Garden District

Guided by the pages of our novels, our tour of New Orleans led us to the elegant and stately mansions of the Garden District. Just a quick ride down St. Charles in a streetcar, took us into the heart of the historic district of enormous columns, glistening paint, and elaborate ironwork; each structure completely distinct from the next. In a single block we could find a home in every one of the colors we could imagine, and yet, they all seemed to meld together to create a cohesiveness. In true New Orleans’ fashion, this neighborhood survived to tell the tale of a culture-blending that brought together Victorian, Greek Revival, and Italianate architecture. These antebellum mansions, with their lush, green lawns, sprawling oaks, and gas-lit lamps, decorate New Orleans with its well-preserved charm.

It wasn’t difficult to imagine Walker Percy’s protagonist, Binx Bolling, walking down Jackson Avenue on his way to his aunt’s house for lunch. Percy’s novel, The Moviegoer, follows Binx on his existential crisis as he contemplates the ordinary, attempting to finding meaning in the day-to-day rituals of life. Binx was raised in the affluence of the Garden District, but removes himself to live in the middle-class neighborhood of Gentilly. Following his desire for meaning, Binx only returns to the Garden District to appease his genteel, Aunt Emily. He spends many an afternoon traveling through the city on his way to lunch in the Garden District, observing all elements of average New Orleans life in hopes of finding purpose in his own.

As we walked through the Garden District, I could imagine the sort of people Binx describes; the sort of people that build great mansions on deep, vast, plots, to keep themselves separated from their neighbors and the lives of those around them. Percy’s narrator of Binx realizes that life cannot be had this way. And as we walked the streets that Binx would have, the distance that wealth makes, seemed greater than it had before.

We each aimed to take pictures of the stellar architecture, but leaned over high shrubs, pointy iron-fences, and tall brick walls. Each house in the neighborhood was far removed from the sidewalk and each neighboring structure farther from the last. The Garden District had a sense of space that the rest of New Orleans had not entertained. The Tremé, The French Quarter, and the Marigny, were all full of shotgun and row houses, townhouses, and buildings that were smacked up against each other. The rest of New Orleans seemed more of a space where paint colors overlapped, where trees seemed to share land, and where cultures wanted to shake hands. The Garden District seemed to pride itself on a more manicured life.

But even there, in the great beauty of it all, the decay was visible. Each home had its flaws and its own obvious battles with the elements. Even in this utopian ideal, the viciousness of the subtropical climate could not be kept away. Constant rain and mucky soil left the porches of the Garden District just as uneven as those in the Tremé, the beating sun and humid air chipped paint there as much as it did in the French Quarter, and the thick roots of the oak trees tore up as much pavement as they did in the Marigny.

“My first idea was the building itself. It looks like a miniature bank with its Corinthian plasters, portico and iron scrolls over the windows… A little bit of old New England with a Creole flavor… ”
— Walker Percy, the Moviegoer

Voice

“I don’t know when I’m going to die, Jefferson. Maybe tomorrow, maybe next week, maybe today. That’s why I try to live as well as I can every day and not hurt people. Especially people who love me, people who have done so much for me, people who have sacrificed for me. I don’t want to hurt those people. I want to help those people as much as I can.”
— Ernest J. Gaines, A Lesson Before Dying

We pulled up in our too-big black van to the gates with the large letter G's woven into their ironwork. The sky above us was filled with clouds that sprayed gentle showers over the fields of sugarcane to our left. As we were greeted by his daughter and wife with charming smiles at the door to his house, I felt a rush of excitement.

Meeting Ernest J. Gaines, the author of the most significant book I've read on our bookpacking journey through southern Louisiana, was a once-in-a-lifetime experience. We were welcomed kindly into his home to talk about his life and his time as an author of great literature, and I saw his eyes sparkle behind his glasses as we asked him questions. He told us about his life in this part of rural New Roads, Louisiana in the 1930's and 40's, where he lived on a plantation as a child and went to school in an old church house when he wasn't working in the fields. He spoke about his move to San Francisco when he was only fifteen years old, and how the soul of the South never ceased calling back to him until he moved back years later. "All of my books are about going back to the old place," he said thoughtfully. 

"I used to write letters for the old people because many of them had not had any education at all," Dr. Gaines said about his first interaction with writing. "I did create letters that time. [The old people] had about two lines, and I had to say something to keep this thing going."

"When I went to California...I had a choice of three places: the movies, the library, and the YMCA." He smiled. "I didn't have the money so I didn't go to the movies, and I went to the YMCA and I was foolish enough to get in a boxing ring with a guy who just beat me up, so I thought I ought to go to the library." He laughed.

When Dr. Gaines started reading at the library, his love of books grew at an exponential rate, and consequently his urge to write followed. "I didn't know there were so many books in the world," he said. "There were hardly any books there about my people, my culture...[and] it was then that I tried to write." He smiled. "From reading all the white writers, I learned how to put a book together, how to build a house. But the black musicians, especially the blues musicians, taught me what should go into the house."

With his unique voice standing among so many white writers of and before his time, his book, A Lesson Before Dying, put our exploration of Cajun country into context. The novel outlines the story of a black schoolteacher who is confronted with the task of restoring a young, black convict's human dignity before his execution; while the novel is not autobiographical, the setting and the certain experiences of the schoolteacher reflect Dr. Gaines's hometown and his acquaintance with race relations.

“I didn’t know there were so many books in the world.”

Visiting Dr. Gaines in his childhood town put into perspective the themes of communal expectation and societal oppression marked by his writing. Listening to the rustle of sugarcane in the wind and wandering through the old court house's jail cells (where Jefferson, the convict, spent his last months in the novel) took me back into that time period, putting me into the shoes of those black men and women who eked a living in a society and economy geared to work against them.

Speaking with Dr. Gaines about his relationship with literature was very telling of the time period he lived in, which wasn't as far back as we think - only around the 1950's. With the help of narratives written by and about the African American experience, historical context and credit may be given to a country that still struggles to climb out of the cruel history of racism.

Good Enough For Me

Blocks of beautiful parkways wind along the river, and historical buildings and monuments shine in the light breaking through the dense cloud cover. Apparently, Baton Rouge weekend night-life is much more entertaining; but considering we went there during the week, I think we saw a total of six people walking around the streets at any one time. 

This aside, the Big Raggedy and its surrounding suburbs were informed by our reading of All the King's Men by Robert Penn Warren. The story follows the journey of Willie Talos (or Willie Stark in some versions of the book), a self-proclaimed "hick" with a knack for reaching the hearts of the poor whites and who ascended to the highest political position of the state with ambitious and unconventional means. His story mirrors that of the real mayor of Louisiana during the 1930's, Huey Long, who remains a fond landmark in the state's history as the mayor who revitalized the state's infrastructure and whom the people adored. 

As an example of Huey Long's remarkable industry, he built the new State Capitol building in only 14 months; to this day, the building remains one of the largest and most beautiful in all the state, towering over the various downtown buildings with concrete and marble wonder. 

The Louisiana State Capitol Building, c. May 16, 1932

The Louisiana State Capitol Building, c. May 16, 1932

All The King's Men added a personal, human touch to the study of Huey Long's politics during the time of his political reign, a perspective no history textbook could have provided. As a result, I explored the Capitol, Huey Long's monumental grave, and the beautifully manicured gardens and saw them not just as decoration but as a statement of power made by one man in his home state. 

“I heard the speech. But I don’t give a damn about that. Hell, make ‘em cry, make ‘em laugh, make ‘em think you’re their weak and erring pal, or make ‘em think you’re God-a-Mighty. Or make ‘em mad. Even mad at you. Just stir ‘em up, it doesn’t matter how or why, and they’ll love you and come back for more.”
— Robert Penn Warren, All the Kings Men

The practice of stirring up the poor white communities of middle America in the novel is hauntingly familiar, where the political vigor of Willie Stark and Huey Long rivals that of the candidates for the recent United States election. Donald Trump and Bernie Sanders stirred up similar constituencies as Huey Long during their campaigns, coming from outside of the political arena and rocking the foundation of American politics. While these are all different men with different political goals in mind, the similarities in how they stir up a crowd during a rally and play on the pathos of the people to get their support is staggering.

However responsive the political leaders may seem on issues concerning the development of infrastructure and revitalization of jobs, the problem of environmental degradation in Louisiana's bayous still takes a backseat. On our way to Baton Rouge, we stopped in a small town in the Atchafalaya Basin and took a boat tour through the swamps nearby. Our tour guide, a Spanish immigrant who had been living and working for the preservation of the basin for nineteen years,  talked to us about the history of logging in the region and how the ecosystems have suffered from human intervention.

A 1,000-year-old cypress, hidden in the swamps from the invasive tools of loggers over the past 300 years. 

A 1,000-year-old cypress, hidden in the swamps from the invasive tools of loggers over the past 300 years. 

One of the most striking things he talked about was the longevity of the swamp. He described the swamp as it used to be before Louisiana was settled in 1718; they were hives of primordial mystery, brimming with the cacophonous drone of birds in the massive cypresses that towered over the earth for thousands of years. When it was found that cypresses could endure the subtropical climate, the early settlers began to log the swamps and build their houses from the impenetrable, un-rottable cypress wood. This transformed the swamps' ecosystems forever, with new cypresses growing much thinner and smaller in size and bushes and vines invading the ground so fewer trees could grow.

Today, the environmentalists of the Atchafalaya Basin are working to protect the swamps from future logging ventures, fighting against corporations who want to construct oil pipelines. Their small victories in court over the years have led them to partner with a British company to protect the swamplands with the hopes of finally establishing a state or federal mandate to protect the swamps from future human invasion. Although the journey has been tough and many companies still fight for development, the importance of the Atchafalaya Basin to the ecosystem of Louisiana has not fallen on deaf ears. 

The political climate of Louisiana has proven to be as thick and hot as the air we breathe here. Investigation of the methods behind political innovation and the battles still being fought have informed my experience in the Capitol city, allowing me to peek behind the veil of governmental development and to understand how Louisiana has become the modern state it is today.

