New Orleans, LA
05)25(05, its 745pm
New Orleans combines all its energy into everyday, and works the senses till you think it would implode, but it is a hardy, reckless city, old and vibrant and inexhaustible.
Yesterday we crossed over the Mississippi River south of New Orleans, and yes it is a big river. I have had this vision of myself seeing the Mississippi for some time now, a romantic vision of the huge body of water singing its way down to the Gulf Of Mexico with tugboats and steamships pushing by, the wild call of the Deep south all around me. I wasn't let down in any way really, the vastness of the moment, of my life coming around to being somewhere so exotic and American was heavy on me. The only thing I needed was more of a knowledge of what went on on this river, what battles had been fought on it, what lives spent working in some way or another this magnificent stream of deep currents and history.
Little towns stand in the shadow of the giant levee along its banks, heavily weathered and barely standing in the humid heat, signs from the 1930's through the 1980's advertising long forgotten brands of beer and ice, restaurants promising pool tables and live entertainment all wrapped in vines and forgotten by the roadside. It doesn't take long to realize when you are there that there is no economic influx to be found, nor will there be for some time, but it seems strange to not have pictured that poverty stricken reality until driving through, only allowed to be a tourist, too wealthy and full of opportunity to really stop and take part in a life, a Black American life, that is not your own.
The Mississippi winds its way down through New Orleans methodically and slowly, and when it hits the city it seems to overflow the essence of all its miles and time and silt into the bloodstream of the life here. I had expected New Orleans to be comprised of the cute little French Quarter and old mansions of the Garden District, but its a true Metropolis, with skyscrapers jutting out between the two touristed parts of town, and sprawling suburbs reaching out all around it. In fact, the parts of town where people live outside of the famous districts are somewhat ragged, old buildings everywhere there too, but no such preservation and influx of old money. These neighborhoods are at a glance rough, and probably through and through rough... I wouldn't know. They are basically neighborhoods where two white kids in their twenties have no place to go without being sore thumbs sticking out all over the place.
The crux of New Orleans tourist and history life lies in the French Quarter, a narrow streets and cast iron balcony section of town that is for the overwhelming part preserved in its brilliant original state. Gas lanterns hang over cobbled sidewalks, and bar after bar after antique shop after gallery after apartment after bed and breakfast cram the streets in that oh so European way. The atmosphere is lively and unique, to say the very least. The ornamentation and exotic feeling of a 19th century neighborhood, French and Spanish and Black and White and old is enough to send the mind drifting into different periods of time and history. At night last night I got the feeling that there were indeed ghosts and spirits roaming around the street, if not with us, then perfectly encapsulated in the past we were walking through.
I find myself frustrated even because New Orleans, like Venice, or Prague, or even the Old Growth Redwood forests of California, is a place that defies a suitable description with words. Its fantastic.
And it has a darker side too that is obvious to the corners of the eye. As we were walking down into the French Quarter last night we were passed by four different police cars within five minutes, followed by a team of four policemen on horses patrolling. As we wandered the night away I probably spotted at least 15 more cop cars on patrol. Its not that I've never seen excessive cops before, but this was in a way unprecedented for me, and it made me wonder what would pull a necessary police presence down into the streets. The answers come when you mix the elements of New Orleans all together. Poverty, availability of drugs, excess of alcohol (you can drink liquor on the street as long as its not in a glass container), combined with the swarms of tourists and their pocketbooks all make for a charged atmosphere. And so you feel safe, but you are weary, and you are not sure why so many cops but you are kind of glad to see them rolling around so regularly. I realize too that New Orleans and its Mardi Gras are synonymous with over the top rowdiness and antics, and that the city must employ a huge police squad just for the week long festival every year. Like New York and San Francisco, and every other major American city, there are places that you shouldn't really venture alone, but the warnings of avoiding the public cemeteries especially gives New Orleans this gothic threat. There is a vampire like quality to the underbelly of the city, and a feeling that all the voodoo mixes into the modern translation of junkies and drunken tourists walking all over the footsteps of the past.
