Of all the places in the country to be an impoverished student during wedding season, New Orleans isn’t half bad. I know this first hand- – I almost went to school in rural Pennsylvania, after all.
This June, I have the privilege of being a part of my brother and future sister-in-law’s wedding in the good old District of Columbia. (They met at Georgetown, fell in love in a class they had together, etc etc etc; they’re really cute and I love them).
I’d like to think that the bride-to-be didn’t decide to have her bachelorette weekend extravaganza in New Orleans just to spare my paltry bank account from hotel and plane fees. She would never admit that to me, anyway.
But after our highly successful three-day/two-night Crescent City whirlwind, I don’t think we could have recreated a bachelorette weekend of a similar caliber anywhere else in the world. Frankly, there is no better place than New Orleans to be slightly rowdy, slightly classy, and superbly full.
We started off the weekend with a Friday night trip to Oak for wine and cocktails, followed by a visit to the Maple Leaf, where Johnny Sketch and the Dirty Notes were playing. This was our tamer, non-phallic-plastic-necklace-wearing night. (Although I must say, the necklace the bride did end up wearing the following night was extremely subtle and tasteful.)
Other highlights included dinner at the ever-delicious Dick & Jenny’s, where locals seemed to wonder how tourists in matching cotton t-shirts managed to stumble in on such a gem, a solid cardio session of dancing at Goldmine, a rite of passage “Going to the Chapel” serenade at Pat O’Briens, po boys at Johnny’s, and even a ghost tour to explore the French Quarter and walk off some of our hangover. (And see some ghosts?)
I was proud of our ability to squeeze Uptown, downtown, authentic, cheesy, and delicious into one quick weekend. As with any group of mostly NOLA first-timers, there were so many other places left unseen. We missed out on the Marigny, Bywater, 7th and 9th wards, Treme, and lots more. Another night could have perhaps started at The Joint for dinner, followed by drinks at Mimi’s, and maybe some live music on Frenchmen.
But the point is, there is no right way to bachelorette in New Orleans. Frankly, I’m glad this city has become such a pre-nuptial hotspot. Now I know of at least six wonderful ladies who would book flights back to visit at the drop of a phallic necklace. And if their next visit is anything like their last, I’ll be more than glad to partake in any and all frivolities.
Meredith Acocella is an associate editor and intern for NolaVie.