Unforeseen Lessons

In my K-12 years, I received a sub-par American history education. Through a series of unfortunate events, I graduated high school, without formally studying the Civil War. For this reason, I don’t think I understood the weight of slavery in the United States, particularly the slavery of Africans prior to the Civil War. Now, Louisiana’s history dates long before America’s purchase of the territory in 1803, so its history of slavery dates back to its initial colonization by the French. As the territory passed through French, Spanish, and American regimes, its rise to power was dependent on the sheer manpower of slaves. Born and raised in So-Cal, I used to think that the setting of the antebellum South was just that, a setting. Because I had never visited the Deep South, I never saw a plantation or a slave quarter or anything else related to slavery on a first-hand basis.

My understanding of the South was imaginary. How could I comprehend the lifestyle of a slave when I hadn’t experienced the sweat-nullifying humidity of Louisiana’s air? Or the swampy wasteland the slaves were expected to build plantations on? Or the physical separation that divided slaves from their masters? I couldn’t conjure up the reality of this place by trying to piece together nonfiction research and fictional exposition passages on the region. My whole perception and understanding of slavery and the plantation system changed upon my arrival in New Orleans.

It is clear that the scars of slavery still run deep in Louisiana, and it is impossible to avoid slavery while studying the region. All of the books we’ve been bookpacking with, touch on racial tension to some degree; they reveal a seemingly intrinsic conflict between Whites and Blacks from French colonization onward. For Anne Rice’s Interview with the Vampire, this conflict is portrayed within the context of the plantation system. The main character, Louis, owns an indigo plantation and, in turn, owns slaves. The dynamic between master and slave from Louis’s perspective is undermined by the novel’s focus on vampirism, but it is important to understand the context of life on a plantation. Just like Kate Chopin’s The Awakening, the setting of Pointe du Lac is important to experience in order to empathize with the background of Louis. Using Interview with the Vampire as our guide, we headed to the Whitney Plantation to garner a deeper understanding of the history of slavery and the plantation system.

I could read all about the history of slavery, find memoirs about the plantation lifestyle, calculate death rates of slaves in Southern Louisiana, or analyze photographs taken during the time; but none of these initiatives could prepare me for the ominous burden of walking through the slave quarters of the past. I imagined the work-crippled bodies of Africans, separated from their biological families, packed into these shacks that served as their homes, and it was powerful. I had a bit of a Will Hunting Moment.

Ali, our tour guide, commented on the illiteracy of slaves. He explained that their illiteracy did not mean they were stupid, they simply could not read and write the English language. The entire reason for the slave trade revolving around Africans was that they had desirable skills that appealed to the white slave owners of the time, so in fact, slaves were brought from Africa because they were extremely intelligent and skilled craftsmen. Interview with the Vampire touches on this topic a bit, as Louis explains, “I had several extremely intelligent slaves who might have done his job just as well a long time before, if I had recognized their intelligence and not feared their African appearance and manner” (Part I, Page 27). I think the novel undermines the importance of slaves to the plantation and the development of the grandeur of Southern Louisiana, but as I found out at the Whitney, most plantation owners would think the same thing. Ali did a wonderful job at explaining the systematic breakdown of the slaves that has created a trans-generational rift between White and Black culture in the New Orleans region, and books such as The Moviegoer and A Lesson Before Dying document this conflict into later eras of Louisiana’s history.

For me, learning about slavery and the historical conflicts of this country have been enlightening. I learned a lot about how the past has influenced the way racial relations work in the present. All of this new knowledge was only possible through the process of bookpacking. It was a different experience than bookpacking The Awakening, as that was more of an immersive learning experience, seeing and feeling and smelling the ocean that enthralls Edna. This time, Bookpacking led me to learn more about the contextual history of the Interview with the Vampire and further understand the region that we were traveling through. It showed me bookpacking is more than just taking books to places in order to understand the literature better; instead, bookpacking can implement literature as a guide to better understand the history and culture of a place.

“It was confusing, each sound running into the next sound, like the mingling reverberations of bells until I learned to separate the sounds, and then they overlapped, each soft but distinct, increasing but discrete”
— Interview with the Vampire, Pt I, Pg 21

Additionally, I wanted to somehow portray the heightened senses of Louis upon his vampiric transformation. I captured some audio at The Whitney, originally attempting to capture the perception of a plantation owner observing his/her property. However, Louis experiences his transformation in a similar setting as The Whitney. I used a combination of audio filters to recreate the aural transition Louis might have experienced upon garnering his new vampiric senses…

Death in New Orleans

From dangerous swamp land turned to crowded streets, New Orleans has survived disease, plague, hurricanes, floods, fires, and its constant battle with natural decay from its subtropical climate. In its near three hundred years, New Orleans has consistently entertained death as a part of its culture. With an extremely difficult terrain and Catholicism guiding the visual, visceral, and creative elements of Southern Gothic traditions, the people of New Orleans constructed great cemeteries with elaborate raised tombs. These cemeteries would become so overcrowded in their time, that they would push the boundaries of their limits, often stretching far beyond their intended walls. Years and years of development and decay have condensed these expansive “cities of the dead” into what they are today; impressive icons of generations lost.

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New Orleans’ high water table makes common burial practices impossible. With the soil already heavily saturated with water and New Orleans’ insatiable rain, buried caskets would often rise from the ground. This dilemma was met with New Orleans’ Catholic traditions that gave birth to the intricate tombs, mausoleums, and statues that have made their cemeteries famous. 

Within their years shared in New Orleans, European traditions and African religious practices blended together in the celebration of death. Jazz funerals, often given for members of social clubs or highly-esteemed members of the community, are understood as funerals with a parade processional that include music, dancing, and costumes. These funerals follow the family of the deceased from the funeral home to the cemetery. A band follows behind, along with a "second line," or members of the community who wish to pay their respects and celebrate the deceased.

We visited New Orleans’ most famous cemetery, Saint Louis Cemetery Number One, on a bright, sunny day. The clouds had all moved from the sky, allowing the sun to reflect off of the chipping, white paint of the tombs. We walked around with our tour guide, admiring the crippled bricks, crumbled marble, and rusted iron fences that surrounded each ornate crypt. We admired the legendary tomb of the Voodoo Queen of New Orleans, Marie Laveau. Her tomb, marked with “X’s,” is still visited today by hopefuls who wish to make offerings to the Voodoo Queen for blessings in return. The cemetery is still active, welcoming those family members that have lineages entombed there – and of course, Nicholas Cage, who has built his own pyramid-shaped crypt, believing, he too, deserves some piece of New Orleans’ afterlife. Wouldn't we all like to believe we're that special?

With Anne Rice’s vampire novel, Interview with the Vampire, still in our hands, we strolled through the Garden District and into Lafayette Cemetery Number One. The threat of rain hung heavy in the clouds as we walked through sticky, mudded pathways. A place where death had become celebrated, discussed, and respected, New Orleans was the perfect setting for vampires to lurk. We imagined Rice’s young vampire, Claudia, prowling for her victims there as we meandered the thin alleys between the raised tombs. We entertained the thought of Claudia preying on those cemetery dwellers unfortunate enough to be caught in her path. 

“And she asked to enter the cemetery of the suburb city of Lafayette and there roam the high marble tombs in search of those desperate men who, having no place else to sleep, spend what little they have on a bottle of wine, and crawl into a rotting vault.”
— Anne Rice, Interview with the Vampire

And All that Jazz

Jazz is something with which I am familiar, having been a part of my high school jazz ensemble. I played the trumpet (which, obviously, makes me part of the coolest section in the band). I knew coming down to New Orleans would be like a jazz nerd Comicon. Needless to say, I was excited. And NOLA has not disappointed. Jazz, in so many ways, is the essence of the city; its heart and soul; the thing that drives its rhythm. Originated in the brothel houses of Storyville, influenced by West African musical traditions, and brought into the mid-20th century by such greats as Louis Armstrong, jazz tells the tale of the African-American experience. I'll talk more about Dr. Gaines in Cajun country, but what I will say now about the time we all shared with the A Lesson Before Dying author in his home was that he emphasized jazz's influence on his writing. At the time he began penning his works, there were essentially no books by black authors about being black in America. There was only jazz. The blues tell of the woe and hardships in life, of loves lost, of people who have done you wrong, of a rainy day when you were expecting sunshine. Most importantly, the blues tell of an oppression as old as the country itself.

In a brief digression, below are pictures taken at the Whitney Plantation on the historic River Road. Unlike most other plantation tours you can go on today, the Whitney tells of plantation life from the perspective of the slaves that worked the fields of sugarcane in the sweltering Louisiana heat, day in and day out. Being shown around by our unbelievable tour guide Ali was an experience I will never forget. And if you want to understand the origins of the blues – you need look no further than places like the Whitney. To listen to the wind blowing through the stalks of sugarcane, to listen to the eaves creaking in the slave quarter houses, is to hear the Christian spirituals and West African traditional songs that would eventually give birth to the art form of jazz.  

But Jazz is joyous too. It pulsates at the city's core and serves as the soundtrack to all the raucous, rowdy goings-on in places like Bourbon Street. Ah, Bourbon Street. My least favorite part of NOLA – but only because, like Times Square in New York City and Fisherman's Wharf in San Francisco, it's a bit of a tourist trap. But, nonetheless, when one thinks of the New Orleans party scene, one usually thinks of Bourbon. 
Like the old jazz cats that play in front of shops and cafes and the young children who bang on overturned buckets-turned-drums, Bourbon Street is always vibing. People stand out on balconies overlooking the gaiety down below – men and women in work clothes, having just gotten off, hanging out with friends, watching the street performers and eager tourists hop from bar to bar, bistro to bistro. There are all kinds of characters here and I now fully understand Louis's apt description of this city in Interview with the Vampire.

“This was New Orleans, a magical and magnificent place to live. In which a vampire, richly dressed and gracefully walking through the pools of light of one gas lamp after another might attract no more notice in the evening than hundreds of other exotic creatures...”
— Interview with the Vampire

These are also the very same people Ignatius J. Reilly labels as “gamblers, prostitutes, exhibitionists, Antichrists, alcoholics, sodomites, drug addicts, fetishists, onanists, pornographers, frauds, jades, litterbugs, and lesbians” in John Kennedy Toole’s comedic masterpiece A Confederacy of Dunces…and that’s just on page 3.

