Sick in N'Awlins

Why Oh why does shit happen?
Sick and miserable, day after day, sitting in this flat, it gets mind-numbing. I feel like the walking dead. The world goes by outside, and all I can do is slouch on the sofa; putz aimlessly about; read; doze; all in a wretched haze of yuck.

I never get sick in the country. Nobody does. From eons past, people went to the country to avoid getting sick. If you live in the country and want to get sick, you simply go and spend a few weeks in town. Oftentimes, you can pick up the virus on the very first day by boarding a crowded aircraft. If you don’t get it during transport, then you will soon after arriving to the city - at the theatre or anywhere else where humans flock and crowd together.

Back when we lived in PA, we shared the countryside with likeminded escapees from NYC, also seeking town & country living. A favorite of ours – Hervey – a true urban Thoreau, would always get sick during his periodic visits to the city. I would harp on at him every time he made plans to leave his charming down-country cottage for the Big Apple. Especially in December! “Don’t go there Hervey, you’re going to get sick again - like you always do!” And he would always respond – “what’s the point of living if not to take in the latest Broadway show… share a fine repast with dear friends… wander café to gallery? And off he would go to Manhattan and, sure enough, upon his return, we would find him sitting in his overgrown boxwood gardens, sniffling and congested, beloved cat, Goya, on his lap. Guests would have to mix their own cocktails that day. Sadly, Hervey is no longer with us, but his legacy lives on, thanks to his Coffee Town Road neighbor, Christopher Boas, who did a film documentary of Hervey’s extraordinary life – from his youthful NY cultural bonhomie during the great depression, to decades of outrageous weekends in the country…the films…the countess, the opera singer, the scandalous widow... Someday I hope to see the film.

But I digress as I always do. And when you feel hideous and hollow from congestion, you can’t be expected to write even semi-coherently. The only reason that I’m writing at all is because there is nothing on Comedy Central, and my eyes ache too much to read. And the Democratic nomination battle has become too tedious to watch, even for the most fanatical news addicts.

I admit liking Obama Girl...Stephen Colbert…Jon Stewart and especially Bill Maher. The ‘You Tube’ world has turned the traditional news media conventions upside down. Like everybody else in New Orleans, we howled in protest when the National Debate Committee bypassed our city - they said that the city wasn’t ready. What a line of utter crap and they all knew it – and you can rest assured that they, both individually and collectively, heard very clearly and explicitly from New Orleans! So we were thrilled when You Tube/Google announced plans to bring the candidates here for a virtual debate later this summer. What a grand way to ‘stick it’ to the traditional powers that be!

All of this makes good entertainment for those of us too sick to go outside.

I usually don’t get sick in New Orleans. It’s a different kind of town – better ventilated. At least, it is during the months when we’re in residence – in Spring, from Mardi Gras through Jazz Fest, and then again in Autumn, when the weather is fine and parties pour out into the streets and really get revved up.

After the Storm, a lot of full-timers left the city. But to where? Where can you go from New Orleans? Well, some of them found their way to Costa Rica. People there think we want to meet the Katrina refugees but we don’t. It’s true that after the Storm, many people had no choice, but we kind of doubt that anyone who lost everything would have landed in paradise. Given a choice, why would anyone abandon our beloved city when it needs everyone to come back home? Could it be that they just needed an excuse? I don’t want to judge the choices made by others, but we love the Big Easy and make our passion known whenever we get a chance, always trying to promote the city. Both of our gas-guzzling jeeps in Costa Rica have the bumper sticker: “New Orleans – Proud to Swim Home!”

As one Katrina refugee put it to me recently at a cocktail party in Costa Rica, to where she high-tailed it after losing her Lakeview mansion home: “I grew up in New Orleans – went to all the Deb balls! I know that city better than you! I believe Hurricane Katrina was God’s retribution to a sinful city.” Actually, New Orleans has always been populated by such sinners as prostitutes and criminals – that’s why it has been, and always will be, such a fun town.

But nowhere is fun when you’re sick and sitting in a stupefying funk in the flat.

It didn’t start out this way. I arrived in New Orleans just in time for the second weekend of JazzFest. Gerry had escaped some weeks earlier. Gerry’s take on ‘town vs. country’ is far different from mine. The country makes him sick (mostly in the head) and New Orleans rejuvenates him. When he’s not in New Orleans, he’s grumpy and homesick and, at every chance he gets and for any old excuse, Gerald (aka Famine) will jump on a plane and come to our home here in the Crescent City, leaving me back at Finca El Tigre.
On this occasion, I arrived just as Famine’s fellow Horseman, Pestilence, also arrived to take in everything New Orleans and especially the music scene. The first week we partied like nobody was looking - and then Pestilence got sick - then a few days later, Famine got sick. So for the next several days, we’re all cooped up here together in the flat, while I tried nursing them back to health. Gerald said it first, and there’s just no better word describing it than this: stultifying. Pestilence finally recovered enough to get on a flight back to Costa Rica. Unfortunately, I got the first symptom – sore throat – the next day and it went downhill from there.
The best remedies for colds & flu don’t require a trip to the pharmacy. You just need lots of fluids and sleep and time. Drink chicken broth and/or hot tea with lemon & honey and rest, rest, rest. Wait a minute! We’re in New Orleans after all! Aren’t there any medicinal cocktails? Yes, thank God, there are! Somebody said that God invented beer because he loves us and wants us to be happy. But beer is not a good remedy unless you drink just one – try saying that to your British mate. Luckily, options abound!

When we all fell ill in Havana, we discovered the wonderful minty Mojito cocktail. Here in New Orleans, you can order the refreshing Pimm’s cocktail or go straight for the gold: a Sazerac or two at Tujagues! Does it help? You bet! You feel great all the way through dinner and fall straight into bed and sleep for 12 hours. Next morning you wake up feeling worse than ever. And you swear that you will stick to the chicken broth…lay low…until the bug is finally gone. And then evening swings around again and you could swear that you’re feeling a bit better…

So what about today? Will we stay home or will I rally and take Gerald to Restaurant August this evening for his long, overdue birthday dinner? What do you think? Do you have any idea what it took just to get a reservation in there? We love Chef John Besh so much, that when he lost out to somebody or other from Cleveland as the next, great IRON CHEF, I turned off the show in disgust and haven’t tuned it back on since!
Salud!