NOLA VIII

Friday – How much can we cram into our last day in New Orleans? Usually we have a tentative plan for what we want to see and do, but today we decided to wing it. We would take the city as it unfurled its opportunities, its challenges, and its unexpected.

We cleared the room, put our luggage in the hotel storage, checked out, and left the building. (All this had been prearranged.)

As we started toward the center of the French Quarter, we noticed that not only were the professional musician tour buses still lining the sidewalk, but now there were people in sleeping bags and makeshift accommodations lining the sidewalks as well. Some were still asleep, others were up and appeared to be awake. I asked one who they were waiting to see. “Hanson” was the reply.

Hmmm. I do consider myself fairly well informed… especially when it comes to music, but this one was not ringing any bells. “Oh?” I tried not to look TOO out of it. “Yes,” she said. “You know, from the 80s”.   “OK.” I said. “Well, have a great time!” I smiled and threw out the parting remark, “We are old, you know. If it isn’t Tony Bennett or Tom Jones, we aren’t in the loop.” She nodded with a look of sad acknowledgement.

The really surprising part is that none of us recognized the name. I had to ask my children about them when I returned home.

Undaunted, we continued on our way. One of the places we had walked past… several times…was the courtyard with the bronze statues of 20^th century musicians. New Orleans is synonymous with music. It has ragtime, zydeco, blues, and of course, its own recognizable style of jazz.

During the 1940s jazz was strong and popular, even beyond the city. But, in the 1950s, Rock and Roll became more prevalent.

When we think of jazz in New Orleans we think of Preservation Hall. Actually, I thought that was where the whole movement began. But, that is not so. Preservation Hall, located on St. Peters Street, began as an art gallery. Its owner, missing the freedom to attend jazz sessions because of business, invited jazz musicians to rehearse at his venue.  Brilliant idea, that!

These sessions occurred randomly at first, but in time grew to occur nightly. Today Preservation Hall holds three concerts a night—except for some holidays.

The French Quarter pays homage to its musicians, not only with statues, but also by naming parks, programs, and concert sites after them. Those of us from an earlier era recognize the names of Jelly Roll Morton, Ella Fitzgerald, Al Hirt, Pete Fountain, Fats Domino, and, of course, the great Satchmo, Louis Armstrong. But, the tradition and the talent live on today with the Marsalis Family, Harry Connick, Jr., and Irvin Mayfield to name just a few.

After Katrina hit in 2005, Harry Connick, Jr. and Brandon Marsalis joined with Habitat for Humanity to rebuild an area in the upper ninth ward into a community called Musician’s Village for musicians who had lost their homes to the devastating hurricane. A Musician’s Relief Fund was created to provide grants, instruments, and gigs to assist musicians in getting back on their feet.

New Orleans is alive with music, from early morning to early morning. Its providers appear on the streets, in the bistros, and in the concert halls. Sometimes it is a lone saxophonist, sometimes an ensemble, sometimes a full orchestra. As one walks along enjoying whatever his interest may be, one is accompanied by omnipresent music. Not a bad place to be.

Another site we had not yet stopped in to see was the National Park’s Jean Lafitte museum. Today was the day. I did have my National Park pass with me, but it turned out that it was not needed.

What a treasure! Tucked away off a courtyard, through a loggia is a small, but very well presented museum of New Orleans… its cultural histories, its geographic sections, its varied topographies, its amalgamated idiosyncrasies, its languages, its celebrations. So much information in such a small space… and a gift shop.

It even presented a thorough understanding of the enigmatic Jean Lafitte… buccaneer, privateer, businessman, and ruler of Barataria… an island in the labyrinth of bayous and far from the reaches of early rules and regulations.     (We had hoped to be able to take the tour of Jean Lafitte’s bayous, but will have to save it for next time.)

While listening to zydeco music on an audio receiver, I could hear Janet’s voice in the background. She was having a conversation with someone new. Hmmm. Will have to meander in that direction.

