As I parked in a primo street spot and entered the Vieux Carre', I was only a tiny bit surprised that there were still people in a few of the more tiny, non-Bourbon St. local's bars. The music was playing as if it were 2 am and here it was 5:30 am. I was gonna shoot into some of the doorways, but I thought that was kinda no class. My job was ninja photographer, get in, get out. So I shot a little in the low light then headed up to the River for a wide shot of Jackson Square.
After a long, rough Friday Night in the quarter, they usually pressure wash and dis-infect the whole place, since a good number of our beloved tourists are not house trained. They think the whole city is a urinal. And instead of finding one of the ubiquitous trash cans, they just throw things to the ground where they finish them. The streets adjacent to Bourbon are covered in trash, and apparently the famous Hand Grenade drink in souvenir plastic tube is popular, as they were everywhere. The night had begun with the news of the capture of those A-hole ferners that blew up the Boston Marathon. Even the pigeons were chanting Coo-S-A, Coo-S-A.
It was weird.
The main reason I went on safari so early was for the glut of cars that develop in the quarter as the day goes on. Some you just can't avoid. but if you are smart and lucky, you can shoot the whole place without the eyesore of cars everywhere. And then there's the LIGHT. You don't get light like this at any other time of day, and it makes all the difference.
Everywhere I walked, the streets were drying from the a good cleaning they had recieved before dawn, and I got LIGHT and reflections out of the deal. I was giddy as a schoolgirl.
This poor, ole homeless guy was probably not appreciating the loud shutter on my Nikon. The light wasn't strong enough to show that towel is completely covering his head. The vendors were beginning to set up, tarot readers, art sellers, performers....everyone was seeing what they basically see every day, but for me it was the most beautiful sight I had ever seen down there, and I used to live there. I had never SEEN the quarter at dawn.
One of the main reasons I wanted to get down early was to see St. Louis Cemetery No.1 without getting mugged. The famous Iberville housing project is right next door to the cemetery on Basin Street. The old song used to say, "Basin Street, Basin Street, where the black and white folks meet." Well, at the cemetery, the black folks often met the white tourists and took everything they had. My mother was shocked that my little sister went last month and that I was going this weekend. But still, I took my cheapest camera, and went on in, figuring the gang-bangers were all still asleep, and I covered the square that makes up the oldest cemetery in a very old city. This is the reputed resting place of the famous Voodoo priestess Marie Laveau.
I found it ironic that she was resting right next to the city's first black mayor, Ernest "Dutch" Morial. He never looked all that black to me, but I don't mean that to sound racist. He just looked like a white guy to me. A lot of people really loved Dutch Morial. And there he was, right next to one of the most famous and controversial women in the city's history. While I was showing the site to a couple from abroad, a crew was scrubbing the XXXs off the tomb. Apparently they don't like it much, it's been against the law to mark the tomb in such a way since 2005. But tradition holds that you mark the Xs and knock on the tomb or shout at it to cancel out a gris-gris that's been put on you, or to request a favor from the priestess, whom followers believe is as powerful today in death as she was in the 1800s.
One thing I know, even though its over 400 miles one way for me to go there, the city is as ever in my blood. I was not born there, but lived there for 15 years and easily came under it's spell. No other city has the magical pull that New Orleans has for me. I know it won't be long before I head back down with empty memory cards and full batteries.
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