Down in old New Orleans

Firstly, if I'm going to write about N'awlins, there's gotta be some music a playin'...

As soon as you step into the French Quarter, the historic downtown area of New Orleans, you feel it.  It hangs in the thick air.  It winds its way down alleyways, swirls with the wind coursing up the Mississippi river and beats a steady rhythm as rattan ceiling fans stir on ornate iron balconies overflowing with trailing ivy.  It flows through the brass, the drums and the strings of kerbside bands, spirals in the incense smoke haze of a voodoo shop's doorway and sinks sumptuously into a steaming bowl of Cajun gumbo.  When the bloated sun sets over the city, it electrifies the neon tubes of Bourbon Street which buzz and flicker into life, it ignites the gas street lamps overhead and pumps the crowded streets with the sounds of jazz - melodies which howl, saunter and hop out at you from every direction, pouring from open doorways and windows, floating down from balconies and roof gardens.  This is the soul of a city, a soul so clear and ever present I have never felt anything like it before.  'How y'all doin'?' comes the common welcoming phrase of the locals, whether walking into a shop, bar or restaurant or simply passing in the street.

The narrow streets run like a history book, a time line of architecture, immigration, politics and art; the stories of so many cultures derived thousands of miles from here; Cajun, African, Creole, Caribbean, French, Spanish...the list goes on.  And despite centuries of hardship, from poverty, disease, hurricanes and the resultant floods, New Orleans seems tougher yet all at once friendlier than any other city we've visited.  A place where music and food are the primary languages and just having a good ol' time is the most important thing in the world, whether it's tapping your foot in a smoky jazz hall, downing enormous cocktails in sports bars or simply sitting out on a doorstep with your neighbours and a few bottles of wine.

Voodoo!