First it belonged to the American Indians, then the Spanish, then the French, and then it was the site of the most famous party in the United States of America. And the answer is...New Orleans, LA. Rather than recount the history of the city I will relate a recent visit.
Like most places I visit I have an idea what I wan to see, and New Orleans was no different. On my list was:
eat a beignet
ride a streetcar
stroll around Jackson Square
walk down Bourbon Street
hear some good music
drink a Jax or Dixie beer
It is two days after Mardi Gras, and the clean-up is in progress, but beads are still hanging from all the trees. We started our look about the "Big Easy" at the Jax Brewery. From this building once flowed that wonderful golden brew that flooded the delta in pre-Katrina days. Now the huge building is no longer a brewery but serves as a shopping mall. I personally don't think that's an improvement. This building is beside the Mississippi River and across the rail and streetcar tracks for the berth of the Natchez. This steamboat was launched in the '70's, but its steam engines were build in 1926. The engines turn a 21 ton white oak paddle wheel to move the ship up the Mississippi. It is one of the six steam powered boats plying the river today. She clangs her bell, blows her whistle, and plays her calliope as she churns the waters of the mighty Mississippi.
Saint Louis Cathedral
It is common knowledge that the best beignets are found at Cafe du Monde. However, it may not be common knowledge that you will have to wait in line to sample these delicacies. We waited. I am not a "waiting in line" type of person, but I did it anyway. There are several hundred people eating the pastries at small round tables at his open-air restaurant. The Vietnamese staff quickly bring our pastries and cafe au laits. There are a few caveats about beignets. You never wear any thing black, because the small pieces of fried pastry are covered with powdered sugar. Also, never inhale while taking a bite, because you will inhale powdered sugar. Never having eaten a beignet, I was surprised at the texture. I expected a crisp crunchy crust, but it was soft but very coarse. I delighted in the four I ate, and the coffee was excellent, also. I drank the chicory coffee while in New Orleans as homage to my great-grandfather, who wore the gray in the American Civil War. Chicory coffee was created during those times, because the South could not obtain coffee beans.
We continue our walk down Decatur Street to the French Market. In typical fashion there are many souvenirs for sale and many types of food to eat. The vendors here like others in the city speak that musical form of English found only on the Gulf coast. Available food runs the gamut from roasted corn to gator tail. The meat of this reptile always seems have a coarse texture and is chewy. Items very colorful here, but for things indigenous to the delta it is like most markets. At the end of the market is the old U.S. Mint. This mint is truly unique in that it was used by two countries: the United States of America and the Confederate States of America. Neither my friend from Mobile nor I could ever remember seeing a coin with a New Orleans mint mark. We continue on back down Decator past the statue of Joan d'Arc, Jackson Square, and the dozens of horse drawn buggies awaiting tourists. The art on the fence for sale by local artists was bright and colorful. Realistic landscapes were sorely lacking. We watched as a break dancer performed for tips, and one of those "statues" exhibited himself as a silver plated jazz trumpeter.
We stopped at a restaurant across the street from Jax Brewery which had once been the old slave market. The food was good. I had a muffaletta, a hearty meat sandwich on round bread with an olive dressing, and French onion soup. Brasha was not allowed inside, being a female of the canine variety. After the meal she did tricks for Aimee with table scraps for a treat.
After our meal we wandered around Jackson Square looking at more art on the fence, listening to a jazz band, and looking at the statue of the general who later became president. I can hardly look at the statue without remembering that famous Johnny Horton song:
"In 1814 we took a little trip, along with Colonel Jackson down the mighty Mississip"
And who can forget Arlo Guthrie's "City of New Orleans." As a small boy I remember the Southern Crescent speeding over the rails. There was a bridal photo shoot going on and a man and woman doing some kind of gymnastics. We ducked in Saint Louis Cathedral for a quiet retreat. Named for Louis IX of France, there have been worshipers here since 1727. There are beautiful painted vaulted ceilings and an illuminated bible to see. This is the oldest cathedral in continuous use in the country.