While I don’t exactly share Ignatius’s harsh opinions about the city of New Orleans, I can still see how a man such as himself would view this vibrant, sensual world as a black pit of corruption.
But if the people of NOLA are all sinners, then sign me up for the next meeting of Club Damned, because these folks sure know how to have a good time. I have loved every minute here, from listening to the legendary Preservation Hall Jazz Band (front and center in the first row, so the trumpet player could properly blow out my eardrums) to riding the streetcar all the way down St. Charles Ave to the Garden District for some Creole Creamery sundaes. We’ve visited the Backstreet Museum to learn about Mardi Gras and the New Orleans social and pleasure clubs, danced to street performers on Royal, and discovered my new favorite musician, who was performing in Lafayette Square just outside our hotel (his name is Anders Osborne and you need to listen to his song “Sentimental Times” RIGHT. THIS. INSTANT.)

I’ve discovered that New Orleans is truly the best place to bookpack. Here, more than any other place I’ve visited, that “good eeriness” comes alive. Walking through the French Quarter around Jackson Square, it seems entirely possible you’ll find Ignatius at his hot dog stand, leering at the passers-by. Exploring the Garden District at night, it seems entirely possible Louis and Claudia (of IWTV) could meet you under a lonely street lamp, the Spanish moss above you blowing somberly in the breeze.

MEAL OF THE MOMENT: BEIGNETS

Okay, so beignets aren’t technically a meal. More like a sweet snack/dessert. But whatever, okay? They’re powdery and warm and delicious and I ate three for dinner one night, so they’re a meal in my eyes. The best place to get them is Café Du Monde. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise. The place is world-famous for a reason.

Despite what you may think, this variation of beignet is original to NOLA, not France. In fact, though the city is heavily influenced by French culture, there are a great many aspects of fair New Orleans that might seem “French” but are more like “NOLA French.” Upon closer examination, some of the “French” street names are misspelled, and the local slogan “laissez le bon temps rouler” (which is supposed to mean “let the good times roll”) actually makes no sense in French.

Brilliance

Live oaks unfurl their ivy-cloaked branches over the sidewalks and push their roots through the pavement. The oaks' stature and age rival the prowess of the white-columned mansions leering at us behind rusted iron gates on either side of the road. The sky is gray and bulky with rain clouds, but the path is dry as we meander through the Garden District. The wealth is stunning here; many of these houses were built over a hundred years ago (maybe more) when the cotton and sugar industries were the prominent source of moneymaking in New Orleans. As the houses stand today, with fresh coats of paint and new cars in the driveway, it's difficult to imagine who could possibly live in these monstrous buildings now. 

Gilded Progress

in the face of decay

Our tour through the Garden District and Uptown sections of New Orleans gave us a distinct look at the history of its economy over the years. The Garden District was home to many wealthy Americans who came from the north after the Civil War, as well as those previous planters whose wealth resided in the plantations. Further by the river, the houses become more simplistic in design and show the history of the European immigrants who worked the shipyards in that part of town. The disparity of wealth as defined by certain city blocks is a common theme today with modern cities, and it's interesting to see how far back boundary lines may go in historical terms.

We looked at these locations through the eyes of Ignatius Reilly of A Confederacy of Dunces and Binx Bolling of The Moviegoer - both significantly cynical and eccentric characters meandering through the wealth around them as outsiders. My perspective of the Garden District and its specific streets shifted to one that could accept that people did, in fact, live here at some point in time, that these houses weren't just amusement park facades or movie sets. 

My perspective was also informed by the more sobering history of slavery. Days earlier, we visited the Whitney Plantation, where an informative tour gave us an inside look into the daily lives of slaves living on sugar plantations hundreds of years ago. Our tour guide, Ali, gave us a candid view of the life of a slave, and by outlining the roles of each person on a plantation - from slave to overseer to plantation owner - he provided a new perspective on the brutalities these slaves faced in everyday life and stressed the importance of learning this history so later generations may not be doomed to repeat it.

The houses in the Garden District are drenched in this cruel history. Many of them were built with money gained from the exploitation of millions of lives condemned to slavery by the color of their skin. Many of the beautiful galleries, brightly-colored verandas, and shining window panes wouldn't have been here if not for the slaves undergoing the brutal process of harvesting, processing, and packaging sugarcane for the plantations nearby. 

I'm sure the residents of these splendid houses today don't condone slavery as previous tenants did. These houses are now owned by celebrities, such as Peyton Manning's family and Sandra Bullock; they are even rented out as sets for movies and TV shows, such as "The Curious Case of Benjamin Button" (movie, 2009) and "American Horror Story: Coven" (TV, 2013-14). The wealth is still outrageous, but time has changed the atmosphere around these historic buildings. However, it is important to remember that behind every mansion lies a history of slavery, and the countless stories that are just beginning to be revealed by tours such as on the Whitney Plantation will continue to inform an unassuming public about the foundations of this city. 

“Before, I wandered as a diversion. Now I wander seriously and sit and read as a diversion.”
— Walker Percy, The Moviegoer

Celebrity and wealth aside, New Orleans remains a center for art and for living a life of pleasure regardless of socio-economic status. A number of authors - William Faulkner, John Kennedy Toole, Walker Percy, Walt Whitman, Tennessee Williams, and Ernest Hemingway to name a few - lived in this city and experienced the intoxicating atmosphere of free expression and artistic aestheticism that later contributed to some of their greatest works of literature. Learning about how William Faulkner as a young man used to shoot his BB gun at passers-by in Pirate's Alley off of Jackson Square, and reading Walt Whitman's poem about live oaks that he wrote while he lived here for a time, has been incredibly inspiring and has brought the city to life for me in a whole new way.

Whether you live in a hundred-year-old mansion on Prytania or a one-bedroom apartment outside of town, New Orleans has an incredible energy fueled by its history that makes it one of the most unique, eclectic places to live in.

The Removal of the Robert E. Lee Statue

After a long night of restaurant hopping and millennial excursions, my fellow bookpackers and I landed ourselves in the middle of the spectacle that was the Confederate protest against the removal of the Robert E. Lee statue. The night was ripe with heated political exchanges and the energy emanating from the small Southern crowd around the square made everyone nervous and giddy for movement. We had just arrived two hours before midnight when the statue was scheduled for removal. Despite the fear that a race riot would erupt, the crowd was anticipating the statue's removal because for the first time in 166 years, New Orleans was doing something about its somnubulent Southern past by tearing down a Confederate relic of white supremacy.

As a sojourner to the South and native Californian, I was afraid that the situation would escallate into violence and belligerent racist protestors. Nonetheless, we slowly dawdled our way toward the crowd. I grew more comfortable by the relative composure of the crowd in relation to the few beer guzzling, racist hollering protestors who made a ruckus in the front area near the statue. Inside Lee's circle, we saw various New Orleanian residents, people from other Southern states, newsreporters, and folks from all over the country discussing whether the city should retain the statue in the circle. The Confederate flag was mounted in the front by protestors who came from Mississippi and Alabama. Clearly, these protestors were staunch in their belief that they new what was best for the city of New Orleans by declaring that the city should maintain the statue in order to retain their Confederate image.

The scene was hot with intensive discussions, political banters, and an unsettling sense of progress for the city of New Orleans. Afterall, New Orleans is known for its rich history and regarded as the Southern melting pot wherein whites, blacks, Native Americans, and people of color in general coexist more smoothly compared to other cities in the United States. While the rest of the group explored different parts of the square, I approached these three black women from the Bay Area (my region of California) named Fatima, Selma, and Sonya and two other white women who include Charlotte and Annette from another neighboring Southern state. The women were having a conversation about Southern history. With their consent, they allowed me to interview them and record their earnest perspectives on Southern history and the Lee statue.

Lee Statue Interview

Ogechi: What's your perspective on the demolition of the Lee Statue?

Fatima: I don't believe in destroying history under any circumstances, but I do believe that the statue needs to be taken down.

Selma: So we're sisters and our mom is an archivist. She supports the preservation of history and as she says, "The statue should be put into a museum and put into context so people can understand that this is apart of history and a bad part of history."

Fatima & Selma: But the statue shouldn't be placed up here as a symbol for the Confederacy and white supremacy.

Ogechi: What do you know about the statue's history here in New Orleans?

Sonya: Robert E. Lee was a general who fought to preserve the status quo of the African slave so the South can profit off of slavery. He lost the war and he was a traitor. This is a statue that symbolizes a false sense of superiority for Europeans, which they don't want to know. If whites looked at their history, they would be aghast and they've been taught this false narrative for so long. Robert E. Lee was not a hero.

Ogechi: What will be the impact of the statue's removal on the city?

Fatima: There won't be any impact. Most of the people who are here are from out of state. There won't be any negative ramifications for them.

Charlotte: Personally, I'm from out of state and I came here tonight because it does impact me. I came out here because I wanted to witness and learn more about my history. Now that I'm hearing your perspectives, I want the statue to come down because I don't want this symbol to stand up here for people to see. I wouldn't even want to see this symbol while driving to work.

Fatima: The visceral reaction that's caused by the Confederate flag and the statue as a symbol of the Confederacy is bad. I went to high school in the city and I took the streetcar that runs through this square and had to see this monument every day at my underfunded public school. It was just an extension of the oppression people are facing. I think it would be nice to have little black kids in New Orleans today not have to see these symbols.

Sonya: If you grew up in this system and were told each day that black is bad, you can't go to this restaurant, and all you have are all of these reminders of what happened to you, then it causes a lot of post traumatic stress. As a 57 year old person, my peers still have the memory of segregation. Even now as we look at history books, all they tell me about my people is that we were slaves. Now I teach history and I give back with that subject so that kids can grow up with a sense of self and pride knowing the real history.

Ogechi: What would you say to the supporters of the Confederacy who still hold onto the nostalgic dream of the Southern past?

Charlotte: I do wear things with the Confederate flag on it, but it doesn't have anything to do that. I don't care about what color you are and I treat everyone the way I want to be treated. I just wear it because its a part of my Southern heritage.