The couple with whom she was enjoying a lively tete-a-tete turned out to be from Australia. They were touring America by train, plane, pedi-cab and practically an ox-cart (had one been available to rent). They were seeing America from the grass roots route. No hopping from airport to airport for them. It was great fun listening to their experiences to date. Now they would spend a few days in New Orleans before heading for the northeast (which was our old stompin’ grounds). We had to share our opinions on the things they should not miss.

During the conversation, Janet mentioned that one of her ancestors was Cotton Mather (pronounced with a broad New England A… rhyming with father) and that they might come across his name in their travels in Boston.

The wife picked up on this and asked how that name was spelled. Janet said M A T H E R.

“Oh My!” she said. “That surname is in my lineage as well! Except we pronounce it Mather (with a long A… as in bather). Perhaps we are distantly related!”

It was agreed that it was destiny that had brought them together and that, for all intents and purposes, they should consider themselves cousins. So, hugs all around!

What a way to get a day started!

Our goal today was to eat our way through the French Market. Is this when we use the cliché that our eyes are bigger than our bellies?   Well, we tried.

Janet and Sandra hadn’t had hurricanes yet, so while they ordered the well-known New Orleans cocktail at one booth I ordered a muffaletta half (divided into thirds) at another… now that took some calculating.

For those who are not familiar with a muffaletta, it is very much like an Italian grinder (sub) except it is served on a round bread loaf with a floor of olive tapenade and a LOT of olive oil… and compressed Panini style.

This one was terrific… a little more hot pepper than I usually enjoy, but then, this is New Orleans. The olives were exceptionally good and the olive oil was unlike anything in the neighborhood grocery… more Williams- Sonoma.

Nearby were small, round ice cream tables and their accompanying wire chairs. We were fortunate enough to grab one just being vacated. Nearby, a couple (looking very much our age) were scanning the area for a table of their own. Families with small children and carriages, couples with friends, older folks with younger relatives were occupying every table in sight… and showing no indication that they would be leaving soon.

We invited the couple to join us, if they could find one more chair somewhere. As luck (and agility) would have it, there was one nearby.

We all gathered around this tiny table to enjoy our ala carte morsels. It turns out this couple was from London. They also were planning to spend 5 weeks here in the States, their first stop being New Orleans.

What a great time we had chatting with them… sharing our memories of visits to their country and giving them suggestions on what to see in ours. We laughed over pronunciations and perspectives. The wife couldn’t see paying exorbitant prices for porridge, even if it was called Grits. We pointed out that in Italy it was called Polenta and the prices were even higher.

We stayed way too long enjoying their company. (It is an easy thing to do in New Orleans… stay too long enjoying food and folklore.) But there was more to see and do, so we bid our farewells and went our jolly ways.

Previously, I mentioned the block-long flea market. This time it was serious. We were there to dicker and purchase. It was time to think about Christmas gifts and birthday gifts and hospitality gifts and gifts to ourselves. By the time we exited the far end, we had done pretty well. Some of it would be worn home, some of it would be folded extra small to fit in the carry-on, and some of it would have to put up with being scrunched in the big bag for a short plane ride home.

It was late afternoon, by now, and we were running out of steam. We headed for the end of the line platform and waited for the doors to open on the streetcar. One last $1.20 for three.

We rode the river-front line as far as Bienville and headed for Decatur. Decatur Street is narrow. Bienville Street is narrower. It was crowded with large trucks with media equipment, people who looked like they knew what they were doing scurrying about, sight seers, policemen – and women- directing traffic. When asked what was happening, a smiling policewoman explained that they were taping an episode of NCIS on the block.   Ahhhh.

Our last meal of our vacation in New Orleans was to be oysters. There was an Oyster bar on Bienville not far from our hotel. We bantered with the sidewalk staff about the excitement on the street, entered, and prepared to be pleased. Janet and Sandra ordered a cup of Gumbo and a half dozen oysters on the half shell. Simple enough. I, on the other hand, had not had Jambalaya or fried oysters all week and felt it would be remiss not to have them now.