A street band
There were still a number of things on my list, so we continued on. We found the best music from street musicians on Royal Street. Although the music was different from each band the performers all looked similar. They appeared to be unwashed (but I could detect no body aroma!) and had piercings and/or tattoos. I think the look was "grunge" kicked up a notch. There was a variety of instruments from electric violins to washtub basses. The most interesting thing I saw was a suitcase (Samsonite, of course) used for a bass drum! Betwixt and between the musicians were magicians and other performers. A tall black man in white tie and tails was demanding that a stuffed toy dog on a leash not move. And, of course, more "statues'. I heard a story about a man who took a well dressed manikin, set it on a park bench with a tip bucket, and periodically collected his profits.
On to Bourbon Street. I was surprised at how wide the streets are in New Orleans. Unlike many colonial cities in this country it doesn't have the narrow streets, and Bourbon is no different. If a street could have a hangover, it had one. There are the glitz of the neon lights and the bouncers with that linebacker look. But, most of all, there is the sound of a slide guitar coming from inside the night clubs at a decibel level that moves the flags on Jackson Square three blocks away. And, there are the revelers that don't realize that Mardi Gras is over, as they stagger along the street attempting to refrain from spilling their beer from clear plastic liter-sized cups. New Orleans infamy is of two kinds: it's a dirty city and also has a legendary corrupt police department. But... maybe that just adds to the charm.
The day was waning, and it was tim to return to our hotel. We had one last drink together at Jax Brewery Bistro. Yes, I had a Dixie Beer. We said our goodbyes to our friends from Mobile and to those who live in the Cresent City before catching the streetcar beside the restaurant.
Not all the streetcars are red.
We hopped on a bright red streetcar and then realized that it was going away from our destination of Canal Street. The operator said we would go to the end of the line and reverse our direction on the same track. After a few stops the car stops, and the operator gets off and says, "Everybody off!" We get off and wait in the drizzling rain for what seems like a long time before she comes back and says "Y'all didn't have to wait in the rain; you could get back in the car." I had thought we would go to a roundtable for the car to be turned around, but that didn't happen. The operator simply walked to the opposite end of the car, adjusted her seat, and started the car in the other direction. There were operator controls at either end of the car. We changed cars at Canal Street for a ride to St. Charles Street. There was about a one block walk in the rain to catch the St. Charles streetcar. Streetcar stops aren't marked very well, just a small yellow sign roughly four inches wide and sixteen inches tall. Upon reaching our stop we go to Mia's for dinner. I have the shrimp and grits, and Claudette has the portabello pizza. The shrimp and grits are great. The shrimp are cooked to perfection, unlike ninety-five percent of those that are overcooked.
We enjoyed our trip to New Orleans and will visit again. We will hope for sunshine.
He was a scruffy little fellow of about nine-years- old with his hands pushed deep into the pockets of his faded tattered jeans. I watched from my seat as the t-shirt clad lad looked at the coins in his hands and moved slowly to the counter where orders are placed. "How much is a hamburger?" he timidly asked the teenage girl behind the counter.
"$3.80," she said in a bored voice.
As he shuffled his feet he counted the coins and crumpled bill on the counter. With bowed head he began to remove the money from the counter.
Then, I heard a voice from the seat nearby, "Wait a minute, I'll help you get a hamburger!" I looked to see an elderly woman in an old coat reaching out with a bony hand holding a couple of bills. Her close cropped white hair contrasted with her mahogany face which was etched with the lines of time. But there was a warmth about her as gave the bills to the boy.
