In the two and a half years I’ve been on the road, I’ve been to New Orleans three times. I love it there. This time was extra special, because I arrived during Carnival, and then Seattle friend Annmarie flew in on Ash Wednesday for a week. (Of all my friends, Annmarie has visited most on the road – Las Vegas; The Shakespeare Festival in Ashland, Oregon; Charleston; and now NOLA. We traveled quite a bit together before I went on the road too. I look forward to her visits!)

Of course there are some must-do’s for me anytime I’m in the Crescent City, like shopping on Magazine Street, Sunday Jazz Brunch at Commander’s Palace,

and Ramos Gin Fizzes at the Sazerac Bar in the Roosevelt Hotel (more on who those two guys are in a sec).

But on this trip I wanted to dig in, delve further, and learn more – a luxury of full-timing I call “deep cuts.“

A New Home

On my first trip to New Orleans in Nellie, I stayed in New Orleans East. The second time was on Lake Pontchartrain, at Pontchartrain Landing Marina & RV Park, northeast of town. This trip I spent two weeks at Bayou Segnette State Park, on the West Bank, only 25 minutes from downtown but a world away on the bayou.

I was fortunate to get an end spot, with lots of open space between sites. The park is very well-maintained and even comes with free laundry facilities. There are no sewer hook ups because, hey, it’s below sea level, but I called a pump out service to avoid driving to the dump station at the park.

Two weeks is the maximum stay at this state park, so I moved over to Pontchartrain Landing for the remainder of my time in NOLA.

Super Krewes

During Carnival I prefer my parading on the neighborhood scale side. I don’t usually go for big floats and big names. This year I decided to see some of the Super Krewes – the oldest groups with the longest memberships rolls and the most moolah.

A Chrohnie like me requires dedicated bathroom facilities, so I splurged for viewing stand tickets on St. Charles Avenue on Lundi Gras (Fat Monday) and Mardi Gras (Fat Tuesday). The stand was run by the Hotel Modern on Lee Circle (still called Lee Circle even though the statue came down following an eloquent speech by the mayor of New Orleans). The viewing stand ticket included use of the hotel’s bathrooms.

The night parades on Lundi Gras were Proteus (1882), the second oldest parading krewe,

and Orpheus, the krewe started by Harry Connicks Senior and Junior in 1993. (Yes! That’s Harry Jr. on the float! Be still my heart. Humina, humina.)

As fate and fortune would have it, I met fellow Washingtonians at the viewing stand; John, Julius and Christa visit New Orleans often, and we hit it off right away. They told me Julius was notorious for getting the best throws, and boy, were they right. Men and women, young and old, love throwing to him. I’ll let you guess which one is Julius in this photo.

To me, one of the best things about a Carnival night parade are the Flambeaux. When night parading began in the 1800’s, slaves illuminated the festivities with torches. Parade onlookers began tipping them. Today, Flambeaux are still paid in tips, carrying flames barely above their heads and fuel on their backs. What a tradition – and only in New Orleans.

The Mardi Gras parades set to start at 8:00 a.m. Tuesday morning came awfully early, after the night parades the previous evening. As I drove bleary-eyed back to the Hotel Modern, John phoned. They were coming back for another day on the viewing stand!

The big parades on Mardis Gras Day are reserved for Zulu (1916), a traditionally all Black krewe that parades in black face,

and Rex (1862), the second oldest krewe in New Orleans.

(Photo of the Rex King by John Ranney.)

Zulu throws some of the most coveted throws of all Carnival Season – the Zulu coconut. Coconuts are decorated all year long by Zulu members to throw on Mardi Gras Day. Here’s a new friend from Ohio who had just caught his priceless treasure.

We pushed Julius to the front for the catching, and he took one for the team, literally, when a coconut hit him in the eye. Undeterred, he was like a Zulu coconut conveyer belt, sharing his haul with me and several others.

