Sleepless in the Big Easy

I turned 45 last week.  And I am a big believer in the phrases - "age ain't nothing but a number" and "you're only as old as you feel."  Most days I am not even aware of how old I am - but something happened recently that made me feel old. 

I have been in New Orleans for the past three days.  This is my first visit to the city and my hotel is right in the heart of the French Quarter  at the corner of Bourbon and Bienville.  You just can't get any more in the middle of it all.

 

After I checked into my hotel on Sunday, I went out for a quick stroll and then off for a meal.  After dinner, things were already heating up in the French Quarter.  People were spilling out of bars, music from one establishment was competing against music from another.  Booze was flowing.  It was everything I had ever imagined about New Orleans.

And then I went back to my room to settle in and prep for work on Monday morning.  The noise level seemed to be going way past any measurable level.  I figured - "Hey, it's to be expected, I am in the middle of the French Quarter.  Laissez les bons temps rouler."  I finished my prep work for the next day and watched a little TV and then got ready for bed around 11:30.  As I was winding down, New Orleans was winding up.

Random loud screams came from men and women on the street below my window.  Competing musical styles emanated from the multiple bars along the block.  A steady, loud hum of conversation came through the floor from the wine bar just below my room.  Stumbling, sloppy drunks trooped up and down the halls - lost - looking for their rooms.  I lay in my bed, earplugs in, and a pillow over my head.  It's cool.  I can roll with this.

And then I couldn't. 

At 2:00am I got up, walked to the front desk and said, "I thought I could do it.  I thought I could handle the noise.  But, I can't.  I'm an old lady.  I need my beauty sleep.  Please move me to another room."  I was nice about it.  I did not lose my temper.  But I needed a new room - stat.  The hotel accommodated my request and I moved to a room that was one floor up and a little further from Bourbon Street.  It was still not quiet but it was quieter.  Finally, the bars closed and I was able to fall asleep at 5:00am.

Only to be awakened by the street sanitizing trucks at 5:30am.  (Note:  Do not wear open-toed shoes, sandals or flip-flops on the streets of the French Quarter after 5:00pm.  Whatever you think about when you hear the phrase street sanitizing - you're correct.)

Finally at 7:00am on Monday morning, I gave up the idea of sleep, got up, and went to work. 

Wait.  I was put out by noise?  Annoyed by the whooping it up of the people on the street below?  How could that be?  If this was 25 years ago, I would have been one of the loud, stumbling drunks keeping some 45-year old lady awake. 

And in that moment, I felt very, very old. 

Peace.
Tee