"What a wonderful thing to do." commented Claudette as she munched a french fry. I nodded and took a look at my lunch. We were at the Tastee Freeze across from Summerville High School and enjoying what is probably our favorite junk food treat: foot-long hot dogs and ice cream. The restaurant has been there since 1969 and continues today to serve up hot dogs, burgers, and fries, plus ice cream treats. We prefer the foot-long combo. That is a foot-long hot dog with fries and a soft drink. I get my dog with chili, onions, mustard and catsup. We really like the fries; thin and very crispy much like the frites we had in France. Eating a foot-long can be a problem. Claudette and I differ in our preferred technique. She always divides hers into two pieces. I guess this is the female method and perhaps the proper etiquette. For me the first decision I must make is how to remove the dog from its colorful paper wrapper. It is an envelope actually, unlike that absorbent paper they use at ballparks. My technique is to gently, so as not to disturb meaty morsels, tear the paper exposing the king of the unbarking dogs.. I don't break it in half. Part of the experience of eating a foot-long is handling the eating of it without dumping the chili and mustard all over the table before finishing. The wiener toppings seem to be attracted particularly to white t-shirts. There are few decisions to make about our entre here, but we usually have to give some thought to desert. After much thought we decided on Nutter Butter blizzards. The blizzards were vanilla ice cream blended with Nutter Butter cookies. There are not enough positive adjectives in the English language to properly describe this cold confection.
We took a day trip from Madrid 28 miles southwest to the town of Lorenzo de el Escorial. From our hotel we took the blue Metro train to the bus station. The bus ride was quite comfortable. Spanish buses are relative new, clean, and air conditioned. The guidebook said that the Monestario de El Escorial was a ten minute walk from the bus station. What it didn't say was that it was uphill like climbing a mountain. Other than the desert I don't think there is much flat land in Spain, or if there is, they didn't build a lot there. Nevertheless, we walked to this popular tourist attraction, which was at the bottom of hill! This was before the noon hour, and we had to wait to buy tickets to gain entry. Fortunately, there was a pamphlet available in English. No photography was allowed. The question for me was: do I take the time to do accurate sketches or try to sneak some photos. If I'm caught taking photographs, they will only tell me to stop. Or, could they confiscate my camera? I don't know. I decided to draw, but not much. I would rather see a lot and remember, than to get a few very good drawings.
This place is huge! Although it was originally built as a monastery it now includes a palace, basilica, library, pantheon, and then some. We familiarized ourselves with the map before entering the rooms with exhibits explaining the architecture of the structure. I found this very fascinating. Here there were scale models of the buildings and the ancient tools used to build the structure. A mock-up showed how the roof was covered with slate with corners protected with sheets of lead to maintain watertight integrity. Claudette reminded me that we needed to keep moving, and a security guard smiled approvingly at my quick sketches. The building's cornerstone was laid April 23, 1563 during the reign of Phillip II. Juan Bautista de Toledo was the architect, but he died before the project was finished. This same architect had worked on St. Peter's in Rome. Many theories exist about the double courtyard design, but the most prevalent is that the design is based on that of Solomon's temple from the biblical scriptures.
This was a beautiful place with wide vaulted hallways with paintings on the ceilings and walls. Many paintings depict Spanish history. Titian, El Greco, and Valasquez are a few of the great artists represented here. I reminded Claudette that this was built during the time Spain was bringing all the gold and silver from the new world.
"Oh, really?" she queried.
"Yes, see all these artifacts from the new world, like that old map over there," I said. "What they don't tell you is that most of the treasures brought from the new world were used to pay off the debt incurred by the monarchs when fighting wars."
We were in the palace part of the building. There were many ceramic works too, particularly tiles. I'm not sure why ceramics are so common on the Iberian peninsula. Claudette discovered an interesting sun clock. Normally when we think of using the sun to determine time, we think of a sundial. But here was something different. In one of the rooms with little furniture that overlooked the garden there was a small quarter-sized hole in the wall near the ceiling. A beam of sunlight from this opening would shine on a spot on the floor which had a graduated scale much like a ruler on it. The markings were in increments of time. The configuration was a sun clock, and the graduations were inlaid with ceramics. One of the very interesting things we saw was the reclining chair of King Phillip II. The monarch had severe gout which, of course, made it painful to move. Through an ingenious system of levers and wire he could raise himself from the sitting to the standing position. It was the least "royal" chair I had ever seen.
Wikipedia Photo
It is called the Pantheon of the Kings, but we called a crypt, and it was a long way down. There is a narrow steep stairway, and a pretty blond girl stumbled and almost fell. I think maybe high-heeled shoes aren't meant for crypt observation. Once we reached the lower level we stared at the final resting place of Spanish monarchs. There are twenty-six marble sepulchers containing the bones of the royals. They are labeled and decorated with bronze. But the remains are put in the sepulchers 50 years ofter they've died. There are two rooms visited only by the monks where the royal bodies decompose. We weren't allowed to visit them. And, we didn't want to. Another interesting fact is there is no place in the crypt for the current royal family.
