New Orleans Day Two: Vive la French Quarter!

Greetings, gentle readers, and welcome back to my blog-tastic rendition of our recent trip to the Crescent City – New Orleans, LA! If you missed my recap of day one, feel free to jump down the page a bit and get a feel for what went down on day one, and then join us as we present …

Day Two: Where The Streets Have A Vomit Smell

We decided to start our first full day in NOLA like any good tourists would: with a walking tour of the French Quarter. Even for people who’ve never been to New Orleans – and may or may not have any intention of ever going – you’ve probably all heard that the Quarter is where the action is. It contains the oldest buildings in the city, lots of restaurants (including the mind-blowingly awesome Café du Monde) and, of course, Bourbon Street. On our way there, I had the Long Suffering Wife stand for a mandatory picture at the corner of Bourbon and Canal Streets.

The Long Suffering Wife, ready for adventure

We met our tour guide and the six other intrepid souls who would join us on our tour in front of Café Beignet, located almost smack dab in the middle of the Quarter. After a brief overview of the city’s founding, layout, etc., we set off for a very frank, honest, and interesting tour of the Quarter.

"And over there: something old and, probably, vomit-stained."

Our tour guide was a native Louisianan, with Cajun ancestry on at least one side of his family tree. He gave what was probably the best description of the Cajun drawl I heard on the entire trip: Southern Bronx. That pretty much summed up the Cajun accent for me, a strange combination of rapid speech and mush-mouthed drawling, it was actually pretty tough to understand some of the people we encountered on our trip (including one memorable scammer I’ll talk about on day four).

A big part of our tour included our guide’s personal take on what happened during The Storm. You see, Hurricane Katrina is always referred to with implied capitalization: always “The Storm,” never “the storm.” I am going to avoid adding my own commentary to what he had to say about The Storm and its aftermath, but his take on it was a lot different than what you’ve probably heard via our super-accurate, never-in-it-for-ratings national media. Our guide basically said that people were given at least three days’ worth of warnings before the storm, including a “get out or you will drown” warning the day before the storm. He said the people who didn’t/couldn’t get out were in the worst economic straits in the city already, and they lived in the part of the city that was developed most recently: the lowest-lying ground with the worst-maintained levees in the area.

Our guide said that the people hardest hit by The Storm – like the residents of the 9^th Ward, for example – were already prone to living a sub-standard, day-by-day existence beforehand, and that many were living “off the system” on government subsidies and charitable donations. While he felt sympathy for them – his own house had flooded severely, and he was still working to get it back to normal three years later – he said he also felt angry with the ones who refused to help themselves. He also expressed anger at the media for focusing on the relatively small number of people who acted terribly in the aftermath – the looters, people who shot at the police helicopters, charity scammers, etc. – and for not telling of the almost 1.5 million people who have come to New Orleans over the last three years to help the city rebuild.

Regardless of how you feel about the Katrina debacle, it was interesting to hear a native’s take. However, what wasn’t cool was the one lady in our group’s insistence that the whole thing was George W. Bush/FEMA’s fault, and the other lady who basically said the poor people got what they deserved. While it was aggravating to hear them both spout their theories endlessly over the course of the tour, it pretty much encapsulated the whole national debate on what happened before, during, and after this country’s most expensive natural disaster.

Moving on! As we came to Jackson Square, our guide told us the interesting history behind the Cabildo, St. Louis Cathedral, and the Presbytere. I won’t go into detail here, as there is plenty of info available on all three online, but I will say that our guide mentioned that lots of people over the years have said that St. Louis is one of the “ugliest” cathedrals in the country, including the Frommer’s guide we bought before the trip.

Don't hate me cause I'm (arguably) un-beautiful

While the exterior may not be up to the Gothic excess of some European cathedrals, I didn’t see anything wrong with it at all. I thought it was a nice example of balanced symmetry, understated exterior design motifs, and a nice use of spires. Plus, the interior was a nice mix of religious iconography and history, with a nicely painted ceiling and flags from Louisiana history hanging along the gallery.

St. Louis Cathedral -- Pretty on the inside

As we exited the cathedral, a funny scene caught my eye: a young man in shorts was doing his best to angle a blonde girl in a blue dress perfectly parallel to the cathedral, in front of a small fountain. As he got down on one knee, it became clear what was going on – a proposal was in progress! Although I was too far away to hear how he phrased this most important question, the answer was obvious, as this photo illustrates.

I guess she said "yes"

It was a neat little personal moment during an otherwise standard walking tour, and it showed that this city is still full of the moments, large and small, that give a city its human heartbeat, and it was nice to see something to offset some of the negative side we’d heard about during the course of the tour.

You know I couldn’t talk about New Orleans without mentioning food every chance I get, and I think we actually peaked pretty early with lunch on day two at the Gumbo Shop. I had the absolute best jambalaya I’m ever going to have, and some fantastic shrimp Creole and some red beans and rice to kill/die for. And to top it all off, there was this:

Bread pudding #1 (series of 3)

Whiskey sauce never tasted so good.

Our next stop was Blaine Kerns’ Mardi Gras World, a workshop/museum located across the Mississippi River in Algiers where Kerns’ family has been making props and floats for Mardi Gras for half a century. Before watching the introductory film, the tour guide encouraged us to try on some of the costumes. Thus, you will see pictured below the King of Mardi Gras.

King Me.

Over the course of the tour, a number of famous, infamous, and not-so-famous peoples’ severed heads were prominently displayed, including:

Alf!

"Bring me the severed head of ALF!"

The Three Caballeros!

"Have you ever been in a copyright infringement lawsuit, Donol?"

Willie Nelson/Ross Perot!

So THAT'S where Ross Perot's been hiding!

And, of course, the King and Queen of Mardi Gras!

Anyone know a good Jester?

After a thoroughly enjoyable tour and a free ferry ride back across the Mississippi, we caught one of the city’s historic streetcars for a ride back to the French Quarter. The Long Suffering Wife actually didn’t want me to take the picture below, due to my little “run-in” with the Union Pacific Railroad’s police officer back in Lubbock, but I figured it was safe to grab a quick shot without risking the railroad Gestapo’s wrath.

Pictured: jailbait. The streetcar, not the girl, you pervs!

Besides, how else could I provide the context for this next sweat-drenched, awkward perspective, slightly sunburned photo?

A Streetcar Named Perspire

We arrived in the French Quarter around dinner time, so we decided to try Rotolo’s Gourmet Pizza. This was our first encounter with what is a hidden cost of The Storm’s wrath: a lack of waitstaff at area restaurants. Because so many of the people who did these kinds of jobs have not returned to New Orleans, some of the restaurants we visited seemed to be chronically understaffed, which was definitely the case here. One guy was working the whole floor, and the slowness of food delivery led me to believe there was a shortage of kitchen help, as well. But it was worth the wait, as the barbecued chicken pizza was quite tasty. I complemented it with an Abita Restoration Pale Ale, a beer created by a local brewery that was giving 5% of the proceeds back to restoration efforts. In a way, I was just doing my part to restore NOLA to her former glory … and enjoying an adult beverage at the same time.

The absolute least I could do to rebuild New Orleans -- literally.

Tune in next time for Day Three, wherein your intrepid blogger and his Long Suffering Wife venture into the Garden District and spend a wild night on Bourbon Street – well, as wild as the Curmudgeon gets nowadays, if you catch my drift. Adieu!