Sonya: Do you know what you inherited? You inherited a history steeped in rape, murder, and every degredated and oppressive type of crime that can possibly be bestowed upon a person. This isn't to say that there hasn't been slavery in other parts of the world because every culture and country has conducted slavery. What is it inside a person that can treat a human that way?

Charlotte: My family personally never owned slaves or endorsed anything that supported slavery.

Sonya: Yet, you guys are still benefiting from what happened to us. What I would say to the older generation is put yourselves in our shoes.

Charlotte: I do try to understand. I come from a predominately black community so I am a minority in my own right and I'm fine with it. I have enjoyed getting to know the people I've gone to school with the past 18 years.

Sonya: Knowing that I know everything that happened to my ancestors, I know that I shouldn't be where I am because I have a doctorate in sports management. Some people wonder how'd I get here. What's interesting is if you had told me you had the same degree, I would have said well of course you do. There would be no reason to envy any European that has money or had the same level of education. Of course you do. You have not been processed through this system the way African-Americans have. When I see people like Colin Powell or people like myself, the African-American women who is the most educated group of educators in North America. How did that happen with the beginning that we had? Yet, still we have to preserve in order to become what we are.

You can here more of Sonya and Charlotte's conversation in the audio provided below:

 Mayor Landrieu's Address the Following Morning

The next day New Orleans Mayor, Mitch Landrieu gave a historic speech at Gallier Hall on Friday May 19, 2017 on the removal of four Confederate monuments in the city that was ordered in 2015. He delivered a really powerful speech in which he acknowledged New Orleans's role as a melting pot for different nations and cultures in the South and the searing truths that haunt the city's history. The city was at one period of history, America's largest slave market. Despite the liberalized French treatment of African slaves through the Noir code system, New Orleans's slave owners was still complicit in the enslavement, labor exploitation, and rape of African slaves. Furthermore, the city played a central role in the Plessy v. Ferguson case that established the federal "seperate but equal" clause and enacted de jure segregation in America. The mayor went on to assert that the four Confederate statues in the city were never intended to honor New Orleans's history, but rather were originally placed in the city to deify Confederate generals and legitimize the lost Confederate cause.

I'm thankful to have witnessed history in the city of New Orleans this month during the removal of the Robert E. Lee statue. Mayor Landrieu's address reflect the immediacy and serious dedication his administration and the city of New Orleans has on this lingering issue. This speech appeared on my facebook feed the following day and was very impactful for my friends who reposted it and the nation, as a whole. Watching the speech, I was struck by the quote he used from a speech George W. Bush gave at the dedication ceremony for the National Museum of African American History & Culture in 2016, "A great nation does not hide its history. It faces its flaws and corrects them." I couldn't help but agree that we have an obligation as a nation that was built on the hard labor of slaves to make acknowledgements and correctives to our history. I'm glad that New Orleans is chosing to confront from its historical amnesia and face the truth about its past. New Orleans is confidently embracing change and moving forward with its history by remembering its past riddled with slavery and white supremacy.

All That Jazz...

“The music grew strange and fantastic—turbulent, insistent, plaintive and soft with entreaty. The shadows grew deeper. The music filled the room. It floated out upon the night, over the housetops, the crescent of the river, losing itself in the silence of the upper air.”
— Kate Chopin, The Awakening

Music has permanently interwoven itself into the fabric of New Orleans. You cannot pass a day without being drawn into the staccato of a trumpet or the tempo of a tap dancer. Street drummers riff the heartbeat of the city; should they ever stop, the entire city would come to a standstill.

Walking past Café Beignet, I heard from inside a guitarist playing the intro to "Dust in the Wind," and I found myself irresistibly drawn to a pause. It's a song I've listened to countless times, but hearing it here in New Orleans resonated with me in a new way. This is a city that has made its peace with transience and constant change and thus has achieved a unique type of immortality. We may all be nothing more than dust in the wind, "just a drop of water in an endless sea," but ephemerality is the one constant of life. Here in New Orleans, the Big Easy, I am learning to accept this impermanence.

Binx, the protagonist of Walker Percy's The Moviegoer, seems to grapple with many of the existential questions of our times—Stasi called him an adult version of Holden Caulfield. While this doesn't always make for the most exciting plotline, Binx's soul-searching is interesting in the context of New Orleans. Often he seeks the experiences, however seemingly insignificant, that are separate from the "abyss" of "ordinary occasions," the moments in which he truly feels and knows that he is alive. To that effect, Binx declares, "The highest moment of a malaisian's life can be that moment when he manages to sin like a proper human (Look at us, [...] we're sinning! We're succeeding! We're human after all!)." Binx's malaise, "the pain of loss," the inability "to be in the world," is like a perversion of New Orleans' easygoing nature. Whereas others see relaxation, Binx sees stagnation, poison, and death. As he grapples with the issues of life and humanity, he finds it impossible to feel any form of typical enjoyment. He needs such moments as a car accident to validate his own existence, to prove that he is alive.

The novel traces the progress of Binx's "search" for meaning; ever the Existentialist, his search in a meaningless world is what supplies meaning. Along these philosophically paradoxical lines, once accepted, life’s meaninglessness gives way to pure life without the burden of meaning. When we simply live, we find true enjoyment. This is something that the people of New Orleans seem to understand tacitly.

In many ways, Binx’s search reminds me of bookpacking, though in a flawed form. He describes the first iteration of his search as a "vertical search," the goal of which is to stand "outside the universe and […] to understand it." Binx does this through reading "only 'fundamental' books, that is, books on key subjects." His reading takes place in the solitude of his room; he reads in isolation "as an Anyone living Anywhere"; location is irrelevant to him, and he ventures outside "only for diversion." When his vertical search is complete, he undertakes a "horizontal search" to understand himself, now that he understands the universe (or so he claims). This second phase of his search inverts the first phase: "Before, I wandered as a diversion. Now I wander seriously and sit and read as a diversion." By the end of The Moviegoer, however, Binx abandons his search, and he gives up his existence to "malaise" and "desire," desire perhaps for an unattainable affirmation of his own humanity.

As bookpackers, we read and wander with the same goal—to understand the world around us and our place in it. We seek to capture the "genie-soul" of New Orleans, its currents and eddies. Unlike Binx, we read and wander at once, and we never presume to fully understand the universe. For us, to understand society and to understand the self, or the individual, are two sides of the same coin (or covers of the same book, if you will). We, too, want to affirm our own humanity, but we do not separate ourselves from the rest of humanity through physical and mental isolation. Rather, we wish to be one with it.

Stasi posing with a band in Jackson Square

Stasi posing with a band in Jackson Square

Binx’s existential search is reminiscent of Edna, who, in The Awakening, wants to define her own individuality in relation to the men around her. Edna also finds that certain moments can produce feelings of exhilaration and an irrevocable sense of being alive. This often occurs when Mademoiselle Reisz plays the piano. Her music stirs "the very passions themselves […] within [Edna’s] soul, swaying it, lashing it, as the waves daily beat upon her splendid body." Music gives Edna the same sensation of freedom that learning how to swim does; both show her the range and depth of human emotion and capability.

New Orleans is rife with such moments. Music is the immutable feature of this city, the quality that pervades every street, every neighborhood. And I find it all captivating. Bursts of song, a melody caught from the other side of Jackson Square, the guitarist whose song entrances me—these are the moments in which I know I am alive. These are the moments in which I know I am able to "be in the world," to connect with those around me.

2017_05_27_New Orleans (11).JPG

Just today, we encountered multiple examples of the magical musicality New Orleans. We spent the first part of our day at a second line parade held by the Money Wasters Social Aid and Pleasure Club. The sheer thrill of being surrounded by a throng of dancers and revelers made me lose awareness of myself—I was a part of this larger group moving as one, almost loud enough to drown out the strain of jazz guiding it.

Later on, we attended a performance at Preservation Hall, a venue in the French Quarter that works to preserve traditional jazz. The Preservation Hall Jazz Band graced us with renditions of "Just a Little While to Stay Here," "You Rascal, You," and "When the Saints Go Marching In." Again, we were more than just passive observers; we were drawn into the experience by the band leader, who invited us to participate in the last two songs. Finally, on our way back to the hotel, we saw a violinist, Tanya Huang, playing "Defying Gravity," one of my favorite songs, on Royal Street. As with the guitarist playing "Dust in the Wind," I stayed until she finished, then grabbed a CD before I left.

Binx never mentions music in his existential search. Maybe this is the element that he is missing, the experience that could connect him to his inner being, the way it does with Edna, or to the outer world, as it does with us. What his search lacks is unity—the "vertical" and "horizontal" components are successive rather than aligned, and he separates himself from society, from "the universe."

For me, music is the great unifier. Music illuminates my emotional landscape like moonlight through an attic window. It excites "the very passions" within me, and it helps me recognize those passions in others. Binx believes that he understands others through psychological tropes that he has learned through watching characters in films, but his understanding is hindered by his failure to comprehend himself first. Of course, I cannot claim full self-knowledge, but music helps me glimpse emotional truths in my own being and in others'.

On a final note, here is a piece of instrumental music composed by Danny Elfman for Rob Marshall’s 2002 film adaptation of Chicago (Alfredo and I forced Chris to watch it a few days ago). The timbre of the song matches the easygoing nature of this bookpacking experience, and I hope you enjoy it.

Jasmine Melody

Jazz - the music of New Orleans. It's smooth, it's slippery, it's so unique to the history of this city. Some say that the name comes from the jasmine perfume worn by the women of Storyville, where this music originated. If you are ever in New Orleans, stop by Preservation Hall for a short concert, but get there early because the line gets long quick.

 

Jasmine Melody

Let it slip –

In one ear, and out

The mouth.

Let it sink –

Into your pores, down

To your feet.

Let it slide –

Through your body like

The liquid courage you drink.

 

Let the beat

Slither deep in the pit

Of your soul. ‘Till you succumb

to the smooth rhythm, and

Lose yourself in the magic

Of the Big Easy.

