Farewell New Orleans

Jackson Square, New Orleans gathering place of diverse inhabitants: artists, street musicians, dancers, performers, palm readers, jewelry makers, pirates, and more! I was inspired from the moment I passed by tables of taro card readers, street performers, and art tied to the rod iron fence of the square. I couldn't help myself. I came back and purchased local art. I sat on a bench facing the Cathedral and listened to the musicians play their favorite songs from memory. This place sang to my soul, as free expression was required and talent was not shamed or wasted. I imagine myself waking one day, waiting until the sun was shining and tying my paintings to the fence. Haggling with the tourists to purchase my art, a souvenir of the city. I will recommend that everyone who travels to New Orleans to stop in Jackson Square and admire its architecture, diversity, art, and music. To sit and absorb the city in.

Cafe Du Monde, for the originality of coffee, quality of powder-sugared treats, and affordability! The constant line at this cozy coffee shop did not scare anyone, as the wait was well worth the fresh dough coated in powdered sugar and served with ten napkins. This place in New Orleans spoke to its tradition, as chicory was added to coffee originally because coffee supplies were low and chicory had a similar taste. The locals grew to expect this taste in their coffee and Cafe Du Monde never feared to keep it. I preferred the Cafe Au Lait, as the coffee is doused in milk and the chicory is a faint aftertaste. I watched the staff line up with trays, a double order of beignets, two cafe au laits, as business never stopped neither did they. There was actually a lot of seating for patrons, considering the kitchen was crowded. I am still unsure how they kept up and served fresh beignets to every customer. Everyone who visits New Orleans should stop here and at least try the coffee, although some may hate it. Everyone should eat the beignets, as this French doughnut is not found as affordable or delicious anywhere else.

Frenchman Street, the easiest place to find free and worthwhile bands in America. As I stepped onto the street, each bar had a different band, playing their version of jazz and blues. No one was charging an entrance fee, which was hard to believe because I am from a much smaller city with lower quality musicians and less interesting bars that all require a fee to enter. The music played on Frenchman Street was that of passion, found deep within the soul. Barhopping had an entirely new meaning, as it now felt more like bandhopping. I was told that Frenchman Street is where the locals frequent. It is a part of New Orleans that is not rampant with only tourists. If you want to see the real music of New Orleans stop on Frenchman Street. Some of my favorites were BMC, Vaso, BB Kings, and Bamboulas. Frenchman Street also had a public art market several times a week. Gorgeous string light bulbs creating a roof of light above the galleries. I enjoyed admiring this art, although it was less affordable to my student wallet.

My favorite part of the trip was making close friends with my roommates Donielle and Sarah. It was a unique experience to visit a new city with people that I am not very close to. It builds relationships quickly and learning to explore a new place together created sort of a team. Of course the art and music were food to my soul and I could likely move to New Orleans with ease and make a living from my painting and poetry. My favorite part of the class was learning the abyss of history that New Orleans has on every corner. When I return, I could be the tour guide for the group, as I have heard most of the history in several versions between four tour guides and an instructor who frequents the city. I learned that the diverse inhabitants that embark New Orleans can not be so easily described. They have a unique way of refusal to conform, innovative in their art and music, and talented in making money from their personal gifts instead of a proper profession. I said if all else failed in job prospects of New Orleans, you could always become certified as a tour guide. I learned that I must travel the world a loner, as I am unique and nonconforming like those of New Orleans. I came on the trip knowing almost half of the travelers, but I also came to realize that they were not the type of friends I could rely on. I am different and it can be intimidating, but I must embrace my innovative ways of life and prosper on the soul that feeds my talents. I cannot worry about the gossip that is heard or the people who were supposed to care for me. I have to stand up for what I believe and be myself, regardless of the opinions of others. I have a sense of Bohemian artists, style somewhere found between the free-spirit of a hippy and the articulate tastes of a hipster. My knowledge was earned and my experiences throughout life have impacted my soul to understand darkness and seek to bring light to those who empathize. Those who view me as perfect have not yet met me; they lack the vision of my past and how it has created my enriched present. I will continue to dance to my own beat and to speak truths, regardless of those who spread rumors. I will be my own person, without shame or apology. I will attract those who feel similarly, who can respect a unique individual without being threatened by their own insecurities. New Orleans has reassured my exclusive breed has a home and place of acceptance. That my rare and particular interests are appreciated by many, and that my current state in life is one of learning that most opinions are not relevant to my accord.