Big mistake. My memory was full of the lightly coated, lightly fried, briny tasting, plump oysters we had had last year on the outer banks of South Carolina. I saw no reason not to expect the same quality here in New Orleans in a restaurant with the name Oyster Bar. Au contraire mon chere.

It need not be discussed at length. I will merely offer that the Jambalaya was tasteless and dry and the oysters resembled a plate full of corks. It was too close to plane time to complain or send them back… I ate some, paid the bill and left a disappointed diner.   Oh well, I still had the wonderful memories of all the great meals we had enjoyed.

We arrived at the hotel, called for our luggage from the storage room, said more good-byes to the staff who had been so helpful, and waited for the cab that the concierge had called.

The trip to the airport was pretty routine. The cost was $15 per person for two or more. Something to remember if you need to decide between the Airport Shuttle and a taxi. Remember the shuttle cost $20 per person.

We were flying different airlines and deposited at different departure gates. Hugs and good-byes all around and promises to text when we arrived home.

As much as we had enjoyed our excitement-filled week in the Crescent City, already, our thoughts were on where we would spend next year’s Girls’ Getaway.

(Photos for this escapade can be found on the facebook: The Untethered Tourist.  Click on PHOTOS on the header, then again on ALBUMS)

NOLA VII

Thursday– The last day for our Hop-on Hop-off tickets. But, we still had Emeril’s to experience. Such a decision.

If we could get to Emeril’s at an early hour, we could still enjoy the rest of the afternoon on and off the bus. Maybe even make the walking tour of the Garden District.  We now had the outline of a plan.

So, off we trekked to Emeril’s for lunch. The route would be Decatur Street to St. Louis, turn left. Emeril’s NOLA is about in the middle of the block.

Decatur Street is not a very wide street… actually, none of the streets in the French Quarter is very wide. They were laid out when the width was ample if two horse and carriages could pass. As we left our hotel, we encountered much ado on the street and sidewalk near one of the jazz clubs. A HUGE tour bus was parked adjacent to the sidewalk… much larger than any horse and carriage. Behind it was yet another bus pulling a HUGE utility trailer from which men were unloading all sorts of electronic apparati… a very busy scene and a very crowded street.

It was another beautiful day to walk and enjoy the people, the shops, and the street performers.

We arrived at Emeril’s about noon. The dining room was not crowded, so we were able to be seated right away. It was too early in the day to enjoy a cocktail for me, but Sandra ordered the Milk Punch. She had seen it on other menus and had wondered all week what it tasted like. When it came, we all shared a sip. It tasted a great deal like a thin egg nog.

The menu was lovely. One expects no less from Emeril. (We have eaten at several of Emeril’s restaurants on our travels.) It is always difficult to make a decision at Emeril’s, everything promises to be outstanding, but today we all chose the simple Shrimp and Grits.

This peasant dish is anything but simple. The complex flavors are presented almost as garnishment, giving you the opportunity to taste the savory individual ingredients. But, by the last bite, everything has been blended into the most astonishing tastes. His choice of Applewood smoked bacon over Tasso ham gave an unexpected complexity to each bite of toasted shrimp and buttery, cheese enhanced grits. It was a culinary moment.

By the time we were through, the dining room had filled. It was about 1:30, so we had our waiter take our perfunctory photo in front of the blackboard wall and went on our merry way.

Next door to NOLA is the New Orleans Cooking School. In the front window a woman was making pralines. Now, nothing says New Orleans like pralines. We had to go inside to taste the aromatic free samples. It turns out that these pralines were the best we had tasted… so fresh… and were also the best priced. So, now it is not just tasting, it is buying… and mailing home when it becomes too much to fit in the carry-on. More than pralines are sold in this cook’s paradise.

One can also take cooking classes here. Either by reservation, or, if there is room, by walk-in. We were invited to learn how to cook Cajun style dishes, but we had just waddled out of Emeril’s too full to think about food, so we didn’t stay.

