Day FIFTEEN | "The Big Easy"

For those of us who are too proud to wear the same clothes twice, the day began bright and early at the laundromat. Sadly enough, I found that it still holds to be the one inevitable law of civilization that one lone sock must be lost in every load of laundry (frown face). Just before noon we headed into the French Quarter to explore, smelling spring-time fresh of course.

A little prior knowledge and research the night before led us through the bustling French Quarter to Café du Monde, a famous café located in the French Market area. The café is best known for its café au lait and French-style beignets (doughnuts), and we understood why. The coffee was perfectly blended with chicory, a New Orleans tradition, and the deep-fried beignets doused in powdered sugar were enough to satisfy any sweet tooth. After the sweet start to the day, it was time to venture deeper into what the French Market had to offer.

   

For a group of yahoos from the upper Midwest, the French Market held wonders beyond compare. Cajun and Creole food stands stretched from the entrance as far as the eye could see (assuming the eye belonged to a person with at least moderate near-sightedness). Inside the heart of the market lay even more precious jewels to behold. A massive jumble of stalls sold very similar wares, with just a few vendor-specific items to be found if one were willing to look. These items were all hidden in a mass of others, generally consisting of what one would expect to see in New Orleans if they had never actually visited the city. Hundreds of alligator heads and Mardi Gras masks were piled high on stall tables. Almost every vendor offered some sort of voodoo souvenir. Despite all of these things being common and cliché, I had absolutely no objection to them. They may have been made and sold solely for the purpose of tourism, but New Orleans thrives on it. As a result, many of the residents of the area, unlike those in other big cities, have acquired a friendly demeanor towards outsiders. In my mind, there’s nothing wrong with generic in the right dosage.

In sharp contrast to the somewhat generic dosage of New Orleans that we received at the French Market, our nighttime experience was anything but generic. Due to the fact that New Orleans is known as the “birthplace of jazz,” it is not uncommon to see restaurants and bars along Bourbon Street, and throughout the French Quarter for that matter, to be host to live music which is usually of the jazz variety. This so-called “stereotypical music scene” is all that many tourists experience or care to experience, but for those who wish to capture the essence of the true historical roots of jazz in New Orleans, Preservation Hall in the heart of the French Quarter offers just the opportunity as we discovered. At eight o’clock sharp each evening the smooth sound of collective improvisation drifts from historic Preservation Hall through St. Peter Street. Due to the fame of the establishment, we anticipated a lengthy wait for admittance and planned accordingly, arriving an hour prior to the opening of the gates. I think I speak for everyone in attendance when I say that the hour wait and mere twelve dollar cover were time and money well spent. After all, experiencing the roots of jazz in such a historic establishment as Preservation Hall in the company of some of the best jazz players in the world was simply priceless. Needless to say the experience was a fitting conclusion to a day of cultural exploration.

Matt and Michael