Sometimes I think all New Hampshirites should be required to make a pilgrimage to a warm climate at least once a year to provide a respite from the quarrels of New England coziness. And a suggested Mecca? My choice would be the French Quarter of New Orleans in the middle of May.
Mid-May is Jazz Festival time in New Orleans, what the locals call the "Mardi Gras with manners." And the music was good: the N'awlins blues of John Lee Hooker, Cajun bounce from Buckwheat Zydeco, the licorice zing of clarinetist Michael White. Plus food, of course -- blackened redfish (overrated), Cajun popcorn (excellent with Tabasco), crawfish etouffé (tasty).
But the best treat is the French Quarter, the part of New Orleans that is "New Orleans" to most people. My friends and I were staying at the Clarion, a few blocks from Bourbon Street. As you walk from Canal down Bourbon, it's as if you're going through an invisible yet tangible door, a warp of air and sound that lets you know you're moving away from the usual homogenized clutter of American life. We stopped for a dozen oysters at Felix's, right on the verge of the French Quarter. Thus fortified, we plunged in.
What's happening in the French Quarter depends on the day and time you're there. During the day, with a mild but sultry sun beating down, the French Quarter hosts street bands playing for donations, sidewalk artists, and a zillion tourists ripping off roll after roll of Gold 100 film. Daytime is for browsing the antique stores, galleries, voodoo shops, and small cafés. As evening draws up, the French Quarter, especially Bourbon Street, begins to get dressed for fun. Dinner outside on a second-story balcony gives a feast for both eye and tongue. The street fills up until, by 10 o'clock, the bars begin to thicken with patrons, and the thrum of Dixieland, funk, jazz, rock'n'roll, and Cajun will weave through the air until dawn.
Of course the drinks are over-priced. Of course most of the stuff in the gift shops is kitsch. Of course, of course, of course....But there's energy here from the crowds, from the wrought iron balconies, from the dark roast chicory coffee and beignets at Café du Mond, an energy that comes from a mix of cultures -- African, Caribbean, French, and European -- and their tentative sultry blending.
Every once in a while the townish tranquility of New Hampshire, like gin, needs to be shaken and stirred, and in New Orleans one can feel the decaying eloquence of a Tennessee Williams play, the spiky resonance of the islands, the turgid history of slavery, the cosmopolitan shine of the French. But then it's also good to get back to the clean air of Littleton, the mountainous beauty of the Notch, the Merrimack River at full rip under its new and elegant span.
The Hero
Backstage