"When The Saints Go Marching In -- $10"

Now that our apartment has all arrived and settled down to some extent, I’ve really gotten to spend a good amount of time with the people that I’m living with, and I’ve really enjoyed that.

Thursday night, I went to the House of Blues with Alex and met up with a bunch of other people there. It was a Natasha Bedingfield concert. I’m not proud of what I’ve done, but I suppose it could have been an even worse singer like Britney Spears (sorry to all of you BS fans out there). I had a really fun time though because I really wanted to go to the House of Blues at some point before leaving New Orleans, and this was the perfect opportunity. Also, in fairness to Natasha, I guess there must be some reason why she is so famous, and she is a pretty decent performer. On a side note, we happened to get a glimpse into what was presumably Natasha Beddingfield’s trailer before the concert started and we saw a bunch of people playing a videogame…. It was guitar hero. (Alex and I got a kick out of that.)

On Friday, Nikhil, Alex, and I all went downtown to Preservation Hall after dinner. Preservation Hall is really what you think of when you think of New Orleans jazz. The Preservation Hall Jazz Band is a group made up of about 8 old men who live and breathe jazz. Settled on a side street off the main drag, the venue consists of a room that is not air-conditioned and that holds only about 50-75 people. The musicians joke around with each other and with the audience as they sing lyrics that are a combination of the original words and imaginative improvisation. You better have your cell phone turned off when you go in there, otherwise you will draw the harsh rebuke of the tenor saxophone player as one unfortunate soul did the night we were there. Also, make sure to bring plenty of money for song requests. A sign at the front of the room announces the prices: Traditional Songs--$2, Other Songs--$5, “When The Saints Go Marching In” (a true New Orleans Classic)--$10.

Saturday night the three of us (Alex, Nikhil, and I) were off to Commander’s Palace. Known as the best and most elegant restaurant in all of New Orleans, the Palace has served the likes of President Bush, President Clinton, and numerous other dignitaries and celebrities. When the waiter announced the specials for the day, he pointed out that the recipe for the Turtle Soup had been in the process of being perfected for the last nearly 130 years since the restaurant opened in 1880. The only thing I could think was WOW!

Finally, on Sunday, Alex and I walked over to see the National World War II Museum. We spent a good three hours there touring through the exhibits and still did not get a chance to see everything the museum had to offer before it closed its doors for the day.

Thinking about these great experiences I’m having now that almost everybody has arrived here in New Orleans gives me mixed feelings. Undoubtedly, I’ll remember them for a long time to come, but I’m having such a great time here that I’m starting to think about what it’s going to be like to return home in a few short weeks. I’m anxious to see friends and family, but I’ll really going to miss this great city and these great people…

The Soul of a People

New Orleans is a city with a soul. It’s a place, but it’s also a feeling inside. It’s an idea of a world and a culture that is separate from the United States and yet also intricately and necessarily intertwined with that of the country. Native New Orleanians will stop you on the street or on the sidewalk or in the mark and share this feeling with you, but you have to listen to them. I mean truly listen to them. You have to hear what they’re saying and take it in. It’s generally not a good idea to talk too much in these situations. They already know at first glance that you’re from out of town. But you do need to try to understand.

We met one particularly strange guy we met on Canal who had lived in New Orleans for the last six years. The conversation started out with him saying, “New Orleans it the Third World. Don’t let anyone tell you different.” I’ve heard other natives make similar claims, but this conversation was clearly going to be different. Just as he said that, however, another native New Orleansian standing on the other side of us insisted that this wasn’t true and that he was painting a dirtier picture of New Orleans than he should have (this second man continued to try to refute the first man’s claims for the rest of the discussion). Then the original man kept insisting that certain groups of African Americans are responsible for the city’s problems. This was a bit scary because this man was clearly smart, educated, and sober, and yet he still held this view which he continually felt the need to claim had nothing to do with racism. He proposed that some sort of elite task force be commissioned by the U.S. government to aggressively and forcefully remove the violent sects from the city so that potential criminals would be scared away; he said “this city needs a seasoner.” Still, with all the problems this man had with the city, he also admitted, “I love this city…this is home…[New Orleans is the] first place I felt like I belong.” I know what he means. There’s certainly a lot of evil and crime and corruption in this place, but there’s something about it that’s strangely endearing.

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There are experiences like those I just mentioned where you may see deeply into one individual, but then there are other experiences when you feel like you learn something about a whole group of people—about a community. Yesterday at the Bayou Boogaloo was one of those experiences when you really get to see into the soul of a people. Off the beaten path of tourists up in Mid-City along the bayou, natives gather each year for a celebration of the bayou complete with food, drink, soul music, and (of course) dancing. Gathered there were local artists displaying their wares, families, lovers, and friends gathered for a night of lively music and festivities.

But this is all not intended to say that you have to get away from the touristy parts of the city to get a feel for it. Indeed, the Quarter and Bourbon Street and jazz clubs and night life are just as much a part of this city as the Bayou Boogaloo. On Friday, we went into the Quarter and ate at Mr. P’s Bistro—a fine restaurant specializing in seafood and New Orleans classics. It was my first taste of shrimp gumbo, and (I’m sure) not my last. After that, we spent a good deal of time just walking around the Quarter and taking it in. Some parts are disturbing, some parts are heartening, and it’s all really different. Strolling down Bourbon Street, you’ll find bars and strip clubs and adult stores. You’ll find souvenir shops and voodoo stores and clubs. And you’ll also find Evangelicals with crosses in the middle of the street. One of them handed me a pamphlet on how to get to Heaven.

Later, we headed out to Frenchman Street to checkout a quieter, more refined side of the city. Other than the cockroaches galore, which literally covered the ground such that you couldn’t help stepping on them, I found this to be a nice quaint little area and respite from Bourbon.

Still, a good night in the Quarter has to end at a jazz club so we set out to find one. Unfortunately, many of the most promising looking places required you to be 21 to enter so those were off limits. But finally, we found a cute little bar/club jazz place on Bourbon Street called Fritzel's but out of the hustle and bustle, and we entered. Performing that night were the Rhythmmakers featuring two well-known local jazz/Dixie musicians--Ryan Burrage on sax/clarinet and Jim Hession making a guest appearance on piano, and it was really exactly what we were looking for. As we took our spots, the band started up. Later that night, I vowed that if I don’t hear jazz better than that for the rest of my stay here, I will order one of their CDs. It’s going to be a tough act to live up to! As I looked at the posters and old signs on the walls and saw the peck of the keys on the piano (the top was opened up), I felt a certain sense of warmth coming from the place. It was coming from the instruments and the drinks and the walls, but it was also coming from the people. I was in New Orleans, and that realization finally hit me. It’s a shame I only get 7 weeks in this incredible city.


Just as a note, I intend to try to post about once or twice a week so this won’t be a daily blog or anything like that, but when something strikes me, I’ll put it up.