About a month ago I had the great fortune to ‘go get my NOLA
on’ (as one co-worker put it!) NOLA of course stands for New Orleans,
Louisianna. It’s a place that has always had a magical quality for me. I don’t
know whether it’s the French-Cajun influence, the music or the history but I
have always wanted to see the place for myself.
I should firstly clarify something. The way you pronounce
New Orleans says a lot about where you are from. If you are a local/Southerner
you say New Orleans, rather than New Orleans (as most foreigners
do). If you are really local then the gap between ‘New’ and ‘Orleans’
practically disappears resulting in the lovely ‘roll around your mouth a bit’
sounding N’Orleans.
I was so lucky to get free accommodation in NOLA, courtesy
of a friend of a friend, in the beautiful Garden District. Having been in
Jackson for a few months I have started to miss the buzz that London, and even
Cambridge, offers. The Garden District soothed that nostalgia. Magazine Street
(yes Corkonians, I immediately thought of our own Magazine Road too!) is just
one long road of boutiques, antique stores (salivating, I was!), bars, restaurants
and yoga studios. Add in some sunshine and a few cocktails and I was right at
home.
I should also mention Southern girls have impeccable taste.
The little flat we were staying in was part of an old house, and the furniture
was all antique. There was not a scrap of Ikea to be found! The reason, this
very sensible girl did not fill her home with whatever crap she could scrounge
or buy cheaply from Tesco. Rather she waited, seeking out individual pieces of
lovely furniture, putting up with an airbed for 6-months and bit-by-bit making
her little flat a beautiful home. Now that is something I need to learn to do.
I think it’s called patience, I have never had any!
The French Quarter is obviously the big tourist draw in New
Orleans and I really loved it, all except one street actually, and that street
is Bourbon Street, perhaps the most famous street in the French Quarter. Why
did I not like it, you ask? 24-hour drunken revelry with all
its accompanying sights and sounds was my issue with Bourbon Street. It was
tacky, touristy, dirty and smelly. It was not the NOLA I had imagined, it was
essentially a lot of drunk rowdy people falling about the place!
See now I feel bad, I am sure a lot of fun can be had on
Bourbon Street, we did in fact go back that night and people-watched while
strolling through the heaving mass of humanity, but overall it’s just not my
thing.
I loved the other streets, the little bars and cafes,
sipping on a Bloody Mary while listening to jazz violin, sitting out on an
upstairs veranda while trying fried alligator for the first time (a bit like chewy
chicken!), having coffee and beignets on the banks of the Mississippi, wandering
Jackson Square and looking (and purchasing!) little pieces of art. That is my
New Orleans and I can’t wait to go back!
Despite my above diatribe on Bourbon Street, New Orleans
really was a beautiful place. In a way it was just what one imagines it to be:
a bit French, big bands, balconies, street art and a very real sense of laissez les bon temps rouler.
To be honest, my descriptions won’t really do it justice,
you will just have to get on a plane and find out for yourselves!
If it wasn’t bad enough that I skipped out on Friday work, I
then took the following Wednesday and Thursday off to go up North and visit
Oxford and Clarksdale.
It is interesting that despite the poverty and predominantly
farm-based economy in northern Mississippi, it is a very culturally significant
region. Oxford is the seat of Ole Miss, one of the most prestigious
universities in Mississippi and it is the birthplace of writers such as William
Faulkner, John Grisham and Tennessee Williams. From the flat, sparse and
aesthetically lackluster surroundings these writers found inspiration for
wonderful stories and some great pieces of literature. Oxford itself is named
for its more famous counterpart and it appears that even in its founding, the
original settlers held hopes that it might become a prominent source of
learning and intellectual debate. And so from this remote and parched landscape
sprung a little town full of literary heritage and intellectual aspiration.
I should mention that university rivalries are taken very
seriously here. I have heard people say, in all seriousness: ‘Well he is a Mississippi
Stater so what do you expect’. Where you go to school apparently says a lot
about your personality and inherent characteristics. I wonder what people say
about UCC-ers?!
Oxford is a pretty little town with an old fashioned square,
some very expensive boutiques and a wonderful bookstore called Square Books. It
is famous throughout the state and has an entire section dedicated to Faulkner.
I love a good bookstore, I feel you can get lost in them. All those different
tales just waiting to be read, all those book covers hinting at intrigue and
love and adventure, well it just captivates me completely. I somehow managed
not to buy a single book, but did indulge in coffee and a cookie, surrounded by
floor to ceiling bookshelves!
The Faulkner theme continued on a visit to his
family home. Rowan Oak sits out by the Ole Miss campus and is sheltered from
prying eyes by tall pine and cedar trees. It was very peaceful, with mature
trees and wide lawns, the sun dappling through the leaves. It was so easy to
imagine summer evenings sitting out with iced tea or a cocktail, ladies in
light dresses, men in summer linen with the sound of Glenn Miller or some jazz
echoing from the house. Perfection!
An hour and a half down the road from Oxford is a town
called Clarksdale. Culturally speaking it is considered to be the birthplace of
the blues. Clarksdale has seen some difficult times in the past few years.
Morgan Freeman had a restaurant that couldn’t make it financially and he played
God. If he can’t do it, who can?! His blues club is still open though and that
was the highlight of our visit. Ground Zero Blues Club is on the corner of
Blues Alley and offers nightly blues in its uniquely decorated venue.
The club was exactly what I expected – a little grungy, very
dark with a slightly decrepit feel.
For me, it was a little like the Brog (a Cork pub) meets the Hard Rock café: walls and tables covered in writing, guitars hanging everywhere, a hodge-podge of furniture, posters, pool tables and some portraits of Mr Freeman to boot. It definitely had an ambience!
Overall it became clear that northern Mississippi had a lot more to offer than its barren landscape and visible poverty would at first glance suggest. Beneath the rugged exterior lies music and literary heritage that the State can be proud of.
