US: On Decatur Street, the Corner Oyster bar and grill was also defiant in the face of Hurricane Ivan and had greatly reduced its prices.
The popular "Hurricane" rum cocktail was going for just $2 25 cents. A sign on its shuttering read: "We don't run from hurricanes, we drink them." Further on up the street, one of New Orleans's best known landmarks, the Café du Monde, was closed for business and its famous coffee and beignets were not to be had.
Bourbon Street is the epicentre of the French Quarter. It is normally heaving with hedonists, even more so than Temple Bar on a Saturday night. Revellers move up and down the street hopping from bar to bar from each of which live bands play jazz, blues and rock that blares out onto the street. From balconies on each side, party animals usually dare those below to flash some flesh, and those who do are rewarded with a shiny beaded necklace. Then there are the sex clubs, one of which advertises topless and bottomless performances, but even here the greeter outside was becoming lonely.
Further up Bourbon, a glum hotdog vendor gave me his hurricane forecast: "I'm not worried. There'll be a lot of weather, but we shouldn't blood too much."
In Tony Moran's Old Absynthe House - whose list of famous past customers include Oscar Wilde and Lafcadio Hearn - waitress Lisa bemoaned the departure of 10,000 visitors who had cut short their convention.
"And the convention was about safety," she exclaimed. "But you know, there's worse to come, there's another one coming behind Ivan." At the end of the bar an old-timer chuckled, "It's the end of the world".
Some businessmen who continued working questioned the way the hurricane threat was handled. "They're running around like chickens with their heads cut off," said computer shop owner Michael Anderson. "And the weathermen have this one big chance to hog the limelight. They're hyping the whole thing up."
Lined up in front of the cathedral on Jackson Square, a dozen or so tarot card readers and clairvoyants had so few customers they were accepting small donations for their insights. One called Michael was revealing my inner self to me when one of his colleagues dropped her bag loudly behind him and walked off. "She's my girlfriend," he said looking warily up at the sky, "and she's very good on weather - so I think we better go now."
Overall most people seem to take the view that it's best to prepare for the worst and hope for the best. But there's also a dark side. The shuttering isn't just to keep Ivan from wrecking businesses - it's also to prevent looting. There's a visible police presence around the city, keeping an eye on abandoned houses and businesses.
With the hurricane's "cone of uncertainty" still moving erratically about, nobody can say for sure how hard it will hit when it makes landfall.
Meanwhile back in the Corner Oyster bar and grill at noon yesterday, shortly before the curfew, a handful of tourists engage in graveyard humour at the bar. Everyone is drinking Hurricane cocktails, and the bar owner, Brad Darr, is under some pressure. "There's a goddam hurricane on its way and you want a coffee - aw c'mon now, honey."
Brad then turns off the music and announces: "If you're here after two o'clock, you're gonna have to stay overnight."
Now that sounds like a plan, whatever way the wind blows.