Besides, there was still time to get to the Hop-on, Hop-off and perhaps get to the walking tour of the garden district. So, we put it in gear and headed for stop #6.

Donna was, once again, our bus guide. And, once again we climbed to the top deck to enjoy the view and the breeze. At stop #11 we departed to join the 3:00 (and last for the day) walking tour of the Garden District.

Stop #11 is on Market Street in the area called the “Lower Garden District.” Our guide took us two blocks north into the “Upper Garden District” where the gorgeous homes are located.

The homes in this district are a study in architecture… a real mix of styles and sizes. The first home we enjoyed was a classical New Orleans with a front two storied gallery. It was pointed out to us that the columns on the first floor were Doric and those on the second floor gallery were Corinthian… not unusual for New Orleans.

It was also pointed out that, although these spacious homes were originally owned and lived in by one family, today there could be as many as 6-8 apartments inside. Each one renting for the equivalent of a first-born child.

After walking three blocks, or so, going north, we turned west. The street became more narrow and the pavement more broken. But, we watched our step while we watched the variety of homes.

One home, with its still-attached slave quarters, looked large enough to be a hotel… or at least a large bed and breakfast. However, it was lived in by just two brothers. We wondered how often they saw each other… maybe on weekends, or holidays.

Another block held the smaller homes of seven sisters. A father had wanted his daughters to remain close, so he built each one a home side by side by side. The facades were similar to matching, but the interiors were quite different reflecting each daughter’s taste. The guide pointed out that either the father couldn’t count, or there was something his wife had neglected to tell him, because there were not seven houses, but eight.

As we walked on, the houses seemed to become larger. Some taking up an entire corner lot approaching an acre or more… quite a bit of real estate in this compact residential section.   One corner home claims to be the first to have running water and indoor plumbing. The boast becomes a matter of discussion when the reason for this early amenity was the result of cisterns on the roof that collected rainwater and gravity did the rest. By the way, this house can be purchased for 9.5 million, if you are in the market for a large home in the Garden District.

Who lives in the Garden District? Anyone who can afford it. Among the owners are celebrities of the sports world and the entertainment world. The Manning brothers, John Goodman and Sandra Bullock, among others, all own beautiful homes here.

At the end of one block there stood THE MOST COLORFUL house of all. Painted with wide, bright Turquoise and white stripes, it stands in great contrast to those of more modest decor.   Upon approach, one sees the proud sign “THE COMMANDERS PALACE.”   So that is where we are… at the corner of Washington and Coliseum. This is the patriarch of all restaurants in New Orleans, being the finest since 1880. This is the restaurant that I remembered as “Out of the area” when we dined there in the 1960s. It is still going strong.

Emeril Lagasse began here, as did Paul Prudhomme… sharpening their chef’s knives and culinary skills as well as learning from the best.

It is recommended that you come for lunch… the same menu doubles in price for dinner.   And the martinis are practically given away, if you can drink that much in the middle of the day and still function.

Across Washington Street is the Lafayette Cemetery, one of the largest above ground burial areas in New Orleans. The tours are free if you have a “Hop-on Hop-off” ticket.

This was also the end of the walking tour of the Garden District. We now were faced with the option of walking 8 blocks in one direction to ride a red, double-decker bus or 4 blocks in the opposite direction to St. Charles Street to ride a street car.   You guessed that one right… we took the streetcar.

Now, this was the end of the day. The streetcar was already standing room only, but they squeezed and pushed until the dozen folks waiting were aboard. The three of us had offered to wait for the next car, but the driver said, “Oh, we still have plenty of room.” So, we paid our $1.20 for three and pushed our way in.

Janet ended up in the front right next to the driver, so she was able to get the transfers we needed at Canal Street. Sandra, after a stop or two, was able to get a seat at the very front. I held on for dear life to a pole AND a strap and fairly cuddled the man in front of me. He didn’t seem to mind, but his wife kept an eye on us. She was up front next to Janet.