Back at the rig I made a Zulu shrine in memory of that ridiculously fun morning.

Preservation Hall

Every time I go to New Orleans I plan to go to Preservation Hall, but I get distracted with other activities. This year I bought tickets in advance, to make sure I finally made it.

Preservation Hall was built in the 1960’s to perform and preserve New Orleans Jazz. Located in the Quarter, this is no fancy joint. Seating is on wooden benches or on the floor, and it’s SRO in the back. No food or drinks. No restroom facilities. No photos or recording allowed. What you get is 45 minutes of unadulterated, un-amplified New Orleans jazz, played by some of the best musicians in the city.

Trumpet player Will Smith led the band that night, and just watching his face as he listened to the other musicians take their solos was so entertaining. You could tell he was truly enjoying himself, lost in the music.

As the sign says, they take requests in exchange for gratuities, but no one was feeling flush enough to request “When the Saints go Marching In.“ I requested “The Sheik of Araby,” an old Tin Pan Alley tune that was adopted by New Orleans; Arabi is a neighborhood in New Orleans.

New Orleans musicians add a little surprise to the song about the Sheik. The first time through, the verse is sung as written:

I am the Sheik of Araby
Your love belongs to me
At night when you’re asleep
Into your tent I’ll creep
The stars that shine above
Will light our way to love
You’ll rule this land with me
I’m the Sheik of Araby

The second time through, there is a call and response. At the end of each line the band members yell out, “Without no pants on!” Oh my goodness. It got lots of chuckles from the audience.

A Cruise And A Battlefield

Chalmette Battlefield is only about four miles’ drive from downtown New Orleans, but it’s a lot more fun to get there by boat on the Mississippi.

Annmarie and I boarded the Creole Queen bound for the place where “we fought the Bloody British in a town called New Orleans” as sung by Johnny Horton.

A lot of military details go in one ear and out the other for me. The overwhelming message I took away from the visit was the cooperation and concerted effort between and among different peoples that brought about the defeat of the British. Settlers and Creoles and Native Americans and free people of color and pirates (Jean Lafitte), working together. Isn’t that so American?

The battlefield wasn’t immediately recognized as a place of historical significance, and years later a community of African-Americans were displaced to preserve the land. Sigh. Also, so American.

Museums

I have been fascinated with Mardi Gras Indians ever since I first heard about them. The Indians affiliate by neighborhood. They are African-American but not necessarily Native American; the story goes that they started parading as “Indians” in homage to the Native Americans that helped slaves seeking freedom. Each costume, from The Big Chief to the Flag Boy, is a work of art in feathers and beading, a year in the making. For many years the costumes were dismantled for materials, preventing them from being copied or stolen by rival groups. The Backstreet Cultural Museum in Treme preserves some of the costumes and illuminates the traditions.

Carnival is not the only time the Indians parade. I would like to be in New Orleans on Saint Joseph’s Day to see them in action.

The first cocktails ever invented in the United States, the Vieux Carre and the Sazerac, were mixed in New Orleans. It follows that a museum dedicated to the American cocktail is there as well.

I was especially impressed with the Absinthe display. The museum is sponsored by the Food and Beverage Association, so there are many informative exhibits about the best and oldest restaurants in New Orleans as well. And speaking of restaurants, sharing the building is Toups South, run by Chef Isaac Toups of Top Chef fame.

A Creole Plantation

There are many plantations along the river road just outside of New Orleans. So much is known about life on Laura, a Creole plantation, because Laura wrote memoirs about her time there. Our guide was excellent and tackled the tough issues tactfully, but truthfully.

The “Big House” is not the typical Greek Revival with huge columns, but rather a colorfully painted Creole home.

Restaurants And Bars

Here were my food and drink firsts this trip: Fried chicken at Willie Mae’s Scotch House. A memorable meal at Peche (Chef Ryan Prewitt, 2014 James Beard Best Chef: South).

