Slow start to the day following nearly a full day of travel and poor sleep from jet lag.
The "Vieux Carre" or The French Quarter has charm and sophistication on the outside - including stunning architecture - and lots of sleaze and dirt on the inside with strip joints, blues and jazz clubs jostling for position with art galleries and smart boutiques.
Wandering around the side streets between Chartre St and Bourbon St takes you past some great cafes where the multicultural natives of the city celebrate their diversity and the one thing they all have in common - whether Creole, Cajun, or Coloured - being laid back.
It isn't called the Big Easy for nothing and there is a decidedly gentle pace of life here and a dedicated belief that good food, good drinks and good conversation are a sure route to salvation.
My tour of the Quarter saw a bunch of photographs being snapped away coupled with some full-on people watching. Oh yes.... And Voodoo.
The Voodoo museum, while small and perhaps slightly eclectic and random, does give a flavour of this fascinating religion. An amalgam of animistic religions from West Africa (mainly Benin, West Congo and the Yoruba tribal parts of Nigeria) and western Christianity. Whether the beguiling looks of Marie Levaux in her many images get you or the chilling sights of Baron Samedi or Le Grand Zombi, Voodoo is much more interesting than the myth, folklore and plain bullshit that surround it.
Forced to be a hidden belief system, voodoo (which comes from the word "vudu" from the Fon tribe of Benin) follows what all religions have had to do at one point. It borrows heavily from the existing and current religions of the place both using them as a mask and concurrently adopting aspects as the practice integrates. Hence you see beautiful triptychs of the Madonna and Child and assorted saints next to voodoo dolls and skulls....
It is not right in my opinion to think of voodoo as the occult. That's too easy and way to easy for the Catholic Priests of old New Orleans who wanted to protect their "turf" and outlaw the competition.
Anyway - laden with my 101 guide to voodoo I headed off to explore more when the opening licks of Hendrix's "Red House" penetrated by ears... I followed the sound of a wailing blue guitar till I found myself firmly seated at the bar of the Funky Pirate - the # Blues Bar in the French Quarter. It was only 4pm but the band were cooking and it seemed obvious that the appropriate and sensible thing to do was to park up and exploit the happy hour prices on Red Hook beer from Brooklyn...
Four hours later and I was best buddies with Dave the barman, had analysed the flexibility and versatility of the blues with front man, vocalist and guitarist of The Pentones - Mark Penton, and was afloat with beer and bar stool philosophy.
The Pentones were one of those local bands and Mark was an extremely talented guitarist and vocalist who certainly had the talent to make it big, but who gave the impression of probably being pretty happy with his lot as a Bourbon St troubador and entertainer.
His banter was also first class. A couple of gems stood out and were duly recorded.
Introducing one of his own compositions:
"This is one of my songs. Most of my songs are about women. About women leaving me. I don't understand that. I mean, I'm perfect. Right?"
And on one of his standards:
"Here's a song about trucks. About drinking wine, smoking some weed. Taking some speed. There's probably a hooker in there somewhere, but I ain't found her yet!"
And on that happy note I wandered out into the street and into a thunderstorm of biblical proportions. I was so completely soaked that I got the distinct impression that even my skin had become permeable.
As I walked / swam back to the hotel it was pleasing to see New Orleans busy. Things have been tough after the flood and Katerina - but it seems to be getting better. After a 27 year absence for me, it was great to be back and I am going to make a point of getting back to NOLA as soon as I can to spend a more relaxed time there. Maybe in Mardi Gras!
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