It was miles of stops and people exiting and entering before I was able to sit down. The driver had actually passed some stops where folks were waiting because there was no room. The car behind us had some space, apparently, but they seemed to be bulging at the sides as well.  It brought to mind the image of sightseers hanging off the cable cars in San Francisco, but here all were tucked inside closed doors.

At Canal, the streetcar nearly emptied. The sidewalk became a circus. We headed across the esplanade that was Canal Street to wait for the transfer. Again, from across the far four lanes, Fro Yo beckoned. Again, I sat on the bench holding the packages while Sandra and Janet braved the traffic to select yummy smoothies. This time mine was a Cappuccino. I can not tell you how good it tasted!

Our transfers took us to Decatur Street. Our weary limbs took us to our hideaway. Our plan tonight was to clean out the refrigerator, but the smoothies were not leaving much room or desire.

Friday, our last day in NOLA, we would catch the remnants of missed attractions and eat our way through the French market before leaving town. Tonight, we would rest our weary bones…..

(Photos can be seen on the facebook page: The Untethered Tourist.  Click on “photos” in the header and again on “albums”.

NOLA IV

Tuesday was to be a bright, sunny day with the possibility of an occasional shower. It sounded like the perfect day to take the tour of the city on the “Hop-On Hop-Off” Bus. We had picked up the brochure at the concierge desk, but had seen them all over town.

To stay on the bus for an entire tour would take two hours. Emeril’s was open for lunch from 11:30 – 2:00. We could see the Central Business District with the Super Dome, the Arts District with several museums, the Garden District including Magazine Street Shopping, and the French Quarter and end with lunch at Emeril’s.   Well, it sounded like a good plan.

The brochure map indicated that the closest stop for us was on Canal Street at the Marriott… practically around the corner. The buses came every half hour. So off we trotted to stop #6 to be in time for the next bus. However, when we approached the Marriott, nearly to Bourbon Street, the greeting staff outside said the stop had been changed and was really across the street at the Sheraton (which was actually even closer to Decatur). So we backtracked one block to cross Canal Street just in time to watch the tour bus arrive at the Sheraton and leave before we could get there. OK. Now we have another half hour to wait.

We crossed Canal Street… no small feat. The street is actually a boulevard with at least 4 lanes of traffic going each way with a wide oasis in the center for two sets of streetcar tracks plus waiting areas. It even has palm trees.  It is its own neighborhood.

Canal Street is the dividing street between the Historic Vieux Carre with its French named streets and the new (as of 1803) city with its English named streets… and the streets change names at Canal.

The good news is: the traffic lights are pedestrian friendly and tell you when it is safe to cross this boulevard and transportation hub. We arrived on the west side of the street safely.

A large sign at The Sheraton informed us that we could buy our tickets there before boarding the bus… and we certainly had time. So, we entered the small anteroom. The pleasant lady behind the desk apologized that the brochure had not yet been updated to indicate stop #6 had been moved and that a couple of stops had been eliminated… #1 at Jackson Square (our second choice for nearest) and #12 on Magazine Street in the Garden District. (Thanks for that heads-up).

She gave us the senior discount which turned our frowns into smiles, and we forgot that our feet already hurt. We paid her the first $10 and would pay the balance on the bus. The ticket was good for three days, so she explained that we could use it any of those days for the free tours of the Garden District, the French Quarter, and the Lafayette Cemetery in addition to all the attractions that were accessible from the working stops. Much more than we would be able to schedule in our few remaining days.

We thanked her for all her help and left to stand by the red sign that indicated the bus stop. There was a lot of congestion and construction here and we wondered how the bus could safely stop to pick up and deposit passengers when we found the sign that said the stop had been moved further down the street. So, once again, we walked until we found the new red sign and realized we were nearly directly across the street from our hotel. Note to self: the next time will be easier.

Folks were gathering now. We could see the top of the double decker red bus above the traffic as it approached our stop. There were several empty seats on the open-air top deck, so we climbed the narrow, steep steps and settled near the railing. As the tour guide greeted us and explained how the tour worked, the assistant gathered the balance of the ticket price and off we went for our two hour tour.