NOLA: Spirituality

One of the things that surprised me most about NOLA (New Orleans, Louisiana) was how significantly religion and spirituality permeate the culture. The iconography of Catholicism can be seen everywhere, from the steeple of St. Louis Cathedral to small, plastic busts of the Virgin Mary sold in French Quarter gift shops. I, personally, was looking for a dashboard Jesus, because I have to drive my mother’s beat-up minivan to work when I get home. I need Dashboard Jesus. Evidently, no one is selling Dashboard Jesus.

Catholicism is a religion rooted in vivid images and strong symbolism; namely, the sacrament of the Eucharist. When you drink the wine, you are literally drinking the blood of Christ. When you eat the wafer of unleavened bread, you are literally eating the body of Christ. Anne Rice capitalizes on the richness of a Catholic relationship with God to create an unsettling, supernatural world - a world where a young man’s brother claims God speaks directly to him; a world where the death of this brother elicits such grief and guilt that the young man dies into a life of damnation. This, of course, is Louis’s story in Interview with the Vampire.

“Then he told me about the visions. Both St. Dominic and the Blessed Virgin Mary had come to him in the oratory. They had told him he was to sell all our property in Louisiana, everything we owned, and use the money to do God’s work in France.”
— Anne Rice, "Interview with the Vampire"

Yet, voodoo traditions still manage to share New Orleans with the Catholic Church. Voodoo dolls and beads are often sold at the very same gift shops that charge $7.99 for your plastic Virgin. At St. Louis Cemetery, a predominantly French Catholic burial ground, the most visited grave is that of renowned Voodoo Queen Marie Laveau. But while the mingling of these traditions creates the fascinating character of the city we see today, it also indicates a dark blemish on NOLA’s history. The French brought Catholicism here with the nuns of the Ursuline Convent. The West Africans brought voodoo here on slave ships. Much of Louisiana, as we’ll come to find at the Whitney Plantation, was built on the backs of slaves.

Just as voodoo/hoodoo intertwines with Catholicism, life and death seem to shake hands here. When we visited Lafayette Cemetery in the Garden District, the sky was gray and ominous. A gentle breeze made the tree branches rattle like skeleton bones. Somewhere off in the distance, a church bell tolled somberly. And all around, the above-ground graves were marked by decay and overgrowth. Little vampire Claudia chooses this place to hunt her victims at one point in the book, which I find quite poetic. She, herself, is the epitome of death in life, and vice versa. A child who can never die, but cannot be considered truly alive, either.

“And she had asked to enter the cemetery of the suburb city of Lafayette and there roam the high marble tombs in search of those desperate men who, having no place else to sleep, spend what little they have on a bottle of wine, and crawl into a rotting vault.”
— "Interview with the Vampire"

In New Orleans, being alive among the dead is inescapable. After all, 250-year-old corpses lie, not six feet beneath the ground but, rather, in a crumbling mausoleum right beside you. But I feel as though this place has a particular gift for embracing it, rather than letting death ruin its vibe. Mardi Gras beads hang from weeping angel statues and, indeed, the famed jazz funerals here are perfect representations of joy and celebration, despite the sorrow that comes with death.

Next time, we’ll be exploring that more joyous side of NOLA – the music, the partying, the beignets (!!!) – and meeting Ignatius J. Reilly of A Confederacy of Dunces, who thinks the city is home to the absolute scum of humanity. It’s going to be a blast.

I love this place.

MEAL OF THE MOMENT: FRIED CATFISH

Fried catfish makes my heart sing. If you are ever in NOLA, swing by Ray’s on the Ave and get the $5 Friday special – it’s fried catfish with potato salad and sweet peas. You will never have any reason to be sad ever again. Fried catfish was my introduction to southern fried food, and what a fantastic first fried food (quadruple alliteration there) it was. It’s also amazing in a Poboy which, if you’re unaware, is a big sandwich with pickles, mayo, tomato (if you want it, which I don’t), and your choice of meat. It’s suh good.

But Morgan, you ask, why is your Meal of the Moment for “NOLA: Spirituality” fried catfish? Is there a significance? No. No, there is not. I considered making this Meal of the Moment the actual Eucharist but I’m 97% positive that’s #sacrilegious. So...catfish.

Cookbookpacking

I am duty-bound by the unofficial laws of the internet to annoy you with a post about food (#basic). Bear with me.

Dining is central to any travel experience, and this is especially true of New Orleans, where the smell of seafood clings to your clothes wherever you go. While walking around the French Quarter, I am constantly tempted by the scent of something delicious carried out into the humid streets by a blast of AC. More often than not, I give in.

Creole and Cajun food reign supreme in New Orleans, and though this has been wonderful for my palate, my figure is beginning to suffer. But I'll worry about that later. I've also spent some time exploring other cuisines, and so here are some of my recommendations to future bookpackers.

1. Yum's Restaurant

3059 LA-1
Grand Isle, LA 70358

I have to credit Yum's for my awakening (pun intended) to the world of Louisianan cooking. Here began my love affair with the po' boy. For anyone unfortunate enough to be ignorant of this marvelous food item, a po' boy is a sandwich that contains some type of meat—typically of the seafood variety—and can be dressed with lettuce, tomatoes, pickles, onions, or whatever other accoutrements your heart may desire. The cooks at Yum's make a mean catfish po' boy, but their shrimp po' boys are to die for, as Andrew himself will attest to.

At first glance, Yum's may not look like much. You may hardly even notice it while driving through Grand Isle, but you'll be sorry if you miss it. Yum's is the perfect place to come to after a day of reading on the beach and swimming in the Gulf. It is always filled with lively locals and vacationers, and it's not hard to strike up a conversation with another group of customers—someone even invited us to visit his sugarcane farm.

In short, Yum's is a must for any visitor to Grand Isle.

2. Boutte's Bayou Restaurant

5134 Boutte Street
Lafitte, LA 70067

We lunched at Boutte's during our drive up from Grand Isle to New Orleans. Like Yum's, Boutte's may appear deceptively unassuming. Make your way up the creaking steps, though, and you're in for an experience that will make you want to stay forever. Boutte's confirmed my undying love for po' boys. Crabmeat may make for a messy sandwich, but the mess is half the fun. The flavor is the other half.

For those of you who may want to diversify beyond the po' boy realm, Boutte's crawfish pies and seafood gumbo come highly recommended by Alfredo. Though I don't have a picture of it, the baked potato (fully dressed) is also an excellent menu item. So if you're ever in New Orleans, be sure to drive down to Lafitte for some fantastic Creole cooking!

3. Mother's Restaurant

401 Poydras St
New Orleans, LA 70130

Mother's is the self-proclaimed home of the "World's Best Baked Ham." Unfortunately, none of us ordered baked ham, and so I can't say if Mother's is deserving of that title. What I can and will say, however, is that their jambalaya is nothing short of inspirational. In fact, I've been annoying everyone for days by singing "Jambalaya" to the tune of Leonard Cohen's "Hallelujah" (I heard there was a secret dish / that Creoles make, and they use some fish, / but you don't really care for seafood, do you?). The sides are surprisingly tasty—I had no idea that green beans and tomatoes could taste so good.

If you want a place that isn't too fancy but serves amazing Creole food at a good price, then Mother's is a great choice. Try that baked ham or get some seafood, but be ready to burst into song. ♪ Jambalaya, jambalaya, jambalaya ... ♪

4. Ray's on the Ave.

1139 St Bernard Ave
New Orleans, LA 70116

Ray's is a little place up in the Tremé run by some of the nicest people you will ever meet. And these people make some of the nicest food you will ever eat. I'm sure you're sick of hearing about po' boys at this point, but I need to extol the virtues of Ray's alligator sausage (you read correctly) po' boy. Its praises cannot be sung enough. As with any new type of meat, I was hesitant. I'm sure many of us have racked up the courage to try something new, only to be bitterly disappointed in the end. Not so with the alligator. Never smile at a crocodile, but always enjoy a gator po' boy.

5. The Golden Chip

537 Toulouse St
New Orleans, LA 70130

Golden Chips has 4.5/5 stars on Yelp for a reason. Their fries are amazing. Their chicken is amazing. Their sauces are amazing. Incidentally, I highly recommend the Creolaise sauce and the aioli sauce.

If you're wandering around the French Quarter and looking for a place to eat that won't drain your wallet but will fill your stomach, Golden Chips is the place for you. It's only a block or so away from Jackson Square, and I definitely suggest ordering takeout and picnicking. Find a bench, read a book, enjoy the music, eat some chicken. What more can you want from life?

6. Royal Sushi & Bar

1913 Royal St
New Orleans, LA 70116

Up in the Faubourg Marigny, Royal Sushi is a great place to go if you want to take a break from Creole/Cajun food. While there are several great Vietnamese places in the Garden District (the pho at Lilly's Cafe is delicious), New Orleans suffers from a dearth of Japanese venues, and so finding Royal Sushi was serendipitous. For a college student, instant noodles and packaged ramen are staples, but nothing compares to actual ramen from an actual restaurant. I chose a spicy tonkotsu broth with beef and added bok choy and kimchi, but I encourage you to be creative and come up with your own combinations! The handrolls are scrumptious as well, and if you want a good dessert, the red bean ice cream and fried cheesecake won't disappoint!

7. Borgne

601 Loyola Ave
New Orleans, LA 70113

Looking at the menu, the prices at Borgne can seem a little higher than at other restaurants, but once you realize just how much food is on your plate, the prices will begin to make sense. Once you take your first bite, cost will become a forgotten issue.

I'm always hesitant to order sliders because they are often disappointing in portion and taste. Borgne's catfish sliders, however, are an exception; they prove that catfish is the king of all fish. Red beans and rice may sound like a simple dish, but Borgne has mastered this simplicity; this Monday lunch special even comes with a fried pork chop. Borgne also knows how to make bread, shown by their marvelous crawfish ciabatta. The presentation alone is alluring, the taste even more so. As for the pork empanadas, the flavor of the sauce is like a curtain that slowly lifts to reveal the taste of pork. I don't know what sauce they used, but it contains just the right amount of horseradish to clear my sinuses and get my heart racing.

