An old feeling #
As I rode the airport shuttle and watched the scenery go by, I felt an oldness. New Orleans is old. The land felt old. The energy of the landscape was weathered but not tired. It was lived-in. That feeling was a constant throughout my stay but was profound along the Mississippi River.
I can’t quite describe what I felt. The closest analogy, maybe, is if you ever went camping or you’re out in the woods and you pause on the trail and just “soak it all in.” You feel the energy of the land. That’s what NoLa was like. But ancient. Old.
Arrival #
I arrived on a balmy Sunday afternoon in late October. After shaking the frigid shell of airplane-cold-air from my skin, I made my way to the shuttle. The driver extended her hand for my suitcase which she placed in the back of the shuttle. She then took my very narrow, horizontal ticket and ushered me onto the vehicle. Crowded. I wondered if any of these folks were going to the same conference but I didn’t ask because I was suffering from a bout of motion sickness. And hunger.
Dinner and Bourbon #
As soon as I checked into the hotel, I went to get dinner. The motion sickness was subsiding but food would help rid of it completely.
Bourbon Street. Lively. Raucous. Vibrant. It is a… happy place, though perhaps “happy” isn’t quite the right word. Happy, yes, the people appear happy but maybe “without a care” is more befitting the scene. Bourbon Street, at night, is where you go to live in the moment. Just you and a plastic vessel (or few) of liquid delirium.
NoLa is texture #
I wasn’t sure what I’d find when I came to the Big Easy. I was hoping to see many of the original colonial French and Spanish architectural styles but they were mixed with the contemporary structures of artless and dull rectangles in comparison.
They really don’t make them like this anymore.
Sadly, it seems that after the Louisiana Purchase, much of these original styles were lost. Renovations were done in the Victorian style or destroyed in the fires of 1788 and 1794. Some of these structures were rebuilt in the “second generation” Creole or Greek revival styles.
For the remaining buildings that did retain some of their old artistic elements, one thing was for certain: texture. New Orleans was full of it. The historic Beaux Arts Maison Blanche building
It’s now a Ritz-Carlton but the 1908 Beaux Arts building retains its antebellum charms. I noticed the columns first. The spiraling detail that scoops vertically, bookended by floral-like horizontal bands. As the eye travelled upward, as though gazing upon the exposed legs of a woman, geometric shapes revealed themselves intricately cut to provide depth and stateliness. Maybe it was the way the sun hit the building at that moment but the shadows gave the edges an oxymoronic soft sharpness you don’t often find in more contemporary structures.
A little museum #
Originally built in 1904 then renovated in 2004, the Basin Street Station is a dual museum-visitor’s center. It’s not imposing. There’s no exterior grandeur. It’s well cared for and maintained. Once you enter, however, your mouth kind of gapes opens.
Chandeliers give off a welcoming glow, and two paintings on either end of the hallway set the historical tone. The aroma of coffee beans and pastries waft into your nostrils, kicking the salivary glands into action. But that’s not all.
Beyond the interior archways are the railway museum, gift shop, and interactive information booths. There are miniatures of train lines from a bygone era and relics of ticket stubs, china, and uniforms. The info booths have interactive buttons and puzzles that teach you the history of New Orleans, the climate, the environment, and more.
‘City of the Dead’ #
That’s what Mark Twain once referred to them, cemeteries. It’s a beautiful descriptor, each type of cemetery taking on a distinct city-like feature. Japan’s cemeteries, from what I remember of them, felt solemn. Perhaps even religious, like walking into a quiet church. Greenwood Cemetery in Brooklyn is spacious, even inviting and peaceful. You sometimes forget you’re in a cemetery when you’re walking through the verdant landscape.
Then, there’s New Orleans. Or, St. Louis Cemetery No. 1 to be exact since that’s the only one I visited on this trip.
Upon entering the gateway the first sensation is its density. It feels tighter and more tense than the surrounding city itself. Almost the way being in NYC feels. Maybe. And you can’t help wonder just how they manage the dead in this dense city of bodies and spirits. Rest among the living
Established in 1789, St. Louis Cemetery No. 1 is the oldest cemetery in New Orleans. Burials still occur here, and is also the resting place of many prominent NoLa families. Unlike most cemeteries we may be familiar with, however, the dead rest above ground in constant periphery of the living.
The swampy nature of the area and a high water table made below-ground burials impractical. Hence the above-ground structures housing hundreds, if not thousands, of deceased since the late 1700s.
Interring the dead #
Upon entering the threshold, two sides greet you. On one side are the tombs. On the other, the perimeter wall doubles as a temporary internment for the recently deceased. From what I understand, all newly deceased bodies go into one of these “oven vaults” for no less than 366 days. Theyare, in essence, being cured for proper burial. It sounds crude but considering New Orleans’ ecosystem and hot, humid climate, this practice is a safeguard to avoid disease and other problems associated with decomposition. The tour guide mentioned miasma.
After the requisite days of rest, the family of the deceased can have the body wrapped in muslin. The body is again returned to the oven vault for another period of time. I find this practice fascinating, or, the idea that even the dead have a temporary holding place before being finally put to rest. It mirrors the stories about the journey of the dead as they travel a space of limbo before admittance to the world of the afterlife. Another neat feature is the number of bodies you can have in any given vault. The slabs adorning the front of each vault are regularly updated with the dead person’s name, and birth and death dates.
Again, after another period of time has passed, the family can have the interred body removed from the vault and placed into their respective family tomb within the cemetery proper. These tombs are likely to already house hundreds if not thousands of bodies in them.
Curing and wrapping the bodies in muslin, I imagine, acts as a container that helps mummify the bodies. It also makes it easier to stack and move the bodies within a given tomb. If you have a family plot that goes back several generations, and your great grandma’s family and great grandpa’s family is also buried in that same tomb, the grave workers will unseal your tomb, move the existing bodies around as needed to place the new body on top. Everything is done in a rotation.
NoLa is people #
Some elements remain constant from city to city. Street performers, artists, open markets, and street vendors who sell what they can for meager exchanges. That constancy makes travel comforting.
On my first night, there was a young man playing an electric violin hooked up to a few guitar pedals and amps. Another man, a stranger to the first man, set up his plastic tub for drums. Together they created a dance-worthy, hypnotic performance.
On another day, walking through Jackson Square Park, I caught a music group. I stood against a pillar near the Cabildo and listened. Softly tapped my foot to the rhythm. I miss jazz. What really glued me to the spot to listen and experience the music was the saxophone. I played the oversized baritone sax in high school. I marched with it around my neck for marching band. That’s a kind of longing and appreciation that never dies.
Two young men were set up at the bottom of a set of steps across the Park. Drums and a low-humming bassline. Another man, passing by with a handheld drum, stops to join. Amidst the hustle and bustle, everyone is both in and out of place.
NoLa is color #
I’ve only ever been vaguely aware of the “door images.” You know. The photographs of beautifully colored and decorated doorways? I don’t know if NoLa made those a thing but when I saw the doors myself I understood. You can’t help but take photos of them damn doors.
But more than the doors, the buildings in the French Quarter are beautifully colored. Even the dingy, unsaturated ones that have been weathered down. The pops of colors, coupled with the architectural styles, are enough to add joy and contentment.
NoLa is architecture #
In addition the pink, blue, and green hues throughout the French Quarter, NoLa is definitely architecture. The balconies, to be more specific. The way the vines and plant matter just hang from the balconies is the quintessential NoLa charm known to tourists. The intricacies of the wrought iron bending and molding is definitely something you don’t see much any more.