The guide was very nice, very informative, and very accommodating when anyone had a question. Her name was Donna.

I will not narrate the tour. It really is well worth the price of the ticket to have this experience for yourself. There are a few photos on The Untethered Tourist facebook page, though.

Well, we had a delightful time. Needless to say, by the time we were through, Emeril’s was closed for lunch. We would go there later in the week. But the question loomed…where to eat lunch at 2:30 in the afternoon? Did other restaurants close as well? Landry’s wasn’t far and we had enjoyed our meal there, so we walked the block and hoped that it would be open. It was.

This time I ordered the cedar planked Salmon and Janet chose the Crawfish Etoufee. Sandra enjoyed a cup of Gumbo and a Shrimp Salad. All was delicious.

After lunch, we explored the shops along N. Peters, then turned toward the levee bordering the mighty Mississippi River. We picked up brochures for the sternwheeler, Natchez, and headed for the streetcar stop.

Now, there are three streetcar routes. One runs east and west along the levee from the far end of the French Market to behind Harrah’s casino. One runs north and south from one end of Canal Street to the cemeteries at the other. The third runs the length of St. Charles west from Canal. They are building a fourth route that will run along Rampart Street at the north end of the French Quarter. We did not hear a completion date for that one.

The cost for one streetcar ride for adults is $1.25, transfers are .75. Seniors ride for .40 and transfers are free. Exact change is needed. Although the streetcar is driven by a human, they move folks off and on in a very timely manner, as if it ran automatically. Rather than hold up the line digging for change, we took on the practice of paying $1.20 for 3 seniors… it was easier on everyone.

We rode this car to its end, asked how to get to the St. Charles route, accepted the transfers and the information on how to use them and left for the nearby, approaching streetcar that would take us to Canal Street and then, after a transfer, to the end of the world.

The transfer worked for the Canal Street car. When it stopped at Decatur, we had to get off, cross the tracks and get on a new car… paying another $1.20 and getting another transfer. The transfers are good for 3 separate changes as long as it is all the same ride.

At St. Charles, we got off, entered a convenient CVS pharmacy to purchase bottles of cold water, then waited on the corner of St. Charles and Canal, along with at least 400 other people to board the streetcar. We were able to get seats, but many were only able to stand.

The seats are wooden, polished from constant use… and close. When the car is full, the aisles are crowded with folks holding on to straps or poles. It can be quite uncomfortable.

But, the windows were all open and the cool breeze was welcome. If it rained anywhere in the vicinity that day, we were not affected.

This route goes out of town through the garden district, past the zoo, past Loyola and Tulane Universities, and past many beautiful homes. It is always crowded, no matter the hour of the day. There is no guide, nor narrative – unless someone within earshot is telling a guest what they are passing. But, nonetheless, it is a fun ride.

We rode it to the absolute end. When the car came to a halt, the driver disengaged the power. We all got off. The driver got off. He locked the door. Then we all walked around to the other end of the same streetcar, the driver unlocked that door and we all got back on. This took another $1.20 and three more transfers.

It was late. The sun disappeared. The only light was the occasional streetlight. The same street looked very different on the ride back, but we were glad that we had made the decision to ride the St. Charles streetcar.

When we arrived at Canal Street, we got off, crossed to the median and sat on one of the benches. In front of us, on the far side of Canal Street, was a FroYo store beckoning to us. I offered to stay with the bundles while Janet and Sandra went into FroYo to make delicious choices. They brought back filling Frappes of various flavors and we enjoyed their coolness while we awaited the next streetcar.

By the time we rode the few blocks to Decatur, we had finished our tasty treats. When we climbed to our fourth floor retreat, we decided we didn’t really need supper. We were quite satisfied… with the entire day.

(Photos can be found on facebook page for The Untethered Tourist.  Click on PHOTOS in the header, then click again on ALBUMS.  Enjoy!)