Music: A City Speaks

Serenade you on Bourbon Street 

Kids play for tips too, teach them young!

Second Hand Street Band was a diverse group of men who moved here from different parts of the country and world. The amalgamation of culture in one band is the epitome of New Orleans music.

Street musicians often make a living from tips. They offer pictures with tourists to increase their chances of getting money from those walking by.

They sang "I'll take you down and serenade you on Bourbon Street"
Then they invited people to sit with them so they could serenade us!

Jackson Square, a place where artists gather. Musicians of every kind were heard, from street bands, trumpeters, guitarists, to bongo-rappers and beatniks with spoken word. I heard a variety of jazz, blues, classics, bluegrass, and more. It is difficult to say any one musical experience in New Orleans was my favorite, but the most impactful experience in Jackson Square started out with one man playing the trumpet. A tuba player, tromboner, and drummer joined him over the next few minutes. The trumpeter was also the lead, as he would stop playing in order to sing. They created a crowd within a few minutes. I was not surprised, as my body moved to the beat of their instruments and hummed to their lyrics. The most intriguing part of the city is that people gather around to play music where ever they feel like and sometimes it earns them a living. It is innovative and acceptable in a way that no other city is, as you do not have to be discovered to live off of what you love to do.

Bamboula's on Frenchman

Benitez Band at BMC on Frenchman! They even asked me to share them, networking is key. What friendly guys!

Frenchman Street, the heart and soul of New Orleans music. Like an outlet mall for virtuoso bands at no charge. Devotion and zeal resounding from each instrument and the rhythm entrances like a snake. Bodies move, hip to foot, dancing without request. The night life feels exclusive to those who feel the vivacity of the music within their blood. Walking down the street is like window-shopping for the band you want to decide on. Thankfully more locals here than tourists, so I can relax and attempt to blend in with the artistic minds that surround me. The first band I saw on Frenchman was Benitez Band, with a groovy rhythm that combined blues with a bassline-funky house music. Bass and synth was mixed with electric guitar that spoke with tones of classic funk music. I met the band outside BMC and conversed with the lead, Josh Benitez, a slender man with dark curly hair to his shoulders, glasses, and a rounded hat. Next, we headed down the street and found Vaso, with Ed Wills playing on the stage. He sang a more classic version of blues, with the lyrics reflecting his sorrows and joys. Finally, we found BB King Club, with a cover band that turned every song into their original version of jazz and blues. Favorites from Michael Jackson and Prince, were now songs of Frenchman Street, with the array of instruments, soul, and jazz that anyone would expect. The dark-lit clubs reminded me of a poetry reading, where one is trying to set the mood.

The music spoke to me about the city's history of diversity. It reminded me of a story about Louis Armstrong, and how his band was interracial, playing in harmony as people with one sound. When Armstrong returned to New Orleans during segregation, he was refused the ability to play with his bandmates. He said he would not return until the city found its original harmony, above the intolerance of diversity. As I walked through the city and saw the many musicians play, there were few bands that were not interracial. Armstrong would be proud of how the music today would speak of acceptance despite diverse backgrounds, stories to tell, overcoming poverty through music, and a soul for originality and innovation. It was beautiful to see that New Orleans had overcome obstacles of racism and segregation and gained back some of its original tolerance, through music. The Second Hand Street Band was inspiring, as none of the musicians are New Orleans Natives. They moved here from many states and countries, in order to pursue their dreams in music and art. To become a part of such a diverse community, to add to sound of the city.
Many musicians improvised, and this was told through their connection to the music and the other musicians. Even if the song was written and planned, a solo would be an original work of art that may never be heard again. Collective improvisations were seen in other ways throughout the city, through many types of art and my own spontaneity to find a place to eat or something to occupy my time. This spoke to the innovation of the city. Musicians that were connected to the city and to the message of their music had no difficulty in improvising a solo or creating a new song, on stage!

The music spoke to me as a lifestyle. Many come here to experience the music, and some come to create it. People of New Orleans thrive on the music and the culture it represents. Congo Square is said to be the birthplace of music, as it combined cultures of Free People of Color, slaves, Voodoos, and many of a variety of African religions who utilized different drums and instruments. The bamboula, a hand-made drum with leather sealed on top to create a particular beat, is a memorable slave instrument. I saw one displayed in the Cabildo museum. It is also the name of a club on Frenchman Street, an establishment that pays dues to its roots. Such diverse groups that gathered in Congo Square combined their sounds to create jazz, blues, and what developed to rock and roll. The drums harmonized with dancers ritualizing to the beat. People live music in New Orleans. They live on the purpose that music brings them and the money that it can provide. Some need nothing else to feel complete. This is an admirable state to be in, as our materialistic ways can often shadow the importance of expression.

