We be jammin’

It has been some time since I’ve mentioned it in this space, but one of my favorite places in this world is the French Quarter in New Orleans.
For those of you, gentle readers, who have never been to the oldest part of The Big Easy, the French Quarter is a unique place. And when I say “unique” that’s exactly what I mean. In my experience there is no place else quite like it.
In the popular imagination, it is known as the pulse, the heart, the very essence of Sin Central. There are forms of “entertainment” to be found there that wouldn’t stand the scrutiny of the local constabulary in most other cities. The New Orleans Chamber of Commerce does a skillful job of not quite playing up this aspect of the Quarter. They kind of hint around about it, without actually coming out and stating the obvious.
By the time you get to read this, my better half and I will have returned from an abbreviated vacation in N’awlins (as the locals pronounce it). Since I’m writing this before we go, this may sound a bit presumptuous, but we had a blast. We always do.
As difficult as this may be for some of you to believe, it’s not the sin that attracts me to this exotic and romantic location. The most alluring aspect is the music. No matter what you’re tastes, you can probably find the sounds you want to hear somewhere in the Quarter. I’m rather partial to traditional Delta Blues and Cajun-flavored New Orleans jazz, but the choices are almost endless. There’s also Latin, Zydego, country, rock, Cajun and some forms of music that defy classification. And if you’ve never stood in the moonlight on a street corner near the Vieux Carre and listened to a street musician play his heart out for whatever money passers-by drop into his instrument case, brother, you just haven’t lived.
Then there are the museums. Yep, that’s right. I said museums. There are 14 just within the two square miles of the French Quarter, including two of my favorites in the world, the Cabildo and the Prebytere.
And you simply can’t leave the Big Easy without going through the Voodoo Museum. As long as you don’t take it too seriously, it’s really a hoot. Along with voodoo dolls and samples of the original Love Potion #9, the museum gift shop offers tools and instructions on how to cast a gris-gris (pronounced gree-gree) or voodoo curse. The $2 tour cost even includes an anoitment of your choice.
Don’t ask. It would take too long to explain.
The last time we were there, in 1998, we were chaperoning a gaggle of kids from the local high school at a national convention for the FHA (now the FCCLA). While most of the young folks in that group are grown and gone now, there are still a few around. Those that knew where we were going, before we left, threatened to stow away in the trunk of our car, just to get to go back. That’s the kind of place it is.
By the way, I mentioned a name earlier that might be unfamiliar to you. Some folks think Vieux Carre is the French name for the whole French Quarter. It’s not. Vieux Carre means “Old Square” and refers only to the public park in front of St. Louis Cathedral. Officially, it’s now known as Jackson Square, thanks to the famous equestrian statue of Andrew Jackson that stands in the center of the square. But in the early 1800s, the Vieux Carre is where everybody who was anybody went on Sunday afternoons after church, to see and to be seen.
New Orleans has a long history of strutting.