Nawlins, Part 1

Linda and I drove back to New Orleans on Thursday afternoon/evening/night. It isn't a bad drive ; in fact, I found it to be pretty interesting. I don't get to see trees that aren't juniper trees that often and the further east I went, the less like cedar the trees became. It grew too dark when we drove through the Atchafalaya (sp?) swamp for me to see that natural wonder, although I could appreciate the engineering marvel that is the raised causeway that allowed us to pass harmlessly over it.

The last hour of the trip was the worst. Crews were working on sections of I-10 as we hit the outskirts of New Orleans, squeezing three lanes of traffic into one and causing us to spend nearly forty-five minutes to travel a mere 2 miles. Once we got past the snarl, I took a wrong turn. Linda called the hotel for directions and we crawled through some pretty sketchy neighborhoods, searching for landmarks and street signs. We learned three things: 1) there are still sections of town, even just outside of the downtown area, that are practically deserted; 2) there are street signs that point the wrong way, hang upside down, or are missing entirely; and 3) New Orleans does not believe in left turns. We got to the hotel eventually but I was worn down to a frazzle by the time I got there.

Fortunately, the beds were very comfortable and I got a good eight hours of sleep before my brother-in-law called us out of bed and shepherded us to the Fest. Despite the fact that it was not quite 1100am, crowds gathered outside a bar not far from the entrance to the Fest for their first shot of booze. We picked up a Bloody Mary and allowed ourselves to be led through the ticket touts and into the Fest.

Looking back at the schedule the first day, I realize that I spent most of my time at the Fais Do-Do stage, where local cajun and zydeco bands whooped it up. After the last few difficult months, I soaked up the energy and the joy like a grateful sponge. I have not been the biggest fan of the squeeze-box but I grew to love it during my trip. We saw the Pine Leaf Boys, the Savoy Family Band and the Red Stick Ramblers, and each band was as good as its predecessor. We wrapped up the first day with Angelique Kidjo, an African pop singer, at the Congo Square stage. Ms. Kidjo wore her politics on her sleeve but she had a fantastic voice, her band brought the funk, and they did a kick-ass version of "Voodoo Child".

I should mention that we began the day with my brother-in-law but we did not end it that way. As I have mentioned in previous posts, the man totally immerses himself in the Fest experience. He has places to go and people to see and he prefers to go and see at his own pace and in his own way. So he passed us along to our local friends and faded into the crowd. I believe he communes with the Fest in much the same way as a shaman communes with the spirit world; he understands it on a level that us mere tourists cannot. I salute him!

Our friends took us in hand. I am happy to report that they weathered the storm very well, with minimal damage to their house. Their stories of other victims were harrowing but that is the subject of my next post.