Art: A City Speaks

Art is found in everything from architecture to dance. New Orleans speaks through expression.

Each artist in New Orleans is unique and hones their best skills, in order to perform on the streets for a living.

Human Art, as some paint and pose for the self-expression and the tips.

Dayona Johnson, a local artist who uses cooking tools to create her one-of-a-kind-art and sells it on Jackson Square

Dayona was a true story of inspiration, as her art came through self-expression. Dayona was once known as Daniel, a marine who cooked. Daniel was unhappy and could not find himself in cooking or in his environment. Transition through reflection started Dayona's progress through transgender from male to female. Dayona was excited to tell me that she is now legally female, which is reflected by her birth certificate and identification cards. Finding her true self is what brought her to New Orleans, to pursue a unique form of art. Her paintings are all one-of-a-kind, as she creates a series of similar works, only once. Each as its own story to tell, with imperfections, colors, and themes. The series I saw showcased was called The Seven Seas. Dayona explained that she creates her art using cooking tools. It makes her art more original than those created by paint brush. She used mixing spoons and cake frosters to move the background paint into place, with as many as twelve layers. Next she used frosting designer bags, that one would use to decorate the details of a cake. This is how she created flowery borders around each piece. Her story is inspirational because she found herself and her place in life through her art. Many students were inspired by her, and I think I am only one of maybe ten who chose to write about her. 

Dayona, like many other artists and street performers, rode a bike to carry their supplies.

Pete the Cat, by James Dean

A second artist that inspired me was local artist James Dean. I purchased some prints of his work from a Gallery on Royal Street called Gallery Rinard. Advertised by a purple dog with sunglasses, hanging from metal chains in front of the doorway, the dog exclaimed "Bienvenue". The proprietery of the gallery told me that the cat, found in James Dean's works of art, was actually turned into a children's book character. He first painted the cat for enjoyment and later it became a cat with a story to tell. This inspires me, as every writer has that inkling to try a children's book. Children have the innocence and unique development that can be difficult for an adult writer to connect with. Because I am a writer and a painter, one of my personal goals is to write and illustrate a successful children's book. His cats were also alluring to the adult eye, as they were seen creating adult puns and in amusing situations. Although the author now resides in Savannah, Georgia, I was assured that he is from New Orleans and that is why he keeps a gallery on Royal for some of his works. His cartoony pieces of art spoke to my humor and love for cats. I grew up on a farmhouse with twelve cats and I know they have many "misadventures" as James calls them. I was inspired by this artist who grew his passion from his personal inspiration and tales of a cat and became a famous children's author and illustrator. I appreciate that he pays homage to his roots of New Orleans and the French Quarter, by placing some of his originals and prints for purchase here.

A link to Pete the Cat Books Website!

The city's art spoke to me through every aspect. I chose not to pick a specific artist because I felt there were many that deserved highlighting and recognition. The galleries that lined almost every street of the French Quarter were full of a variety of artworks, from gritty tellings of poverty, to the elegance of family and innocence of childhood. Realism to abstract, oil paints that were layered for a rich texture, to acrylics and watercolors that were spread to a fine point. I purchased a total of 15 pieces of local art while in the city. Some other favorites included Clay Davis, who painted the characters Pierre and Penelope, in enriching love tales of two voodoo dolls. Karim, from Nigeria, who is also drawn to the music and paints about Collective Improvisations, city street performers, and the movement of the music within each person. There were many couples in the city who where drawn to each other by their love of art, which was an endearing touch to the story the art can tell. Reggie Davis hand-painted each piece that was sold, and he sold pieces of classic musicians and "hot topics" but also of abstract pieces of a trumpeter in the sun, jiving to the music. I noticed that many artists painted both pieces that inspired them and spoke to their soul, and more touristy pieces that were easy to sell and pay the bills. Almost all the art I purchased was found hanging on Jackson Square, although I found artists in the French Market and hanging within the many art galleries as well.