8. Creole Creamery

4924 Prytania Street
New Orleans, LA 70115

In an act of gluttonous foolishness great enough to have been committed by the piggish Ignatius J. Reilly, main character in John Kennedy Toole's A Confederacy of Dunces, I attempted to complete the Tchoupitoulas Challenge at Creole Creamery. I maintain that I might be able to eat eight scoops of ice cream with eight toppings, but the addition of an entire can of whipped cream (disgusting even in concept) made the task practically impossible for me. Within a few minutes of eating, the sundae turned into a soupy mass of colors.

Unfeasible challenges aside, Creole Creamery is a great place to stave off the humid heat with a cold treat. Their flavors are fantastic, especially lavender honey. Lavender may be a contentious ice cream flavor, but I am a firm believer in trying new things. If you're a more conventional person, I suggest you order a scoop of mango sorbet. If you can find an open seat (it's always crowded), relax, eat your ice cream, and enjoy the fact that there are still ice cream stores that haven't become hipster traps.

9. Café du Monde

800 Decatur Street
New Orleans, LA 70116

A beignet

A beignet

No post about food in New Orleans is complete without mentioning Café du Monde, home of the fabled beignet in all its sugary glory. There is no way to sufficiently describe the joy of eating one of these divine confections, so I won't even try.

10. Meril

424 Girod Street
New Orleans, LA 70130

I've saved Meril, one of Emeril Lagasse's restaurants in New Orleans, for the end. Why? Because Meril is amazing. Though not a Creole or Cajun restaurant, Meril still draws from regional cuisine; the clam linguine and shrimp tacos are great examples of this. In this way, Meril is a true New Orleans restaurant; it combines the old with the new in a process of constant evolution.

But enough philosophizing. I'm here to talk about food. Let me just say that I've never had better pasta. As for the shrimp tacos, sorcery was undoubtedly involved in their making. The different flavors involved—shrimp, lemon, corn flour tortilla, sambal mayo, onion, cilantro—are perfectly mixed with explosive force. Taking the first bite was a transformative experience—I ran the gamut of flavors and emotions. As for the chorizo flatbread, in Alfredo's own words, "the bread is flat but the flavor ain't."

The desserts deserve their own paragraph. Between four people (Christopher, Alfredo, Ogechi, and myself), we ordered six desserts: banana cream pie, a chocolate crepe, salted caramel ice cream, cotton candy, raspberry lemonade sorbet, and pecan pie (both Ogechi and I broke into incredulous laughter when the check came). It's amazing that a classy establishment would serve cotton candy; clearly, Meril isn't afraid to have fun.

The rest of my trip will be dedicated to finding a restaurant good enough to knock Meril off my "favorite" pedestal. It may be a futile endeavor.

Para-NOLA

New Orleans - A Hub for Supernatural Fiction

Anne Rice chose the perfect setting for her novel Interview with the Vampire. Not only do the southern parts of the United States provide a rich history, but they also showcase weather and natural disasters that bring with them a lingering feeling that danger is on the horizon. This provides the perfect atmosphere for a supernatural narrative, especially literature focusing on vampires. However, while the south is ideal with it’s history and geographical features, the culture is what makes Louisiana specifically perfect for this novel. Louisiana is essentially an extension of the French culture, and aspects of “French-ness” can be found all over the state, though especially in New Orleans. Sensuality and sexuality, nightlife, overindulgence, and extravagance; the aspects of French culture that coincide with common themes of vampirism, and what made Louisiana the perfect choice for the setting of this novel.

Ghosts of the Past

History is the first thing that comes to mind when I think of all of the ways Louisiana is creepy. With slavery and the Civil War, both which brought a lot of death, likely baring restless and vengeful souls, you could imagine that every inch of this state is haunted. If not death from these two causes, then likely from disease. Claudia's mother in Interview with the Vampire had died of Yellow Fever when Louis found them. Then in more recent history, there have been multiple hurricanes, the biggest and most famous being Hurricane Katrina. With these many death bearing situations, it seems to me that there is a strong likelihood of haunting in Louisiana. History is important in breathing life into the supernatural. Ideas of otherworldly creatures don't just appear without provocation from somewhere.

As if this idea was not already pounded into my brain, it would be. The first thing we were met with upon arriving in New Orleans was a protest against the removal of the statue of Gen. Robert E. Lee from his pedestal in Lee Circle.

 

Naturally Creepy

The nature of Louisiana alone is enough to make it the perfect setting for a vampire fiction, or any supernatural fiction really. The humidity that breaks down wood buildings over time, decaying houses across the state. The overgrowth of foliage, that makes it seem almost as if the greenery in Louisiana is alive, and with a mind of its own to overtake the man-made structures that have been imposed on its land. The Spanish moss is beautiful, though eerily so. The wrought iron railings in the French Quarter, and the fences in the Garden District, that also look as if they are alive. Twisting and turning creepily when casting shadows, and tall and imposing to keep those unwanted out. Then there is the prominence of the Catholic religion and the raised cemeteries, but we'll get to that later.

The Anne Rice house (second row, first picture) is a great example of the animated foliage. The trees look like they are moving, coming out to grab you, and the roots are eating away at the curb and the brick sidewalk, spilling out into the street. The American Horror Story: Coven house (first row, last two pictures) is only a few blocks away from Rice's previous home, and it is so beautiful, but at the same time you can imagine that it might be haunted.

Religion & Death

Like most things, vampire folklore has evolved over time. In the ancient times there were demons: creatures of darkness, fallen angels by the Christian belief, that would possess members of the community and reek havoc. Though this idea of demonic possession still floats around in certain religious societies, it has also branched off and evolved into the creation of another demonic creature: the vampire. The folklore and religion that gave breath to this “creature of the night” is heavily rooted in European culture, so it is understandable that the further into the future and more westernized this idea becomes, the European roots will live on in modern depictions. As Louisiana was an extension of French culture in the new world, it makes sense that if these creatures were to travel across the Atlantic Ocean, they would end in this part of America.

If you have ever been in an old European Catholic church, you would know that they are not shy whatsoever about death. In fact, the crucifixion scene is popular to display in entryways, and over altars. Some show the nails in Christ's hands and feet and then a little blood. Others go all out. I'm talking horror style gore, the visions of nightmares, namely mine as a child. Louisiana has a similar openness about death, though they show it in a different way.

The cemeteries of Louisiana are so prominent, you could not miss them if you tried. They are above ground due to the geographical problems that Louisiana poses; wood floats, so when the land floods, well you could imagine the problems. All over the state, the inhabitants of Louisiana are not shy or squeamish about death at all. In fact, graveyards are across the city, some bodies were never moved when the city grew and the cemeteries downsized and moved. The gas station next to St. Louis 1 cemetery  found a few surprises when they were laying their foundation. We even spotted a cemetery next to a playground in Grand Isle.

No only is this openness about death, and borderline showcasing of it, provoke stories of the undead to be told, these 'cities of the dead" provide such a great setting for vampire fiction. We toured the St. Louis Cemetery Number 1, where Louis's brother was buried, the St. Louis Cathedral, and an Ursuline convent. We even visited the Lafayette No. 1 cemetery where Claudia hunted in Interview with the Vampire. Nature played a part their as well in adding to the already eerie quality of an old cemetery; vines crept in, through, and around some of the tombs, cracking a few. Some graves were even open.

“(The Feast of All Saints) was a festival in New Orleans; a celebration of death, it might have seemed to tourists who didn’t understand it, but it was a celebration of the life after.”
— Interview with the Vampire (Anne Rice)

 

Extravagance in Vampire Pop-Culture

Due to the city’s origins, there is a certain “French-ness” associated with the state of Louisiana. The Creole citizens in New Orleans especially fit this mold, and specifically the French Quarter. There are certain aspects of French culture that fit so well with the classic example of vampires. One of these aspects is living a dramatic and lavish lifestyle. The French reputation for being extravagant and dramatic people, parading what wealth they have to impress their neighbors. This was not lost among the people of Louisiana, especially Louis’s family and those plantation owners at the time the book is set who had come from France and been granted land to settle indigo plantations. They came over with luxuries not yet available in the “new world,” and continued accumulating furniture and other material objects to showcase their riches. Wealth has been a long-standing measure of importance in society, and it was no different during this time in Louisiana. Louis is not the foremost example of this extravagance, but his mother and sister are, and his wealth is what draws Lestat to him. Lestat, contrary to Louis, loves the drama of being a vampire and he wants to live a life of luxury. Louis is the means by which Lestat and Claudia live as lavishly as they like.

““We lived meantime in one of my new Spanish town houses… a place of far greater luxury and security than Pointe du Lac… and Lestat bought the very latest imports from France and Spain: crystal chandeliers and Oriental carpets, silk screens with painted birds of paradise, canaries singing in great domed, golden cages, and delicate marble Grecian gods and beautifully painted Chinese vases. I did not need the luxury any more than I had needed it before, but I found myself enthralled with the new flood of art and craft and design, could stare at the intricate pattern of the carpets for hours, or watch the gleam of the lamplight change the somber colors of a Dutch painting.””
— Interview with the Vampire (Anne Rice)
The wrought iron railings on the apartments in the French Quarter never cease to amaze. Though the places above are not quite what I imagine Louis, Lestat, and Claudia living in, there is the idea. It is extravagant, and so beautiful.

The wrought iron railings on the apartments in the French Quarter never cease to amaze. Though the places above are not quite what I imagine Louis, Lestat, and Claudia living in, there is the idea. It is extravagant, and so beautiful.

Though Lestat is the driving force behind the extravagance of their new place, and although he knows that he does not need any of what he has, Louis still enjoys it. Vampire’s have so long to live, and since the people surrounding them are nothing but vehicles of blood for them to feast on, each of which will one day expire, they spend money on extravagant things that make them seem important. Vampires suffer from a superiority complex rooted in their infinite potential for life expectancy and supernatural physical qualities. They are almost god-like creatures, and often with that comes the need to be looked at if if they are gods amongst men. This is done in society by being the wealthiest, so therefore Lestat spares no expense in clothing Claudia and decorating the flat. This is similar to the way that royalty would purchase unnecessary luxuries and parade them around. Just think of Marie Antoinette and Louis XVI.

