Southern Decadence weekend also meant that nothing, including Mother Nature, was going to keep us away. Keen to get our bearings, we immediately headed out to explore the city.
Whilst most businesses were busy stacking sandbags in doorways and boarding up windows, Bourbon Street, the city’s famed gay stretch, had ‘Yes, we’re open during the hurricane’ signs appear on bar doors faster than you could say ‘Katrina’
As Inner West Sydney gay men, MBH and I are spoiled with the diverse mix of culture and people, gay and straight, on our doorstep. The Big Easy is similar yet unique in its down to earth 1950s neighbourly feel. Because of the lock-down and a curfew imposed by city officials, the storm had the community banding together. They kindly opened up their beautiful homes and mansions – some the size of Tara – to friends and strangers, including us, the new kids in town.
A highlight of our stay was enjoying the local tradition of sitting out on the stoop in front of our friends’ homes in the evening, relaxing and chatting with passers-by over a beer or a glass of wine. Background, sex, origin, income, age and race didn’t seem to matter. So long as you were agile with a bottle-opener and enjoyed a good yarn, you were invited to park your bum on a step. Now that is something you don’t see in Sydney very often.
Launched in the early 1970s by 15 friends marching through the French Quarter in drag, Southern Decadence has mushroomed over the years to a world-famous gay celebration attracting more than 110,000 revellers. Unlike Sydney’s Mardi Gras, it’s smaller and more intimate with lots of private house parties. Surprisingly, everyone behaves and there’s practically no violence on the streets or in the bars – Kings Cross, listen and learn.
As Sydneysiders, MBH and I presumed we’d seen everything a gay scene has to offer. Well, in New Orleans, anything goes – and I mean anything. Pushing us to the bar counter for drinks, our new friends laughed as our eyes popped. There before us, danced two hot go-go boys, naked and semi-erect, collecting dollar bills around their ankles. And even at private parties, many men were naked and ‘playful’ whilst we felt overdressed wearing nothing but our aussieBum underwear.
Although Sydney is our home of choice, the genuine side of southern hospitality and the caring nature of “Naw-linians” provided MBH and I with great memories of a close-knit community that welcomed us with open arms and reminded us what true friendship is all about. For that we’ll always be grateful.
INFO: Follow Luke Brighty on Twitter via @brightlights_66