The dancers and musicians were artists of their own kind. One street performer danced a modern piece to the sounds of other musicians playing in the square. I could see that he improvised based on the tale the musicians were telling. The architecture spoke its own story as well, as I now know the difference between rod iron and cast iron, and why Pontalba is also credited for the art she added to the French Quarter. Each artist spoke to me the story of their creations, the pictures held within their mind that they were brave enough to share, the expression that was enough to make a living. To sell one's art for a day's work is every artists dream. It is hard to imagine a life where one could profit upon their passions. New Orleans makes this dream a reality for those who are willing to venture here.

Modern dancer, a Jackson Square street performer!

Walking Tour with Milton and Presbytere

Saint Louis Cemetery One

Open 24 hours! Hey baaaaaby!

View of Jackson Square from Washington Artillery Park

I struggled to roll out of bed for the early morning walking tour, feeling the pangs of Saturday night out in New Orleans. I managed to arrive in the French Quarter with enough time to stop in to Cafe Du Monde, the coffee establishment with chicory coffee and beignets that are to die for. Gray pigeons with orange legs have no shame waddling onto the beige-tiled floor to find the crumbs and fill their obese bellies with fallen powdered sugar. Bundled up in 2 coats, gloves, and a white-woven scarf wrapped around my head to keep out the wind, I walked the block over to Washington Artillery Park, fighting my fatigue and the bitter chill. The class of twenty people circled around Washington Artillery Park, to meet the tour guide, Milton. He arrived in a yellow jacket and purple hat, an African-American in his 60s, heavyset and a New Orleans native. His personality showed through, as his knowledge was paired with clever traces of humor and charm. He explained that the easiest way to blend in with the NOLA natives is to say "Hey baaaaaaby, how-you-mom-an-em." Milton's personal experiences were even further fascinating, as he lived through segregation, integration, and the racial disparities of New Orleans' past. Artillery Park was raised above two flights of stairs, looking at one end onto the beautiful Spanish-modified architecture of Jackson Square, Saint Louis Cathedral, Cabildo, Presbytere, and the brick-layed and cast iron of the Pontalba apartments; at the other end the mile wide Mississippi reflecting the remnants of a colorful sunrise, a large bridge to allow people out of New Orleans, and an aged barge which may be used to deliver the seafood caught from the river. Milton was a wealth of knowledge that paired with his personal stories of living in the city. As he showed us Coffee Pot and described how the large double doors on each building were once used to allow horse-drawn carriages to enter, he also told us that his aunt works their. It was impressive to meet so many people that had pride in their home, as I can promise I have fewer nice things to say about Illinois. The passion that poured from Milton's description of the city's history was profound. He brought us to the Preservation Hall, the place that was created to preserve classical musicians. The aged brick surrounded the sage green door, a sign hanging above the door with smudged lettering.

We continued to walk, to view the city and its natural morning order of quiet. The most interesting part of the tour was the Saint Louis Cemetery One. Located at the edge of the French Quarter, it was in a rough part of the city. I noted more littering, more beggars, and more police cars in this area, as we passed through. Arrival to the cemetery was coupled with an intriguing sign attached to the rod iron fence "Cannot enter without tour guide". It struck me as odd, can people not visit their loved ones without paying a fee? Milton explained that the vandalism was so high in this cemetery they closed it to the public. You can enter if your family is buried here or if you are part of a tour group. The view of row after row of cement tombs, families entombed above ground, immaculate in their aged stucco and beautiful in peaceful rest. The tomb of Marie Laveau was located here, although controversy exists about which of the three tombs she is actually buried in, within the cemetery. This Voodoo Queen is still sought after today for her powerful spiritual energy and visitors place XXX on her tomb to request her help with a personal matter. If the XXX is later circled, Marie has acknowledged and approved the request. Milton laughed as he explained that a tour guide like himself was likely the one who created this spooky tradition. He also warned us that writing on or stepping on any tomb is a felony offense that he would not recommend. The tour ended in the soul of New Orleans and the birthplace of music, Congo Square. I had researched Congo Square prior to coming on the trip and I was excited to see the grounds that functioned as a marketplace for colored people in the 1700 and 1800s.