The library is another grandiose display of the Spanish monarchs' extravagance. King Phillip II left his personal library here as well as many other documents. There are also some Moorish manuscripts from the time of Moorish rule of Spain. The vaulted library contains some 40,000 volumes. On the ceiling are frescoes depicting the seven liberal arts.
not a Wikipedia Photo
We enjoyed the strolling courtyards before leaving. Near the top of the hill we had jamone on dark bread for lunch with bottled water. We paid the tourist price for water: three euros. But, it was good. Normally we fill up empty bottles in the hotel to carry with us but not that day.
9.16.11 When I think of Segovia I always think of the famous classical guitarist, Andre Segovia. When Claudette urged me out of bed in our Madrid hotel room little did I know what a city by that name held for us. We took the Metro to the bus station and caught the bus for Segovia. It was only about a one hour ride with a few stops along the way. Upon reaching the city limits of Segovia, we made our first mistake of the day; we got off the bus at the wrong stop. We should have stayed on the bus until it reached the bus station. We lost about an hour of valuable time in this misadventure. With our limited Spanish we were able to get some directions from a lady in a newsstand. We followed the directions for a few blocks, when I looked up a side street and exclaimed, "There it is!" Indeed it was, in all its first century glory, the aqueduct.
Realizing it was now lunchtime, we were searching for Meson de Candido which was well known for the Spanish delicacy, cochinillo asado, roast suckling pig. But, alas, we were lost or rather disoriented in a maze of medieval streets. However, there was a thin, white-haired, elderly gentleman who saved us. It seems the eatery was well known, and he led us directly to it. The rotund waiter was waiting in the open door, and we were seated immediately The white linen covered tables were close together, but at this particular time of day we were the only diners. While waiting for our food I noted the black and white photograph that decorated the walls. King Jaun Carlos and Antonio Banderas were included in the famous diners. The roast suckling pig arrived promptly and was the most delicious pork we had ever tasted. The meat was succulent and the skin crisp as a potato chip. We enjoyed a desert and went out into the warm fall air to check out first century Roman engineering, the aqueduct. We had eaten in its shadow.
The Roman aqueduct is over 2,500 feet long and 100 feet high. The original length was nine miles and it took water from the Rio Frio to the Roman castle, which is the Alcazar of today. It has 118 arches, and it carried water well into the late 19th century. It's built of granite blocks, some of which were the grave stones from the ancient Roman cemetery. We walked down to the Plaza del Azoguejo and up the long staircase to the top of the aqueduct. After resting a bit, we enjoyed a breath-taking view of the city. Here we saw a sign directing us to the cathedral. Soon we were at Segovia's Plaza Mayor. I think plaza mayor means "main square" in Spanish, because every town has one. Overshadowing the square is the last Gothic cathedral built in Spain. Actually, it's not pure Gothic, because it has a dome instead of a spi re.
On the inside it has the requisite religious paintings and icons with lots of gold. There were also some vestments of the clergy and a number of illuminated manuscripts. I hate to sound jaded, but after your first dozen or so cathedrals they tend to look alike to me. One thing that I did notice was the automated candle lighter. Just drop a coin in the slot, and a little electric candle glows. Upon leaving the cathedral, I think we were there at least an hour, and giving the beggar at the gate a few euros we settled into one of the sidewalk cafes focafe con leche.
After leaving Plaza Mayor we began walking to Alcazar. That would be the castle on the edge of the city. We walked the narrow sidewalk-less streets. They were so narrow that we had to duck into a doorway to avoid being hit by passing cars. We walked downhill from the cathedral to an intersection with a street that ran parallel to the city wall. On the left was a gate through the wall to the outside so we took the street to the right. There's sidewalk to walk on by the city wall which is only chest high here, and you could see vegetable gardens and vegetation below.
