The News Herald (Willoughby, OH)
Easy does it
There’s so much to see in New Orleans, first-timers go with French Quarter flow
To outsiders, New Orleans is synonymous with Mardi Gras, its largest, most colorful and, perhaps, decadent celebration of the year. Falling on the Tuesday before Ash Wednesday each year — Feb. 13 this year — the Catholic “holiday” nearly doubles the population of the city. Everyone wants to see the costumes and festivities, as well as catch strings of colorful beads thrown in parades. We wanted to see the city unhampered by such large crowds, so we visited in mid-October. The season may have been slower, but the French Quarter’s Bourbon Street was still crowded at night.
Our first morning in New Orleans started in the French Quarter with breakfast salad —- at least that was how I justified the Bloody Mary garnished with pickled beans and okra, tomato and olive. It was at least one serving of vegetables; the infused vodka was just a bonus.
In Northeast Ohio, a Bloody Mary might be a bit indulgent at 9 a.m. At Monty’s on the Square in the French Quarter, it was obligatory. That or a mimosa. Everyone was doing it.
The vibe in the 300-yearold city was like a flashback to college, if you went to college in a gritty version of Paris. City blocks are dominated by two- and threestory buildings trimmed with wrought-iron balconies. Much is aging, a bit like Venice without the canals. Slate and brick sidewalks are darkened by decades of foot traffic, deeply colored storm shutters hang askew and paint peels from light posts and gutter drains.
No doubt city dwellers repair and replace often to fight the ravages of heat and humidity in this crescent of land nestled at the end of the wide Mississippi River. But nature can be an insidious foe.
On paper, the street visuals sound rough, but the net result is authentic and inviting. It has an air of mystery and romance, more like a movie set than real life. And filmmakers love the neighborhood.
Oh, to be a scriptwriter or novelist in the city — inspirations for drama are on every two tames rampant curiosity. And a tour guide can help you focus. Christine Miller of Two Chicks Walking Tours spent two hours encouraging my hunger for adventure in the French Quarter.
The area, she showed us on a map, is high ground and was spared the flooding that ravaged other neighborhoods when Hurricane Katrina spun through 12 years ago. So we were seeing the real thing, not a re-creation.
We learned how a blending of African religions with Catholic imperialism created voodoo. We saw where Tennessee Williams conjured Stella, Stanley and Blanche for “A Streetcar Named Desire.” We passed by Café Beignet (a recommendation) and passed through Southern Candymakers for a sugary pecan praline.
When Miller wrapped up, we found calories and caffeine at a small cafe. The French Quarter has myriad restaurants and bars, some businesses dating back to the 1800s.
At night the French Quarter transforms into a party without borders. Bourbon Street is the busiest, with jazz clubs spilling sound onto sidewalks late into the night. Revelers wander from venue to venue assessing the talent while sipping the required one-beverage cover charge.
Without cover charges and with moderate drink prices, Bourbon Street doesn’t have to be a costly night out. Many folks wander the sidewalks, enjoying the street music that breaks out at random. Or they simply people watch.
Frenchman Street, just outside the French Quarter, is a quieter alternative to Bourbon Street. In a small club called The Spotted Cat, visitors crowd to hear musicians strum washboards, pick strings and blow horns. Further down Frenchman, I order my first Sazerac, a cocktail of rye whiskey, absinthe, Peychaud’s Bitters and sugar. Legend has it the Sazerac originated in New Orleans during the 19th century. Today it is the official state drink of Louisiana.
Artist night markets tucked into courtyards between buildings introduce local makers to residents and tourists. Merchandise ranges from handcrafted sterling silver jewelry to creepy skull art. At the entrance to one market, two street poets sat at manual typewriters beckoning passersby to buy impromptu custom rhyme. Laughter broke out at their irreverent prose.
Sated with music and cocktails, we wrapped up the busy night at the legendary beignet spot Café du Monde. Three beignets sponged up the alcohol in our bellies. Then we Ubered back to our lodging to wait for another day.
In “A Streetcar Named Desire,” Tennessee Williams penned, “I don’t want realism. I want magic!” The French Quarter delivers.