Tomb of Marie Laveau

Later in the afternoon the class met at the Presbytere, an old building that was erected during Spanish rule of New orleans, now exists as a museum. The current exhibits display history about Hurricane Katrina and Mardi Gras. My knowledge of Katrina was pretty basic, as the event happened when I was fourteen and I did not frequently watch the news. The most interesting room of the exhibit allowed viewers to watch news stories and interviews from survivors, related to a variety of topics: communication breakdown, superdome, first responders, rescued but stranded, ordinary heroes, hospitals, fear and chaos, etc. The morose image that Milton described of coming back home and every one of your items had a certain gray matter imbedded into it, faired true. The somber image of the exhibit was a teddy bear on display, covered in gray, soot madded into the fur. I imagined the crying child, looking for their best friend. The parents more worried about a home to come back to then a toy, having a difficult time consoling the child.

The tone of exhibits completely changed, as I walked upstairs to view the Mardi Gras history. Actual costumes were the majority displayed, with every color, feather, jewel, and mask imaginable. There were rooms devoted to advertisement posters, invitations, and even the crown and scepter the Rux King and Queen. Mardi Gras was the most elegant and simultaneously the most rowdy and rambunctious event of the year.

After the week of history lessons and visiting historic sites, I felt that I understood New Orleans and its way of life. The strength of the people and the diversity that they share was very welcomed. New Orleans is the place of rebuilding and never giving up. The place of music and art on the streets and supporting the local artisits and their homeless comrades. New Orleans is a place overrun by tourists, like myself, that are consistently introduced into the city each day with friendly smiles and suggestions of where to eat. I was inspired by the intricate past and how they became the city they are today. I was inspired by the many artists who migrated to New Orleans, from a place less accepting of their nonconformism and expression. I learned that this city suffers from similar crime rates and aversions that any other city does, but the difference is they fight back. They acted on the vandalism in the cemetery, as this population has high-regard for those who have passed and their tomb sites are sacred ground. The common thread that combined Katrina and Mardi Gras, a simple fact that people who had become homeless after the wreckage still celebrated Mardi Gras, parading around piles of debris. Tradition is a god to this city. They are innovative and they finish anything they have started. Tragedy does not silence their music or stop their hands from creativity. Instead they breath and live the experience until it shines through as beauty, embedded in their art.

Free Day

On my day to roam the city without structure, I chose a laizze faire approach. Free day really began Friday night, as the girls and myself dolled up and ventured to El Gato Negro and then to Bourbon Street. I was impressed that a city known for its Cajun and Creole cuisine could also surprise me with the best Mexican cuisine I have ever eaten. Bourbon Street was already a beehive of diversity and eccentricity when we arrived at nine at night. Bodies congregated into the doorways of each bar and it was easy to spot those who had been barhopping since high noon, as they were dancing in the streets, with red-hued cheeks. Daring to seek out the unconventional and progressive ways of New Orleans, we decided it was appropriate on a place like Bourbon street to venture into an establishment for male exotic dancers, a change of pace from the typical gentleman's clubs seen in the north.

Sugar Skull art that dressed a hallway in El Gato Negr

I slept in on Saturday morning and then made time to reflect on my experiences of the trip thus far. The rest was needed as I have been averaging a few hours a night of sleep. New Orleans was covered with a bitter cold today. It was below freezing, with a high of twenty-eight degrees and a windchill that felt like twelve. Nevertheless, we chose to discuss our experiences thus far in the hot tub. Venturing down the elevator in swimsuits, we found that the hot tub was in a separate building across the canopy. We had to run outside, across the valet parking area, blasted by a brisk wind and biting cold. Entering the next building covered in goosebumps and full of regret, we find the hot tub and realize it is hardly above room temperature. We turn on the bubbles and climb in anyway, feeling indignant and determined to at least try it out.

You can't even tell from this picture that it is cold. Some good selfie photography right there. Keeping those at home jealous while I'm on the trip.

The rest of our "plans" for the day included possibilities. We wanted authentic New Orleans food, a dose of art, and a glimpse of the Joan of Arc Parade. We did not want to feel rushed, scheduled, or obligated to do anything specific. As class trips tend to come along with scheduled blocks of time that trap us in with our anxiety. Stepping off the streetcar, which had finally arrived after several unexpected and lengthy stops, we spotted the preparation of the Joan of Arc Parade. Approaching the actors, I was able to speak to Bobby, who had participated and organized the parade for over ten years. He described the importance of Joan of Arc to New Orleans, stating "Without the bravery of this 19 year old girl, New Orleans would not exist. The French Quarter would not exist. Louisiana would not exist. And really the United States would not exist as it is today." They celebrate her birthday annually with a parade, to kick off Carnival season. She turned 605 this year.