We bought our ticket at Real Laboratorio de Chinia which is a building on the left of the castle. As we walked across what was once a drawbridge we peered into the fifty-foot abyss below. The Alcazar sits on a rocky promontory with the river on one side and a moat on the other making it virtually impenetrable.
There are great paintings and tapestries here in these one hundred and eleven rooms, but what impressed me the most were the arms and armor. There were many suits of armor of different designs and fashion. Claudette and I were fascinated by the boy-sized suits. The medieval kings would take the young princes into battle even at the age of twelve. The history of cannon was well represented in the armory and the Museum of Artillery. This was once the site of the Royal Artillery School. I could have stayed much longer with the big guns but Claudette, reminded that it would soon be time for the last bus to Madrid.
I never heard any guitar music while we were there.
Just the other day we were out driving about the Goose Creek, South Carolina area near the Cooper River when we came upon a curious sight. In front of a chemical manufactureing company on state road 503 there were two brick vats appearing simular to swimming pools. We brought the Toyota to a screeching halt. Well, maybe not screeching, but quickly, to investigate. The historical marker stated: " Built 1750-1790 at Otranto Plantation and used to process dye from indigo, an important S.C. crop from 1747 to 1796. Moved here 1979." I knew that indigo dye had been a product produced in colonial South Carolina but did not know that there was any evidence of this industry surviving. We promptly took some photos and measurements of the brick structures which were stuccoed on the inside. The larger vat was elevated higher than the smaller to which it was connected, and each had an opening used to drain liquid from the larger into the smaller and to drain the smaller onto the ground. Based on our measurements the vats would hold approximately 3456 gallons and 2992 gallons respectively. But how were they used? I have long been involved in various manufacturing processes and was curious to learn how indigo dye was made. I asked Claudette if she knew anything about indigo, and she said,"Yes, a little, I was once a third grade teacher, you know."
"Well, tell me about indigo. I know it was a blue dye made from a plant," I said.
She replied, " I know that they cut the stalks of the indigo plant down and put them in a big vat of water. After about a day or so they had fermented with a rotten smell."
"Most anything smells bad when fermenting," I said.
"They then drained the fermented plants into another vat and picked out all the trash and stirred it with paddles. The pudding-like dye settled to the bottom of the vat and they simply drained off the water," She added.
"So then they let it dry?"
"No, they scooped it up and put it into bags to drain overnight. Then, they fashioned it into cakes to finish drying," she continued. "It was then that it was usually shipped to England to be used as a textile dye."
"Do you know who started it growing around here?"
"As a matter of fact I do. Indigo dye production has been around a long time in Europe and Asia, as well as the Americas. But, in South Carolina indigo production was begun by Eliza Lucas Pickney. She came to the Carolina lowcountry as a 16-year-old girl with her father, who was an officer in the British army. Soon, her father was ordered to return to duty in Antiqua, and Eliza was left to run the plantation, educate her younger sisters, and care for a sickly mother. But, she was a sharp young lady, and she managed. She had great difficulty developing a plant that she could grow and harvest successfully. When she finally developed such a plant she readily shared with her neighbor planters. In the years prior to the Revolutionary War, indigo dye was the third biggest export from the colony. It was in such demand that England subsidized its production. Unfortunately, for the indigo planters, there was no demand for South Carolina indigo dye in England after the American Revolution. India became the supplier for the British textile manufacturers."
"While you were talking, I googled it and found out some more facts," I said.
"And I thought you were listening to me!"
"I was. I was!" I said somewhat defensively, " I did find out some more interesting stuff."
"Such as...," she queried.
"The dye isn't soluable in water, and cloth is dipped into it comes out green, but when exposed to the air it becomes dark blue. Jeans are dyed with it. It was in great demand for military uniforms. It took about ten men to man the vats during production. Indigo production did not interfere with rice production on the lowcountry plantations. As a matter of fact, the same workers could do both jobs. In 1775 South Carolina produced 1,107,660 lbs of indigo dye with a value of over $30 million." I said proudly.
"Learn anything else?" she asked.
"Oh yes!" said I.
"And what was that?"
"Eliza Pinckney was a very pretty girl." I said with a smile.
