The Big Easy
There are places that you visit and quickly forget. You think, what a nice city, glad to have seen it. And then there are places that move you, get under your skin, and stir your soul. New Orleans is that kind of place. She charms you with her slow Southern pace, tempts you with her decadence, and reels you in with her alluring mystique.
Wandering through the streets of the French Quarter is without a doubt a sensorial experience—the sights, sounds, and smells coalesce to produce an intoxicating alchemy. Jazz music echoes from little cafes and taverns into the streets, its soulful notes traveling with the breeze down darkened alleyways. The aroma of Cajun/Creole food hangs in the balmy night air, gently tickling your nose with its peppery scents. Clip clop goes the rhythmic sound of hooves down narrow lanes, signaling a carriage is approaching with two lovers in tow.
With her brick-lined streets and Mardi Gras pageantry, there is something exquisitely Old Worldly about New Orleans. Standing on the corner of St. Ann and Chartres, you feel as though you are looking at the city in all her glory, as she was hundreds of years ago, the vestiges of French and Spanish presence apparent in the colorful architecture, plantation shutters, and Greek revival columns. It is clear Nola’s heart lingers in the past, and so too do the hearts of her inhabitants, evidenced by their nostalgic pride and reverence of her rich history and multicultural heritage.
A day in New Orleans begins by ambling into Café du Monde, where you fill your belly with hot and fluffy beignets and wash it all down with iced café au laits, taking note of the velvety smoothness from the chicory. You mosey down Decatur Street to the open-air French Market, encountering an assortment of artisans and purveyors and eclectic cuisine. Beads of sweat start to form on your brow, and as you wipe at them, you decide it’s time for a cold, strong drink to cool the throbbing heat. Knowing full well that it’s overpriced and overcrowded with tourists, you can’t resist heading to Pat O’Brien’s for their world famous hurricanes.
It is with a languid, heady feeling that you forge onward towards Bourbon Street, where you are greeted with throngs of partiers underneath a rainbow of neon signs. Some festive folks even call out and wave to you from vine-covered balconies. You eagerly gulp down a frosty daiquiri and then make your way towards Canal Street, taking great delight in seeing one of the famed streetcars go by. Alas, the line you need for Magazine Street is not in operation, so you walk and walk and walk towards the D-Day museum, not heeding the advice from the locals to take a cab. You learned your lesson, though, and hail a taxi on the way back to the French Quarter, venturing over to Arnaud’s little gem of a bar, French 75, where a waiter saunters over to take your order of pommes soufflé.
As your meander continues, the sun fading towards the west now, you stumble upon a hidden courtyard, an oasis of bricks in ruin and crumbling stone fountain that offers a quiet reprieve from the jovial party atmosphere. You realize the “Big Easy” moniker encapsulates all that she is – time seems to stand still here; only the clock atop St. Louis Cathedral reminds you of the passing minutes.
The farther you get from Bourbon Street, the roar of the crowd fades into a haunting stillness. It is dark now. You can’t help but steal furtive glances around you, recalling the many ghost stories that shroud the city with mystery. The glow of gas lamps cast dancing shadows on the walls, and you expect a vampire with a top hat and cape to come around the corner at any moment. After peeking in the windows of several Voodoo shops, you decide to go in and sift through the eccentric merchandise, finally selecting a skeleton key as your talisman.
When you venture back into the hustle and bustle, you find yourself getting caught in an impromptu street parade down Rue Royale, a tinny French horn rousing you to dance in the middle of the starlit street. It is then, when you look up at the blithe faces of your companions, with your guard completely dropped in the midst of this carnival-esque procession, that you realize the spirit of the city has hooked you and romanced you to dizzying new heights. That is New Orleans. She draws you in and holds you close, daring you to leave her, and ever beckoning for your return.