Joan of Arc is of high-regard, because without her act of bravery, New Orleans would not exist.

New Orleans: A Dark Past

The Pharmacy Museum

            

Sarah and I, poncho-ed up!

Day whatever on the trip (as I begin to lose track) started by a tour in the Cabildo, a historical structure that is now utilized as a museum. Its organization was chronological, by devoting rooms to decades and floors to centuries. Getting to this central location in the dense downpour was only successful due to preparation with ponchos packed previously! The clever structure through time of the Cabildo made my obsessive-compulsive tendencies smiled with gratitude. While reading through New Orleans history and witnessing artifacts first hand, I began to see a clear picture of New Orleans dark past. Native Americans were pushed out of their land, and their ability to cook by gathering, fishing, hunting, and combining such into edible dishes was actually "adopted" by the French. Sounds more like some type of historic plagiarism to me, as Creole and Cajun dishes are almost always combining vegetables that they learned to grow and cook from the Native Americans. And of course the wealth and success of New Orleans was literally built on a thriving slave-driven economy. Referred to as the "black ivory" market, New Orleans was the slave-trading hub of the South. It is discouraging to see such religion paired with the greed and violence that slavery held. Slaves were viewed as sub-human, and there are artifacts to prove it. The most disturbing image found at the Cabildo was a Slave Collar, adorned with bells. This made it easy for slave masters to find a slave that could try to run. Of course these slaves were actually people with intelligence and finesse and they found ways to muffle the bells' sound by stuffing mud into it. Many intricacies of the museum were still beautiful though, such as a soldier surgeon's chest, with compartments separating corked-glass medicine bottles and metal scapels that made me cringe of thoughts of tetanus. I also found an outfit that I would love to purchase, if it were only a bit more affordable (and not owned by a museum).

Surgeon's chest from War of 1812, preserved and on display in the Cabildo

The Pharmacy Museum further confirmed my concern of New Orlean's dim-lit history. The museum was the location of the first licensed American pharmacy in 1816. It was easily spotted, as the aged jade colored doors were holding up an enlarged, white, round teacup that read Pharmacie. Entering, my eyes evaluated the wall-to-wall shelving that held tinctures, glass medicine bottles, and other authentic found and purchased medical artifacts from the 1840s-1940s. I envisioned the people infected by metal syringes that were reused without cleaning and needle free, as they were inserted into an incision. Of course, in the 1840s, Germ Theory and any inkling of the understanding of infection was not developed. Mind wandering, I imagine the cannons being shot in the air to deflect and prevent disease from surrounding an area (yes this was actually done!!). By 1910, they did sterilize needles by placing the tips into flame, which by the way was not very effective. I was amused by the fact that prohibition laws were not placed on pharmacy prescriptions. Those roaming the streets of New Orleans in 1920 could walk into a pharmacy and pick up their nervousness tonic (literal heroin in a bottle that was recommended daily use) and their pain ailment (alcohol, opiates, and cannabis dilution!). It was cheaper and more legal to gather drunkenness supplies from the pharmacy than the bar. The shelf that held tattered voodoo dolls and a potion for the Goddess of Evil, were dark treats that I enjoyed reading about, sold in the 1930s-60s in Voodoo Pharmacies.

The darkness of the history continues though, as the Exchange Market was located across the street from the pharmacy. Yes, this would be to purchase and sell humans. The first pharmacist, Louis Dulifilho, was not the first pharmacist. He was merely the first licensed pharmacist. This white, rich male was the epitome of what we probably do not like about this time period. We hear about his lovely wife and children, but the story of his nine slaves was unshared and caused no unease for others to shop at his business. His ability to gain licensure to practice medicine, coincidentally, made it illegal for anyone without a licence (everyone else) to continue with their life profession. Many women lost their positions due to their inability to get accepted into medical school. And anyone of lesser means was not going to be able to afford it. And guys like him are the ones who created theories like the one I learned about today. The Brain-Uterus Theory was thought up and written by men, and it analyzed the possibility that female body is in constant battle with itself. It proposed that women can only use their brain or their uterus at one time. If a woman thinks too much, it would lead her to "hysteria". If a woman was pregnant, they were hardly allowed to leave the home because it was assumed they were unable to think during gestation. Naturally, with this theory under high-regard by men of this time period and culture, women were not allowed to attend school in most instances. Mind you, these were the same men that created the cure-all concoction of Mother's Quietness for teething infants, diluted opiates. I am positive it made the infant stop crying, though it probably did not help improve the infant mortality rates. Women could also buy opium-soaked tampons. They had painless menstrual cycles, I would wager. This method was also a prescribed cure for gonorrhea, and no it does not work. Women had other great luxuries, such as ground-butterfly eye-shadows, maybe in every color? They even color-coated the poison bottles, for those who were illiterate. My favorite of exhibits of course were the healthy medicines they sold and ingested which included: chocolate-coated arsenic, silver and gold-coated pills (indigestible but the status symbol was that of an iPhone Apple), alum (basically poison). And the adminstration process was even better, with soda being invented for medicinal purposes and mixed with cocaine, lithium, and opiates and served from a soda fountain with lead pipes! We also fed infants from lead bottle-nipples, injected medications with lead syringes, and our birthing tools were all made from lead. The metal catheters injured me from sight alone.

