First Impressions of New Orleans

I’ll start with a pronunciation lesson. If you grew up like I did, the name was always three equal syllables: New Or Leans. I quickly picked up that I needed to lose a few letters and make it two syllables: Nor Lens. If you want to go totally southern, there are signs scattered around telling you that it’s NawLens. But it’s also known as NOLA—New Orleans, Louisiana.

We had gotten tickets for the “Hop On, Hop Off” buses, which was a good call. Driving in the popular areas was difficult, to put it mildly, and parking non-existent. The tour guide on the first bus we got on, Chris, loved his adopted hometown and had buckets of historical and gossipy information about the city from its inception up to today. He was so interesting that we decided to do a full loop with him and almost made it until the point where we really needed lunch and a bathroom break.

The other tour guides that we encountered as we traveled from one area to another all had their strong points, but none of them told stories like Chris. At one point he commented that for many years the pirates had more control of the city than the politicians, because the pirates had more money. Then he finished with, “But it’s different now … because our politicians are pirates.” And he hasn’t been arrested or anything.

We learned that the highest point in NOLA is 6 feet above sea level. That explains the crazy sidewalks that all slope from the building doors down toward the street. And since many of them are made from brick, walking was a non-stop adventure for me.

Many people rave about the cuisine there. Unfortunately, my husband’s and my tolerance for spicey foods is rather low, so we weren’t in the market for Cajun and Creole specialties. He did order jambalaya one evening but found it too hot. I just didn’t like the spices in it. We had some great meals, but they weren’t area specialties.

We had time to see the top attractions: the French Quarter, the Garden District, the old cemetery. Side note: Nicholas Cage has built his tombstone there. (The excitement nearly killed me.) The French Quarter was a walking tour, happily done by our favorite guide and we were the only ones signed up for that time.

He explained that there was a famous voodoo priestess there in the 1800s, Marie Leveau. One day when he was new to the city, he saw a woman who called herself Miss Cinnamon. She had a snake. He mentioned that he didn’t care for animals with too many legs—or two few. I could relate. But she said she was the reincarnation of Marie Leveau and offered to bless him. He agreed and while she did so, the snake wound itself around his shoulders and up over his head. He soon had a job and a place to live. Three years later when he ran across her again, he let her bless him again, and shortly thereafter he met his partner.

“So,” he began, “if you see Miss Cinnamon--”

“Nope.” I said, cutting him off.

“Really, you should let her--” he began.

“Not gonna happen,” was my definitive answer.

He tried again. “Not even for a blessing?”

“No,” I said, “I’m already blessed.”

We had fun, but we don’t expect to go back again. There are so many other places to see.

But I will say to you all, “Laissez les bon temps rouler!”

Let the good times roll!