New Orleans combines all its energy into everyday, and works the senses till you think it would implode, but it is a hardy, reckless city, old and vibrant and inexhaustible.
Yesterday we crossed over the Mississippi River south of New Orleans, and yes it is a big river. I have had this vision of myself seeing the Mississippi for some time now, a romantic vision of the huge body of water singing its way down to the Gulf Of Mexico with tugboats and steamships pushing by, the wild call of the Deep south all around me. I wasn't let down in any way really, the vastness of the moment, of my life coming around to being somewhere so exotic and American was heavy on me. The only thing I needed was more of a knowledge of what went on on this river, what battles had been fought on it, what lives spent working in some way or another this magnificent stream of deep currents and history.
Little towns stand in the shadow of the giant levee along its banks, heavily weathered and barely standing in the humid heat, signs from the 1930's through the 1980's advertising long forgotten brands of beer and ice, restaurants promising pool tables and live entertainment all wrapped in vines and forgotten by the roadside. It doesn't take long to realize when you are there that there is no economic influx to be found, nor will there be for some time, but it seems strange to not have pictured that poverty stricken reality until driving through, only allowed to be a tourist, too wealthy and full of opportunity to really stop and take part in a life, a Black American life, that is not your own.
The Mississippi winds its way down through New Orleans methodically and slowly, and when it hits the city it seems to overflow the essence of all its miles and time and silt into the bloodstream of the life here. I had expected New Orleans to be comprised of the cute little French Quarter and old mansions of the Garden District, but its a true Metropolis, with skyscrapers jutting out between the two touristed parts of town, and sprawling suburbs reaching out all around it. In fact, the parts of town where people live outside of the famous districts are somewhat ragged, old buildings everywhere there too, but no such preservation and influx of old money. These neighborhoods are at a glance rough, and probably through and through rough... I wouldn't know. They are basically neighborhoods where two white kids in their twenties have no place to go without being sore thumbs sticking out all over the place.
The crux of New Orleans tourist and history life lies in the French Quarter, a narrow streets and cast iron balcony section of town that is for the overwhelming part preserved in its brilliant original state. Gas lanterns hang over cobbled sidewalks, and bar after bar after antique shop after gallery after apartment after bed and breakfast cram the streets in that oh so European way. The atmosphere is lively and unique, to say the very least. The ornamentation and exotic feeling of a 19th century neighborhood, French and Spanish and Black and White and old is enough to send the mind drifting into different periods of time and history. At night last night I got the feeling that there were indeed ghosts and spirits roaming around the street, if not with us, then perfectly encapsulated in the past we were walking through.
I find myself frustrated even because New Orleans, like Venice, or Prague, or even the Old Growth Redwood forests of California, is a place that defies a suitable description with words. Its fantastic.
And it has a darker side too that is obvious to the corners of the eye. As we were walking down into the French Quarter last night we were passed by four different police cars within five minutes, followed by a team of four policemen on horses patrolling. As we wandered the night away I probably spotted at least 15 more cop cars on patrol. Its not that I've never seen excessive cops before, but this was in a way unprecedented for me, and it made me wonder what would pull a necessary police presence down into the streets. The answers come when you mix the elements of New Orleans all together. Poverty, availability of drugs, excess of alcohol (you can drink liquor on the street as long as its not in a glass container), combined with the swarms of tourists and their pocketbooks all make for a charged atmosphere. And so you feel safe, but you are weary, and you are not sure why so many cops but you are kind of glad to see them rolling around so regularly. I realize too that New Orleans and its Mardi Gras are synonymous with over the top rowdiness and antics, and that the city must employ a huge police squad just for the week long festival every year. Like New York and San Francisco, and every other major American city, there are places that you shouldn't really venture alone, but the warnings of avoiding the public cemeteries especially gives New Orleans this gothic threat. There is a vampire like quality to the underbelly of the city, and a feeling that all the voodoo mixes into the modern translation of junkies and drunken tourists walking all over the footsteps of the past.
posted by lukejanela at 11:36 AM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home