Delicious, illicit drugs in carbonated water, served through lead piping!

Yes, they inserted those into your urethra... OH NO!

It is fascinating to see how far we have come. It is easy to mock these practices that were common practice one hundred to two hundred years ago, but think of the horrible crap we somewhat knowingly ingest. Hydrogenated fats were created for taste, even though it is a cholesterol that we cannot breakdown. We still eat it, knowing it will clog our arteries and eventually end our life by some method of embolism or thrombosis. The chemicals in all of our processed foods and hormones used to grow our factory "cattle" to overweight proportions are mindlessly overlooked due to convenience and an apathetic consensus of society. We mock such insane childcare practices, meanwhile our infant mortality rate has hardly improved and it one of the highest in the world. We jarringly laugh at those who were swindled by the belief that medications became more potent and effective with dilution (they basically sold people tap water), but Big Pharma has an obviously fradulent agenda when testing medications and deciding what is going to become "approved". New Orleans spoke a morose story today, as I heard the side of the less fortunate and how the city prospered because of it.

A Great Deal Experienced

Statue of King Louis

St. Louis Cathedral

Local palm reader!

Day Two was packed full of historical cathedrals and convents, the taste of New Orleans, and walking past street performers- artists, bongo-rappers, jazz bands, guitarists, drummers, knife-wielders, and palm readers- distracting me of class tour guides. The St. Louis Cathedral was the first stop; a monumental building that was originally erected in 1727 which had celebrated and suffered often. The Cathedral had been a victim of the 1794 Great Fire of New Orleans French Quarter. The current building has been standing since 1850. Entering the grandiose doors and stepping onto the marble tile flooring was an immaculate view. At initial glance I saw the innumerable rows of wooden pews and I imagine the Cathedral at full capacity, with crowds of men and women in Sunday best. The history of St. Louis Cathedral is what landed the name, as King Louis of France is highly regarded for his work on the 13th Century Crusades and he reached sainthood. The arcitechture and art in the cathedral were all related to specific beliefs that the Catholic Church has held for centuries. Three women stood above the alter to represent charity, hope, and faith. Elongated stained-glass windows were placed every few feet along the wall, telling the story of King Louis, his family, and the crusades. The Bishops are also revered for their faithfulness, as a Bishop's wooden throne is seated to the left of the altar and tombs of many bishops can be found within a vault below the Cathedral's wall. A ghost story can be heard at almost every location in NOLA, and Cathedrals are no exception. Some French Aristocrats had a strong dislike for a priest and when he died they refused him the honor of burial beneath the Cathedral. He commonly gathered with congregation members to sing next to the Cathedral, in Pirates Alley. His ghost is said to be heard singing in this alley, in order to remind people of his undying faith. An enormous shell is mounted above the mahogany podium, which represents the holy trinity, referring to the belief that God is omnipotent and can scoop up the entire ocean in a shell. After this tour we walked to Ursuline Convent, a place that was used to house nuns in the 1800s. The chapel here was possibly more beautiful in its own way, glistening in gold and silver. An enormous medallion, made from authentic gold, silver, and sapphire was posted in the center wall above the altar. It was estimated to cost five million dollars.

Ursuline Convent Chapel and its 5 million dollar medallion

Stained-glass of Henriette Delille in St. Louis Cathedral

Some NOLA natives make a living by on point mannequin challenges!