Po Boys at Gene’s Po Boys. Food and drink at St. Roch Market. Lunch at Flamingo A-Go-Go. Dinner at Orleans Grapevine Wine Bar and Bistro. Cajun food at Mulate’s.

A fabulous dinner at Herbsaint (Chef Donald Link, James Beard Best Chef: South (2007) and Chef Rebecca Wilcomb (2017)). Absinthe at The Old Absinthe House,

and a seat at the revolving bar at the Carousel Bar in the Hotel Monteleone.

There was bowling, food and live music at the Rock and Bowl with new friends.

And, the pièce de résistance, Friday lunch at Galatoire’s.

Jean Galatoire opened Galatoire’s on Bourbon Street in 1905. While strip clubs have encroached outside, Galatoire’s is the epitome of southern gentility, fine living, and even finer dining inside.

No one quite knows how or why, but for decades the main dining room downstairs has been the place to be for Friday lunch. Waiters in tuxedos, bussers in white coats, men in seersucker and bowties, women in hats, birthday and anniversary and graduation celebrations, it is a raucous good time that has been known to extend into dinner.

No reservations are taken downstairs, which has only 41 tables and 132 seats. I read to be in line no later than 9:00 a.m. for seating which begins at 11:30 a.m., that is, if you have not hired a “line sitter.“ Line sitters tend to be men on the fringes of society. They sit outside the restaurant on folding chairs and milk crates, holding the spot for an individual or a table. They are paid $20 a head when their party arrives at 11:30.

If I had known how to hire a line sitter, I probably would have. Torrential downpours threatened that morning, and all my friends, old and new, had left town. Still, I sallied forth in polkadots and pearls and frilly hat with parasol, greeted by six or seven line sitters when I arrived at 9:00 a.m.

With beers in paper bags and vodka in plastic cups in hand, they all told me how pretty I looked – “Like a princess.“ I wanted to take a photo with them, but felt it was impolite. They were impressed with my little folding stool from REI that I pulled out of my purse, but just as I was about to take my seat they told me I could go inside already and speak to the maître d’. I was very surprised given all that I had read. Perhaps, because it was a regular old Friday, Carnival was over, and stormy weather loomed in the forecast, it was going to be a light day.

I stepped inside to the maître d’, who looked at me with one squinty eye when I said I was a party of one. “I know space is a premium and I would be happy to sit with another party. I’m very social.” He smiled and replied, looking at my hat, “You’ll fit right in here.”

Once my name was on the list there was no need to sit outside with the line sitters, which was a little disappointing because I was looking forward to talking with them and hearing their stories. They recommended a good place for coffee.

When I returned I was seated alone at a two-top table near the front window, where Tennessee Williams liked to sit. Galatoire’s is mentioned in “A Streetcar Named Desire.” Patrons may request their favorite waiter; I told the maître d’ I had no preference. How fortunate I was to get John Fontenot, named by The Times-Pucayune as “an institution within an institution.”

When in the land of day drinkers, do as they do. It was 11:30 in the morning, and I was drinking a Sazerac, recommended by John. There was Crabmeat Yvonne for lunch.

Halfway through the meal, fresh water glasses full of ice appeared on all the tables. Chef Michael Sichel made his rounds, holding court.

Cutlery against glassware sounded out several times, for this toast or that. The entire room joined in on “Happy Birthday” on too many occasions to count.

Describing desserts, John’s eyes widened and eyebrows raised with each confection as he waved his hands about, reminding me of a fortune teller or magician. Coffee, unrequested, appeared, and why wouldn’t it, when accompanied by a slice of pecan pie?

When it was time to depart, John and I said our goodbyes. Have you ever had a meal so wonderful and service so impeccable that you kissed your waiter? Me either.

After almost a month in New Orleans, I still did not accomplish everything on my to-do list. That’s the great thing about city celebrating its 300th birthday. You never run out of things to see and try and do and experience. Until next time, New Orleans.