A Bus Named Desire
This morning, I did something that I'd been wanting to do since I got there - I took this picture:
A Bus Named Desire
Not exactly A Streetcar Named Desire, but the next best thing. There really is a street named Desire, and there really used to be a streetcar that went there, which has since been replaced by the number 82 bus. And Tennessee Williams really did, apparently, get the idea for the name while riding on the streetcar. So I went up to the corner and waited for the bus to come by, and took its picture.
We then walked into the Quarter for breakfast, about which more in a moment. Walking through a park near the inn, I saw this guy playing a hammer dulcimer, and took his picture:
And here we are enjoying our breakfast... and trying not to think about the cost:
We spent the afternoon meandering. We went to a place called The Three Dog Bakery, which makes doggie treats that look remarkably like people pastries:
We got North a mini eclair, and a "Pet"-it Four. And here's North preparing to dig in, and then enjoying his treat.
We visited a perfume shop, where Terry bought some perfume, and then we went to French Market. This is a lot like Farmer's Market in L.A. It's sort of open-air (a roof, but no walls), and contains a multitude of vendors selling a multitude of stuff. Jewelry, crafts, CDs, T shirts, food. Lots of food. I bought an alligator sausage on a stick.
We then went to ride on the last remaining streetcar in the city, the St. Charles line. It was an interesting ride, although I must admit it was more interesting for me than for Terry. For her, it was a lot like riding on the bus at home... Anyway, here are some pictures taken on the streetcar ride:
The motorman
In which we see that the streetcar goes along the grass median
A passing streetcar, to give an idea of what the cars look like
When it gets to the end of the line, the streetcar doesn't turn around. The motorman gets up, goes to an identical set of controls at the other end of the car, and takes off. The seats, therefore are reversible. The seats in these two pictures are the same seat (note the newspaper on the floor):
That evening we spent clubbing on Bourbon Streeet. I'd been wanting to do this all week, and tonight I got my chance.
Bourbon Street is something of a non-stop party. Music pours out of the clubs, and people walk - and stagger - up and down the street. The streets are lined with music clubs and "adult entertainment" establishments. There is much noise, much liquor, much revelry. In a way, it's fun. In another way, it's kind of sad.
Our first stop was a blues club called, appropriately enough, The Blues Club. We heard a band called The All Purpose Blues Band. Guitar, bass, drums, and a large gentleman belting out the blues in a gravelly voice. His name, it turned out, was Big Willie Lockett. Yes, they had CDs, and we bought one, which Big Willie autographed for us. The CD was actually by another band, The Blues Krewe, which featured Mr. Lockett, and the bass player from the club, but a different guitarist and drummer. The cast of characters seems to continually shift. Anyway, this CD was the best of the bunch that we got.
The next stop was The Famous Door, another blues club. The band here was The Jeff Chaz Blues Trio, featuring Mr. Chaz on guitar and vocal, accompanied by keyboard and drums. They were good, but we didn't get a CD.
We then went to dinner, at The Acme Oyster House. I had a mess o' crawfish. It's like eating miniature lobsters. Too much work for too little payoff. We then went to a restaurant named Desire (that's not a joke) for dessert. Then it was back to clubbing.
We went to Patout's, a Cajun club, where we heard the Recycled Cajuns. I didn't buy their CD, because we had already bought the CD at Vermilionville. I wish now that I had bought the Recycled Cajuns' CD, because they were quite good. They had a guy (second picture, page 64) who played the "rub board," which is like a washboard, without the wooden frame, which hangs over the musician's shoulders, and is played with spoons:
At one point, a woman in front of me requested a song, which the band played. But they made the woman join the band. The rub board man got her a board and put it on her, handed her a pair of spoons, and showed her how to do it. She got right into the spirit of things, pumping her arms up and down and dancing back and forth. On the last beat of the song, the rub board man threw out his arm to stop her. Lots of fun.
The last stop was Maison Bourbon:
...a club dedicated to the PRESERVATION of New Orleans Jazz. The sign in front has the word "Preservation" in extra large letters, no doubt trying to sow confusion in the minds of the naive tourists, to make them think it's Preservation Hall (which is half a block away). No matter. The band, led by Jamie Wight on trumpet, was good. We sat through two sets.
And that was it for the night. There were other clubs, but they all seemed to be either blues or rock clubs. We'd already been to two blues clubs, and going to a rock club in New Orleans seems like missing the point - kind of like going to Europe and eating at McDonald's. Actually, in retrospect, I think that next time I won't restrict myself to Bourbon Street. I think there are other jazz clubs on other streets, and I'll find them next time (and there WILL be a next time).