A graceful return from New Orleans
Posted Thursday, March 27, 2003 @ 06:52 PM
I have been in New Orleans for four days, in a city that's breath smells solely of cuisine. It breathes, and the Creole it is most famous for breathes with it. But also in its breath lies a history that has been nearly demolished, save architecture and food. Even after those four short days, I have come home feeling disatisfied. Souvineer shops line every street, filled with shiny plastic beads, cheap masks, and t-shirts printed with things like "fuck you you fucking fuck." While I know it is not representative of the entire city, things like this are entirely disappointing--things like being followed down Bourbon street by bar employees, like seeing vomit stream from a two-story window and slide off my umbrella, feeling like prey as soon as the sun sets.
New Orleans is a tough city to enjoy after sunset if you are female and even slightly removed from hideously ugly; you are bound to be shouted at from across streets to "come party" at the bar you have just passed, and then again from the one next door, all despite being ridiculously underaged with your mother walking right behind you.
But despite all that we managed to find the New Orleans that remains--the Louisiana history drenched with strange ghost stories, slavery, deep south plantations, jazz, and vampiric connotaion. Not to mention we indulged in the usual Ritchie family travel tradition--spending over a hundred dollars on one meal, this time at NOLA, Emeril Lagasse's newest restaurant with unbelievably good service.
We went to the French Market, to Cafe Du Monde for beignets, to Central Grocer's--the place credited for the Mufaletta sandwich--and we visited and passed more than just a few places famous for their food inventions and history, probably more than I should even be aware of. There were all sorts of shops along Royal Street that we visited more than a few times, including Vintage 429, a shop specializing in signed memorabilia, selling things like Jimi Hendrix albums (signed "Be groovy, love"), a guitar signed by Elvis Presley, Ernest Hemingway's signed and framed wine card, and books like The Old Man and the Sea selling for upwards of $10,000, not to mention a signed book of Sigmund Freud's.
But I think my most favorite thing was Preservation Hall, a hole-in-the-wall jazz place that has probably been there as long as anyone can remember. It was not that much bigger than my bedroom and it leaked history, everything discolored by age, paintings of trumpet and trombone players hanging on the walls as if they had been conceived there. A few lights and fans hung above the "stage," which held three chairs, a drumset, and an upright piano with the hammers and strings exposed. The room was crammed with people sitting on the floor and on cushions, some standing in the back, sweating, and I can only begin to imagine what it would have been like were it any hotter outside and not raining. It seemed like we were in someone's attic.
When the musicians arrived, they were all black men with a genuine love of their music, some of them so old they might keel over with age at any moment, the saxophone player doing what seemed like sleeping between solos and accompaniment. They played classics like "My Blue Heaven," "Hello Dolly," and "Dinah," while the sardine-packed room tapped and bobbed along with them. There was a sign behind them on the wall that said "REQUESTS: $2.00, OTHER: $5.00, THE SAINTS: $10.00," as I'm sure every one of them, as well as every musician that had ever set foot there, could play "The Saints Go Marching" in their sleep.
It was truly the most magical evening of the trip, and I will choose to remember it as a night spent in the city's attic, where some amazing jazz musicians just happened to appear.
But as always, it's nice to come home to James Spann, the local meteorologist, to my bed, and to good home cooking that I will always miss the most.
[pssst: be sure to look at my last entry, which I failed to post before we left for New Orleans, thus I posted it just before this one, and you might have missed it.]
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mmm. Despite creepy men in bars your trip sounds lovely. Especially the hole-in-the-wall Jazz place. I'd love to go to New Orleans.
love you!
29 Mar 2003, 4:49 PM.