Art and Culture

While Lestat pursued his material desires for a lavish lifestyle, Louis and Claudia chose a different aspect of French lifestyle to focus on: the arts. Both Louis and Claudia read a good deal, for which Lestat often mocked Louis, calling his library a pile of dust. Louis describes Claudia getting lost in the pictures of a book. They also play the piano, which is a common theme in vampire fiction. I understand it though. If you had all of the time in the world, and had everything you need, why not take that time to learn something as difficult and rewarding as the piano?

“But there was no quarrelling. We kept to ourselves. We had our adjustments. Books filled our long flat from floor to ceiling in row after row of gleaming leather volumes, as Claudia and I pursued our natural tastes and Lestat went about his lavish acquisitions.”
— Interview with the Vampire (Anne Rice)

 

 

Nightlife

Another aspect of French culture that fits with, if not aids, the vampire's lifestyle: nightlife. This facet of New Orleans allows the vampire to avoid suspicion by claiming that the night was a wild, drunken affair gone wrong. Likely stemming from the French’s love of wine and food, and tendency to overindulge in the two, nightlife and partying are important aspects of New Orleans culture. Not only is it helpful that an abundance of drunk and susceptible people are out and about during the hours that a vampire might be outside, it provides also provides the perfect cover. This allows for there to be little to no panic around the death, the vampire’s presence is not declared, and he may keep hunting under the radar as he likes. Lestat uses this to his advantage, pretending that the one of the two women he was entertaining had passed out due to overconsumption of wine, so the second was not alerted to the danger she was in.

“Lestat was masterfully clever and utterly vicious...he drank his fill without the other woman even knowing. ‘Your friend has no head for wine,’ he said, slipping out of the chair and seating the unconscious woman there, her arms folded under her face on the table.”
— Interview with the Vampire (Anne Rice)

Though we did not explore Bourbon Street at night, we still got a portion of the experience there. Bourbon St. is also a tourist area, and man do people start early. "It's 5 O'Clock somewhere" has been taken too a whole new level. We still explored the city at night, the way a group of underage kids could, well half of us were. We ate, took the streetcar, and explored a city that is as much alive at night as it is in the daytime, maybe even more. I swear New Orleans should be the city that never sleeps. We would come back at 11pm, but the city was still bustling.  I do wonder what Bourbon St. is like at night, and what the inside of all of the mrs and clubs look like, however I am just going to have to wait and come back.

 

Other Supernatural Fiction in Louisiana

Though the history and geography of the south creates the ideal setting for supernatural tales, Louisiana is particularly perfect for vampires. The French aspects of Louisiana culture play off common themes surrounding vampires so well. Anne Rice is not the only one who has noticed these qualities of the south, specifically Louisiana. Many other television shows, films, and novels that have paranormal aspects take place in and around Louisiana. Popular culture set in Louisiana with supernatural themes range from the television show True Blood (2008-2014), and its highly sexualized portrayal of vampires, to the children’s movie The Princess and the Frog (2009), where a prince is turned into a frog by an evil voodoo man.

French culture seen in this novel are also common themes in vampire fiction across the board today. In movies and books focusing on the popular supernatural beings, vampires often enjoy accumulated wealth from their many years. Nightlife is of course a running theme as well, due to that in most fiction, vampires cannot be in the sun. Bars are often utilized as hunting grounds for the creatures of the night.

Voodoo culture is another reason why the supernatural is at home in Louisiana. The popular version of Voodoo is that which is seen in movies and books like The Princess and the Frog. However, we had the chance to learn about the history of Voodoo from the heart. It is a religion, not witchcraft as most people believe, of which I was one. The religion has many aspects, but the biggest is the importance of spirits and appeasing them for good fortune. Since I am not an expert on Voodoo, if you are in New Orleans, you should make your way over to the New Orleans Historic Voodoo Museum. Though the museum is only a few rooms, they are filled with information and displays. You might even make an offing while you are there.

Music Sets the Tone

Check out my bookpacking playlist for Interview with the Vampire on Spotify! For the duration of this course, each playlist will expand as I find new songs fitting of a certain text. Listening to music while I read helps me get into the right state of mind to connect better with the characters in the book. Have a listen here to see if that might work for you:

https://open.spotify.com/user/1259415490/playlist/3gwFHOyKDqKITkIUYD1dWY

Bookpacking through the Grand Isle

“The voice of the sea speaks to the soul. The touch of the sea is sensuous, enfolding the body in its soft, close embrace.”
— Kate Chopin, The Awakening

Louisiana Waters

My feet don’t crunch on the sand,
its exterior like soft caramel skin,
smooth as the uncrashing waves.


Winged shadows float along the land, 
brisk but elegant, feathered outlines
etching birdsong into my soundscape.


An unworried bird with mechanical legs
scurries across the sand, fleeting feet
familiar with the warmth of the grains.


I reach the firmer terrain, wetness
darkening it. The water looks less calm
the closer I walk towards it, more alive.


I don’t walk into the waves as much as
they charge towards me, smoothing out
before caressing my too-white feet,


welcoming me, beckoning me to bathe
in its body, to embark on a voyage
to the barricade of rocks just beyond.


The rocks, arrayed in overlapping piles,
break the waves, forcing eruptions, but act
as companions rather than interveners—


the drummers in this band, the creators
of the bang and the clang, accentuating
the lyrics and the water’s raspy voice.


I look down at my feet and find them
vanished beneath the blue liquid blanket
covering me halfway up my calf.


Clouds of sand swim like fish around me
as I engulf more of myself into the body,
wading, wandering, waiting, wondering.


I see dolphin fins splintering the waves, 
weaving through their wavering world, 
splashing away the white of my mind,


wiping at every inch of the canvas inside,
throwing me into a different kind of
wilderness, witnessed through the eyes.


More of me has disappeared beneath the
surface and I think of how I can’t even
see how deep the water’s beginning is.


Even the pile of rocks, who sit still
for years, day and night, wouldn’t know
how far your presence flows.


How deep do you go?
 

Immediately upon stepping outside the New Orleans airport and driving our way through Southern Louisiana in our huge “minivan,” I felt captivated by the landscape. It was completely different for me, especially as a California native who hasn’t traveled much. The green was everywhere and I felt compelled to stare endlessly through my window, taking pictures which gave absolutely no justice to the landscape (many came out looking like just blurry blobs of green).

The water was also everywhere. I noticed that the trees did not stand tall among grass or expanses of dirt, but rather seemed to emerge from the water flooded around their roots. This amazed me!

As we entered Grand Isle, I also found it hard to tear my eyes away from the view. We had passed over the water at a beautiful hour, just as the sun began to descend and paint itself on the surface of the water. There was more to see as we drove closer to our home for the next three days: many houses built high upon tall wooden stilts, but each one unique in the name plastered on it (my favorite name was “Claw Enforcement”).

We arrived at our own place along the beach, “Sol Et Terre.” It was also stilted with a beautiful brown wooden exterior. Looking around indoors was even more of a pleasure: the bedrooms big enough to fit up to three people; the board games and books stacked along the shelves; the main living area with the comfy couches, the TV, and the rocking chairs facing the beach. It was so foreign to me, an absolute luxury, a calming home.

Although I loved reading next to the huge windows facing the beach and laughing with everyone else around the big table, one of my favorite parts of being on Grand Isle was venturing into the sea during the few trips to the beach.

We had been reading The Awakening by Kate Chopin and one of my favorite parts of the book was the description of Edna’s growing kinship with the water after she learns to swim. Heading out to the same body of water that she had relished in was an almost surreal experience. And I, not a frequent beach-goer, felt alive in the water. It was a feeling I didn’t feel often, but it became familiar to me through the love for being in water that I had always possessed. I don’t think I’ve ever felt unhappy in a sea, an ocean, even a pool. This was no different.

I had traveled out to sea both by myself and with others, completely different experiences. When I walked out to the water with others, jumping waves and getting submerged in the salty world beneath the surface, the experience felt like more of a mindless bliss. Lots of smiling, heart racing, throwing myself into the water like a child.

By myself, however, I was able to remain calm and pensive and allow the water, the sand, the rocks to influence my thoughts. It was during my time wandering alone on the beach that I came up with most of the lines for the poem above. I don’t know if I’ve ever really written about nature. I laughed at myself because it’s so different from the material I typically write and I feel like Romantic nature poets were the guys that everyone despised reading because their poetry was too happy and too “flowery.” Yet, I couldn’t help but feel Romantic when on the beach alone. It really is a poetic place.

French Quarter

“I alight at Esplanade in a smell of roasting coffee and creosote and walk up Royal Street. The lower Quarter is the best part. The ironwork on the balconies sags like rotten lace. Little French cottages hide behind high walks. Through deep sweating carriageways, one catches glimpses of courtyards gone to jungle”
— Walker Percy, The Moviegoer

Our first day in New Orleans and our second book of the trip, had taken us to the French Quarter. With Anne Rice’s novel, Interview with the Vampire, still in our hands, we jumped off the street car at Esplanade Street. We took in the scenery; the street artists with their paintings, crafts, and typewriters, the musicians with their trumpets, trombones, and saxophones, and the tourists with their visors, backpacks, and cameras. Did we really look like those other tourists? Yes, yes we did.

The French Quarter, in its day, was a bustling city-center, full of rich art, culture, and creoles. And it is preserved well, now rich with the history that made it famous with a few crumbling bricks, here and there. We admired each unique building, wedged up right against the other in neat rows down and around the city blocks. The bright colors, the intricate railings, the thick moldings, dormers, and trim, all engaged us in a historical romanticism; wouldn’t it have been amazing to have lived there? Each structure begged you to wonder how long it had stood there and how much it had seen.

We sat in Jackson Square for awhile, reading our books, Mardi Gras beads hanging in the oak trees overhead. We ate at Café du Monde, sharing plates of beignets and spent hours afterward dusting the powdered sugar from our clothes. And we listened to jazz as we talked about the city, the culture, Interview with the Vampire, and then Walker Percy’s novel, The Moviegoer.

Jackson Square had become a familiar place to us as we continued to explore the French Quarter. Our search for preserved history took us many interesting places, all within a few blocks distance. The New Orleans Pharmacy Museum, Napoleon House, the 1850 House, Madame John’s Legacy House, the Voodoo Museum, and the Old Ursuline Convent, all gave another unique facet to New Orleans’ incredibly diverse and colorful story.

