I needed a quick change of pace. Living in New Orleans for a couple weeks had started taking its toll on me; being in a foreign environment for so long does have its effects. It was also of course a Wednesday, the dreaded hump day. I decided to turn the week around and treat myself to a solo adventure, in an attempt to rekindle my sense of intrigue and excitement for the great city around me.
Early evening time, I began by taking myself to the river walk and taking a seat on a bench overlooking the Mississippi. There was a nice, fresh smelling breeze to the air. Almost too fresh––it was definitely going to rain soon. Oh well, nothing was going to get between me and my me-time. I pulled out the book we were reading at the time, Walker Percy’s The Moviegoer. All alone, I read while dozens of people walked on the path beside me: couples old and young, families, and groups of partiers. With some great timing, our characters Binx and his Aunt discuss birthdays.
Don’t you think a thirty year old man ought to know what he wants to do with his life? - WALKER PERCY
I let my eyes wander as I continued to people watch. I wondered how many of these people know what they want to do with their lives. Half of them? A quarter? How did they figure this out, what separates them from me? I pack up and continue to walk down the path, head pounding with many more questions. I took a break at a nice clearing of concrete steps on the riverbank. It overlooks the Mississippi steam boat, as it prepares for an evening cruise. A big band jazz performance blasts off the decks, and I can make out tiny little figures dancing their hearts out. In the background, I could make out the skyline of the business district and the Crescent City bridge spanning across the river. In class, we talked about why New Orleans is such a literary city. I think: this, right here, is one of the reasons why. Even today, this collision of the past and present IS all packaged on a quiet little river front. How could one ever run out of things to write about?
At this point, the sky stops holding back. Big, juicy drops of rain begin to pummel me, and I quickly hustle into the quarter for shade.
I am embraced by the Market Cafe, where I am greeted by a nice refreshing drink and some comfort tunes. We get some Etta James, Louis Armstrong, and even the lead singer’s lullaby song for his toddler. As one of the only ones in the cafe at this point, I shared a nice conversation with one of the band members. I learned how he was in New Orleans his whole life, but never got the chance to pick up music until his 40’s. But once he was in a place to properly learn and practice, there was nothing else in the world he could see himself doing.
The rain has calmed down at this point, so I make the trek over to the primary destination of the night, Frenchman Street. We had already explored this part of town, but never went to the always crowded Spotted Cat Music Club. Arriving there early, I avoided the cover charge and made myself comfortable at the bar. The menu had plenty of “Cattails” like the Cat Old Fashion and Cat Nip. I loved it, a bar which knew its identity. Pinned to the bar was hundreds of bills from dozens of different currencies. I pondered the significance of it, wondering if there was any international element of this club. But after no time, the band had made its way to the stage. They were noticeably younger than any jazz band I had listened to so far, and it was evident. The musicians all had a youthful craze and excitement to their playing, and their talent was quite evident. However, I did find myself at times missing the character and certain ruggedness I noticed in older bands, such as the one I listened to earlier in the day. I also thought back to the band at the famous Preservation Hall which we had listened to days before, and just how fun they were. Only upon comparing these bands did I begin to understand the idea of a mastery of one’s musical craft––past the point of technical perfection, but to where you can proceed to breaking the rules and going against convention. So jazzy. But how lucky am I to be in a place where I can even draw such conclusions! I am in a city so dense with talent and a universal love for music. So much so where even the “worse” musicians still hold a complete technical mastery of their instruments.
I finished my date with a walk through the Frenchman Art Bazaar, an open air art market next door. It had dozens of vendors, anything from jewelry to paintings to clothing. It was really refreshing to walk through. Every bit of art looked so clearly handmade and filled with love. The vendors were all super sweet too, and were really excited to talk more about their booths and what it is they like to create.
I took the streetcar all the way home, back against the river and up Canal Street. I thought about the trip so far, and the days I had left. I still hold that I am definitely an extroverted person, loving the company of others. Going into a city like this, I had the expectation that I was to socialize in every facet of my exploring. Not to mention, it can feel much easier to do new things with the safety blanket of being surrounded by friends. But perhaps that’s what made today so special. I couldn’t rely on anyone but myself to have a great time, so I chased after activities which I had to be completely present in. I should do this more.