I continue to be amazed at the paradoxical nature of this city.
Everywhere I look there is beauty and history and quite possibly the most gorgeous concentration of architecture that I have seen in our country. (OK, if you are exhaling deeply and naming off other cities with better architecture then let's agree to disagree right now. Geez.) Then there are the trees! These massive, imposing giant oak trees with the longest branches/arms stretching out over every street. They are so comforting. There are the beautiful homes, thousands of them, tightly packed into neighborhoods with named boundaries that start and stop in the middle of streets. It's quite possible in New Orleans to live in a house large enough so that your front door is in one neighborhood with a special name and for your back door to be in another. I love to exaggerate. I'm good at it.
But then there's a little bit of ugly mixed in...in a good way. Imagine a perfect scoop of vanilla ice cream in a dish. It's flawless. It's from heaven. Then you drizzle some dark chocolate syrup on it. You have totally ruined the pristine scoop of ice cream, but in a wonderful way. Does that make sense? That's New Orleans when it comes to the charming, historic city and its desperate plea for attention from tourists. You have to forgive the obvious addiction to outsiders because without them and without their unbelievable lack of good taste, the city would not be itself.
For example, let's gaze at one of the most gorgeous buildings I have ever seen. In this case, an ancient hotel called Monteleone. This photo does not do it justice. It's truly magnificent.
If my camera lens was wide enough, you would be able to see a daiquiri bar and a little shop advertising "3 T-shirts for $9.99". (Note to friends and readers: If you ever see me wearing a t-shirt that you suspect cost only $3.33, be alarmed, be very alarmed.)
Please come visit and we will walk together through New Orleans and you will have your camera and we'll have to wait for a (large) man from Michigan to finish his "yard of beer" and step aside before you can photograph Hotel Monteleone.
Sometimes, you just feel lucky.
There is a New Orleans culinary tradition that sometimes take a back seat to crepes, oysters and other unpronounceable entrees envied around the world. It's just as delicious. It's just as special. If you have read Confederacy of Dunces then you know what I mean. I'm talking about Lucky Dogs.
These are available everywhere down in The Quarter and pretty much all the time. Seriously, like until the sun comes up. When the fancy-shmancy restaurants close in the Garden District and you're still hungry, we'll go down and get one. There is a strong chance I will sleepwalk down St. Charles one night and get one.
The Streetcar exhibit.
Back in Atlanta a few years ago, we had the "cows" exhibit. There were these lavishly decorated cows all over Atlanta, placed on random street corners or in the middle of pedestrian areas. I tried to convince people that Atlanta had a huge Hindu artist population but nobody believed me. One day they were just gone. I asked a few cops if they knew where the cows were and they answered me with "step away" and "pour out the beer". I never really considered that an acceptable answer. Whatever.
Here in New Orleans, I am now seeing these lavishly decorated street cars all over the place. The name of the exhibit is called "Streetcar Named Inspire" and they are really neat. I took a picture of one. (Note the Mardi Gras beads on the neck of the statue behind the streetcar. Someone either spent hours trying to do that or had a lucky shot followed by about fifty high-fives.)
Well, that's it for today but I have to tell one more story that does not have a photo with it. I finally went and found the disc golf course here in New Orleans. It's OK and I think it will grow on me as a home course. It needs to because it's the only one. I was spoiled in Atlanta. Anyway, I ended up partnering up with two college kids and we played about eight holes together until our round of golf took us by a park pavilion where a lone, older man was hanging out with a keg of beer. He offered. The college kids accepted and started filling up cups. I stood several feet away, expecting the game to continue. I'll cut this short and say the round of golf stopped there. I ended up drinking keg beer with two college kids and a man old enough to be my father until it got dark. It was so weird but the conversation was good and I still get a kick out of the accents. This older man was straight up Cajun. I felt like a vagrant drinking in a park with strangers but it also felt natural in New Orleans, LA. It was a spontaneous party and a really nice form of generosity. Back in Atlanta, I would have been glancing nervously for any police presence. Not in New Orleans. It's perfectly legal to drink anywhere as long as you don't have a glass bottle. By the way and in case you are wondering, the older man was a caterer and a corporate event had just ended under the pavilion. The beer was leftover but they "barely touched it" according to the older man and he didn't want it to go to waste. People in New Orleans have their heads on straight.
Thanks for reading.
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