鈥淎re you crazy? Didn鈥檛 you hear Hurricane Isaac is now headed our way?鈥� said the airport porters as MBH (my better half) and I arrived in Louisiana. 鈥淲e鈥檙e Aussies,鈥� I argued. 鈥淲e鈥檙e used to natural disasters.鈥�
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鈥檚 famed gay stretch, had 鈥榊es, we鈥檙e open during the hurricane鈥� signs appear on bar doors faster than you could say 鈥楰atrina鈥�
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 鈥� 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鈥� 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鈥檛 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鈥檛 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鈥檚 Mardi Gras, it鈥檚 smaller and more intimate with lots of private house parties. Surprisingly, everyone behaves and there鈥檚 practically no violence on the streets or in the bars 鈥� Kings Cross, listen and learn.
As Sydneysiders, MBH and I presumed we鈥檇 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 鈥榩layful鈥� 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 鈥淣aw-linians鈥� 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鈥檒l always be grateful.
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