The Big Easy
Greetings and Salutations, New Orleans.
It was a pleasure getting to know you last week.
It seems ridiculous that Sharon and I — with all our moves around the nation and with all the cities we’ve visited and lived in over the past half-century — never had the chance to drop in on you.
It was nothing personal. We’d heard many good things about you, New Orleans (or, as you like to be called, the Big Easy, the Crescent City, or NOLA). It was just that life and jobs and children kept us busy. You know the story.
But we finally decided the time had come. No more excuses. After all, Bradley and Nicole had moved to your town months ago, and Amy wanted to see you, as we did.
So there we were, last Friday, finishing a fine breakfast at the Hilton Garden Inn Hotel, when Nicole walked in, willing and eager to be our tour guide for a full day of exploration. And explore we did!
Nicole’s first stop was at Jackson Park in your world-famous French Quarter. St. Louis Cathedral dominates that park. The cathedral was founded in 1718 and is — along with one at Monterey in California — the oldest continuously operating cathedral in the United States.
Jackson Park is right across the street from the mighty Mississippi. We walked up the steps of the levee and took a look. It’s impressive, and it is, indeed, mighty.
Then it was on to the French Quarter proper. This is your oldest area, New Orleans — your historic, beating heart. Anyone looking for fun and frenzy and nightlife and jazz clubs and Bourbon Street and, once a year, the Mardi Gras — knows where to go.
We loved the Quarter’s old-time French and Spanish architecture with all those timbered galleries and balconies — most of them decked out for the holidays. Jazz performers were out and about on numerous street corners. Gaily decorated bars lured tourists inside. And in Musical Legends Park, we admired statues of Hirt and Fountain and Domino and more, while we sat and listened to live jazz performed by a trio and munched on the best beignets we’d ever had.
But, of course, New Orleans, you know that you have so much more to offer. We climbed aboard the St. Charles Streetcar — the oldest continuously operating streetcar in the world (started in 1835) for a trip through your Garden District which is, simply, one of the best-preserved areas of historic architecture in the South.
Oh, my. Magnificent mansions. Wonderful, beautifully cultivated gardens. Quirky boutiques along Magazine Avenue.
We saw all this, New Orleans, on our first day. We were tired, but somehow managed to struggle back to town and have dinner at Sofia’s, near the National World War II Museum, where Bradley is a historian. He joined us for dinner.
Then came Saturday. Overcast and colder, but no problem because we spent most of our day getting “the tour” of the museum from Bradley.
It’s nearly impossible to adequately describe the magnitude of this museum. It’s so big, you could spend several days walking through and still not come close to capturing all that’s inside — and out. It has several large buildings that house historical displays that are state-of-the-art high tech.
For example, when you walk into the Battle of the Bulge room, the temperature drops to more fully approximate what troops faced in that epic, snowy struggle near the end of 1944. Snow seems to fall on you as you walk through the exhibits. It’s as realistic a depiction of battle I’ve ever seen in a museum.
The museum houses a tremendous variety of war planes from WWII — the real planes. You can walk up to scaffolds that take you to the top of planes hanging from tall ceilings.
Numerous screening rooms take you on visual historical tours. One of those rooms houses the most high-tech movie presentation you can imagine. In addition to flashing numerous images simultaneously on giant screens, the floor under the audience begins revolving 180 degrees, eventually winding up at an exit directly opposite the entrance.
To top off our Saturday visit — it was Dec. 7 — the 83rd anniversary of the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor that killed thousands of Americans. Yes, the museum held a public ceremony to commemorate it — one that left many of us in tears.
New Orleans, you are so fortunate to have the museum — which, as you know, is your No. 1 tourist attraction — topping, even, the Mardi Gras.
After the museum, it was back to the Quarter for dinner at the highly acclaimed Muriel’s restaurant, featuring contemporary Creole cuisine and history that includes a room where seances are said to bring back the dead. We walked through that room, but did not stay.
Yes, New Orleans, you impressed us. And, yes, we know you’ve suffered more than your share of tragedy. Katrina killed more than 1,300 of your residents and plunged 80 percent of your city under water.
In the wake of that hurricane, your population is down more than 100,000.
Locals told us about your roads (they are not impressed) and about your crime. We learned that your city has money problems, and that Louisiana is one of the poorest states in the union with one of the most under-achieving school systems anywhere.
We likely would not want to live there, but we are charmed by your French Quarter and by the Garden District. Charmed, indeed.
We would have loved to see one of your annual Christmas Eve traditions — bonfires on the levees, lit to provide a path for Papa Noel — the Cajun Santa Claus — to make his way to town. And who wouldn’t want to shop at Ollie’s — which advertises “good stuff cheap”?
One more thing. We wish we’d had more time to take more Uber rides. As it was, we took half-a-dozen, with drivers who all had spent their lives in your town. And to a person, they said would live nowhere else.
Our driver on Sunday was Eugene, who took us to the airport. He told us he was about to turn 80. But any qualms we might have had about a 79-year old driver were quickly put to rest. Eugene was sharp. He was quick. He was a fine driver.
And he was a great story-teller. He said he had been born and raised in New Orleans and that he loved you — though Katrina had left him nearly broke — and broken.
The hurricane — really, the flood that followed — destroyed his home. Destroyed his business. Forced him to evacuate — first, to the Superdome and then, for 14 years, to Chattanooga.
And when, six years ago, Eugene’s wife contracted the cancer that would kill her — he decided to move the two of them back to New Orleans.
She never made it. But he did, and has stayed, along with his Shih Tzu, Miss Minnie.
Eugene drives six days a week, but always takes Mondays off to spend with Miss Minnie and take her to City Park.
He says he’s excited about what’s ahead for him and for you, New Orleans. The Sugar Bowl football game. The Super Bowl. And then, to top it off, Mardi Gras.
And after our few days in your city, New Orleans, we’re excited for you, too. We wish you well. We hope we get to meet again.
Merry Christmas, y’all.