The New Orleans Pharmacy Museum houses herbs, chemicals, tools, and tonics that were part of medicine and pharmacy practices in the past. The museum describes the history of medicine, especially surrounding New Orleans’ culture. Only two doors down, Napoleon House sits at the corner of St. Louis Street and Chartres Street. It was once the residence of the mayor of New Orleans, Nicholas Girod, who offered his home to Napoleon as refuge. And although Napoleon never made it, and honestly, probably never even knew Girod had offered, the name of the building never changed. Back in Jackson Square, the 1850 House is part of the series of row houses that overlooks the square, built by the Baroness Micaela Almonester de Pontabla, the daughter of a wealthy Spanish landowner who helped develop New Orleans, the French Quarter, and particularly, the St. Louis Cathedral. The house, containing period furnishings and fixtures, offers a glance into the lives of the upper classes during the boom of architecture, art, and culture, into the city. Similarly, Madame John’s Legacy House, represents the French colonial architecture that was popular during the construction of New Orleans. The Voodoo Museum explores the rituals, terms, and folklore surrounding Voodoo and its deep history in the city and with its African roots. The three small rooms of the museum are packed with altars, Voodoo dolls, bones, and art, detailing the importance of the religion and spirituality to its members, in the past and today. Only a short distance away, the Old Ursuline Convent is the oldest building in New Orleans, reminding us of the traditional Catholicism that establishes the city's gothic influences.

Each place we visited in the French Quarter reminded us of the vast diversity that encouraged New Orleans to become the ethnic, bohemia of Louisiana. And even though time has aged it, the city and its people continue to preserve all of New Orleans history and all its unique traditions. Every building, every place we stopped, encouraged our understanding of the city's web of histories. Only in New Orleans, could all these things coexist. It was, and remains, a place for Voodoo and Catholicism, for Spanish and French, African and American cultures, for political and literary debates, and for art and relics. 

We had become part of that dialogue, part of the story of New Orleans, our books shedding light in corners of the city that would have otherwise been overlooked. We imagined Kate Chopin’s, Edna Pontellier on one of her famous walks down Esplanade Street, Anne Rice’s, Louis and Lestat creeping down Bourbon Street for a midnight snack, and Walker Percy’s Binx locked in an existential crisis on his way to lunch on Royal Street.

Hiding Places

Measure time in passing

Streetcars, their clatter a sign

Of something looming.

The unadorned pillar—barely remembered,

Once revered—and the woman

Who seeks change and a prayer

And tells us, you’re sweet.

Find me tomorrow

On the corner of Royal and Canal,

She says, before you leave. Find me

Through the overgrown branches,

Through the pale green jalousies

Offset by peeling plaster—

These hiding places encase us

In life, the marble tombs

In the afterlife. One stood open,

Its emptiness inviting. Step into

This moss-grown space, damp

With the threat of a storm.

Lift your head from your pages

And watch rain embrace the rooftop

Opposite. Watch as it creates

A mirror for itself.

Grand Isle, LA

IMG_4616.JPG
“The voice of the sea is seductive; never ceasing, whispering, clamoring, murmuring, inviting the soul to wander for a spell in abysses of solitude; to lose itself in mazes of inward contemplation. The voice of the sea speaks to the soul. The touch of the sea is sensuous, enfolding the body in its soft, close embrace.”
— Kate Chopin, The Awakening

"On the Shore"

I feel tingling soft sand
on my toes while wading
in salty water
cooled by the thick moist air
that fills my nostrils.

Playing in the largess
of the ocean shore,
we feel the weight of love
in soothing shades of light. 
"This land is lonely,
but we find love in the quietest of places."

My English tongue quivers
at the breathe of the New World
far away from the routine of City.
I struggle to behold the beauty
of this place for a quiet moment.
Still a patient wind invites
me into an ancient ebb and flow
drawing my attention away from
my own inward stroll to the
narrowing of a cosmic river.

 

 

California Boy Goes to Swamps

After three days on Grand Isle, it was time for our team to head to New Orleans. On our way to the Big Easy, we made a pitstop at Lafitte, a small town named after the notrious Gulf of Mexico pirate, Jean Lafitte. Here, we grubbed at a small mom & pop restaurant named Boutte's. I had the best red beans & rice here.

After a quick bite, our team journeyed to the Barataria Preserve in Jean Lafitte National Historical Park. Our team got the opportunity to walk the trails that run through the swamp and marsh. It was a biome unlike any other I've seen in California. For those who are unfamiliar with swamp and marsh, it may be hard to comprehend just what a swamp and marsh is; I definitely didn't understand prior to seeing it in person. While Wikipedia's pages may be of some use, hopefully my aural and visual records can help you understand the flavor of this incredible natural habitat. Sadly, we did not see an alligator…

The Sound

We’ll start with the basic soundscape of the swamps. You can here birds and insects filling the aural atmosphere. Occasionally, a breeze will rustle the leaves and add another layer. I captured this recording near the entrance of the trail, so some vehicle sound was captured. In order to remove the unwanted sound, I ran the track through a few filters, removing as much of the sound as I could without jeopardizing the integrity of the soundscape.

A bit later, the wind died down, so I took another capture of the general swamp soundscape. Since I was further along the trail, I was both closer to the animal sound sources and further from vehicles in the parking lot. This allowed me to turn up the gain of my recorder and get a clearer recording of the soundscape. Using moderate filtering, I focussed this track on the birds and insects of the swamp.

As our group journeyed further into the swamp, the sounds became progressively weirder. Here, we have an added layer of swamp frogs.

Then we encountered some interesting insect sounds.

But the granddaddy of all weird sounds has to be this strange, sheep-like sound. I am still unsure what kind of animal could produce such an interesting tone, but one of our teammates claims a frog was making this sound.

The Look

(Ba)You Don't Own Me

En route to New Orleans, we stopped over at the Barataria Preserve in the Jean Lafitte National Historical Park. We were on a mission – spot the elusive American alligator in its natural habitat. Well, I suppose it was mainly my mission, and I forced everyone to become as enthused as I was. I worked at a zoo for five years so, naturally, it's my duty to throw around words like osteoderms, death roll, and Steve Irwin’s signature crikey! Rest in Peace, Steve. Unfortunately, however, we saw no gators that day. And, truth be told, the bayou trees were slightly underwhelming, since all the largest cypresses were cut down about a hundred years ago (humans ruin everything). But there is hope, yet – Andrew promises we’ll take a swamp tour when we head west into Cajun country. I’m going to hold him to that.

But, lack of gators aside, venturing into the mini-bayou was the perfect transition from Grand Isle to New Orleans. It created the ambience necessary for reading Anne Rice’s Interview with the Vampire.

Stepping into a Louisiana swamp is like stepping through time. Prehistoric-looking ferns brush your arm as you labor through the stickiness of the hot air. The verdure is thick and lush. Only a little white light ekes through from above, playing shadow games with the Spanish moss, which hangs lazily from branches like a woman’s hair. There are things that chirp and groan in the brush, hidden always from view. Even the water, completely covered in algae, provides countless hiding places for those things that chirp and groan. Or, more startlingly, the things that silently lurk. And I’m not just talking about gators. The early French settlers here told stories of the Rougarou, a creature that takes the form of a man by day but, by night, peels back its skin and turns into a hairy, ravenous beast that roams the swamp looking for prey. A French swamp werewolf, if you will. Laugh all you want, but I guarantee you wouldn’t be so smug if you were alone at night in the Barataria Preserve and you heard a rustle in the bushes. I was there at two in the afternoon with the eight other Bookpackers, when something scampered across my foot. I almost hit the deck. It was a 4-inch-long lizard, in case you were wondering.  

The culprit.

The culprit.

The Rougarou, alligators, and 4-inch-long lizards had certainly made me jumpy, but it was more than that. I had begun reading Interview with the Vampire. I could so clearly visualize Louis and Lestat, our two beautiful and blood-thirsty protagonists, hunting runaway slaves here.

“He sank to his knees, and Lestat fed fast as the other slaves came running...it was as if we were black insects utterly camouflaged in the night, watching the slaves move, oblivious to us, discover the wounded man, drag him back, fan out in the foliage searching for the attacker.”
— Anne Rice, Interview with the Vampire

If the lights and licentiousness of New Orleans provide the place where Louis and Lestat can be elegant, well-dressed Creoles, the dark primitiveness of the swamp provides the place where they can be true beasts of the night. Though, I don't think Louis would care much for that description. 

Much like our vampire friends, our journey is far from over here in the cypress swamp. I hear a solo trumpet player in the distance, singing out, staccato and effervescent and joyous. Purple, green, and gold beads drip from tree branches and street lamps. At long last, New Orleans.

MEAL OF THE MOMENT: GUMBO

There was only one thing that could free me from my swamp jitters. What better first "Meal of the Moment" than gumbo? We stopped at Boutte’s Bayou Restaurant in Lafitte (by the way, if you don’t know who Jean Lafitte is, you should look him up and possibly write to Steven Spielberg or Ridley Scott. I have no idea why they haven’t made that movie yet). Anyway, GUMBO.

Gumbo, for those of you unaware of its sensational charms, is a stew, born right here in southern Louisiana a couple centuries ago. There are several different varieties, and I would never claim to understand what constitutes the perfect gumbo, but the one I had at Boutte’s was pretty damn good. It was of the Cajun variety, containing chicken, shellfish (including, of course, crawfish and shrimp), andouille sausage, rice, and various veggies. I had it with buttered French bread. Don’t tell New England clam chowder I cheated on it. But is it really cheating if we were on a break?

Gumbo is the official dish of Louisiana for a reason. The very creation of the stew represents the mingling of traditions that have come to define the state and, in particular, New Orleans. Gumbo is influenced by Spanish, West African, and French culinary practices, just as the city is influenced by these very same cultures. As we head into New Orleans, the concept of "Frenchness" will become vital, not only in contextualizing Interview with the Vampire (as well as The Awakening), but in understanding each sight, sound, and smell of the Big Easy.