Progression is often unconventional; instead of being offended, consider why he may have chosen such a pose

The immaculate murals of St. Louis Cathedral

Our cuisine tour allowed me to continue to walk and see more of the French Quarter. Ears and eyes were fighting over where to concentrate, as I passed street musicians and performers, art, and the beauty that is French Quarter architecture. I even met some pirates on their way to something on-edge I am sure. My vegetarian palate prevented enjoyment of many of the foods, but the history and knowledge gained was well worth the trip. Two fine-dining restaurants are at the cornerstone of New Orleans high-end eating, and popularized fine-dining in the United States. We first visited Antoine's, built in 1840, it was the first restaurant in the United States and continues to be run by the same family, making it the longest family-owned business. The fame associated with this establishment was alluring, as gifts are brought by those who visit. Signatures and items were displayed by Groucho Marx, multiple US Presidents, Alex Trebek, Don Knots, Thomas Edison, and many more. The light bulb that Edison left for the establishment was larger than my head. Entire rooms were devoted to French Royalty Mardi Gras, the Rux King and Queens posted on many walls. Second was Arnaud's, established in the early 1900s and successfully staying open during prohibition, despite the fact that Arnaud was fined and thrown in jail for his continuation of alcohol sales. The upstairs of Arnaud's was a home to the 22 dresses of a Rux Queen, an Arnaud family member. The elegance and glistening jewels were fascinating, and I was blown away by the fact that each was hand-sewn. Once she had children, they were adorned expensive and luxurious ensembles as well. The design of the dress had to be specifically altered to hold the immense weight of the dresses' caboose, as each dress had regal trains to follow the queen.

I found Pirates!!!

Rux Mardi Gras Queen Outfit

Inspiration from the city confounded me at every corner. The city spoke volumes through its art and music, and I found myself dancing to the beat of unaltered expression. My free spirit ran wild with excitement, and my soul had growth as I was moved to walk to the beat of my own drum, continue in my pursuance of art and poetry, and find inner peace. Stressors were lessened by these experiences, but the day did grow long and my feet tired. Minor annoyances were distracting from the overall experience at times, as I was seemingly unaffected by copious amounts of caffeine and occasionally daydreaming about bed. The history of this city is phenomenal and incomparable, as each building has history, and every action speaks to progression and eventually inspiration for thinking beyond status quo. I was shouted at and discouraged by one street artist, "Don't take pictures of art. We are here to make money." In my defense, I only wanted to photograph the Jackson Square side view, which had some art at a distance. I hoped that this unfriendly occurrence was an exception to the rule. I desired her harsh words to be untrue, that artists sought the city for acceptance and not just fame or a living in their trade. I respect art and I have purchased from four different local artists already, with a plan in mind to buy from two more before departing the city. I did have some guilt, as the money-lacking-and-money-driven-soul of mine did understand the concern for such photograph. Some people are out there for money and will steal your ideas or copy. Many artists of New Orleans produce and sell originals, and refuse to make prints. This adds value in rarity.

Another learning experience was the profound bravery of many inhabitants of this city. They had such devotion to their religion and were often diverse in nature. The churches I toured were utilized by the Spanish, Creoles, German, Irish, and Italians. Even throughout slavery, each slave was baptized and they received Sundays off. The development of Congo Square, a gathering place and market in Jefferson Park, enabled many slaves to make enough money to buy their freedom. Free Persons of Color had many of the same rights, as they could open businesses and thrive. Henriette Delille was especially inspiring, as she was able to purchase herself out of slavery and continued her life with utter devotion to children, impoverished, and Catholicism. These acts of immeasurable compassion will lead her into the first black and first black female Saint in Catholic history. The women of New Orleans inspire me, with their ability to stand up for their dreams and then fight for rights that are deserved by all. I was inspired by the nuns that traveled from France. They taught young girls and offered services to many children who had no one else. They promoted education in women that was not previously offered.

However, I also have difficulty relating completely to some actions of the church and its members. Slavery is not congruent with any kind of religious belief and I cannot separate the ideas that such devout people would buy and sell other humans. They rectify the monumental city with funds earned from TRADING and PURCHASING other humans. By enslaving others and profitting off of the sweat of their back. And the sad part is they thought they were humane because New Orleans had specific laws banning the "poor treatment" of slaves. It was essentially illegal to beat or torture your slave, but if "it" misbehaved you could punish "it", basically rules for dogs or pet-owners in modern day. I am disgusted at times by the immense beauty of a city that allures me, due to the means used to meet such end.

Jackson Square and the crowds of art, music, and performers in front of the Saint Louis Cathedral