The Scene

Waking up the first morning to the sounds of the south. Ok, maybe it sounded like any other street—a car or two, a bus, unapologetic sunshine peaking through the half-closed shutters of gigantic windows, the constant bluster of a freezing northern wind that had swept across Midwest prairies to rustle New Orleans palm fronds and freeze my flip-flipped toes that first morning as Jamie and I stepped out, cameras in hand.

Coffee was first on the agenda. Despite being only a couple blocks away, on Chartres and Royal, it took hours to get there. Everywhere I turned a photo, something worn and weathered, shiny and new, or just plain stunning in the southern morning sun.

Pointing, shooting, practicing, trying a new angle or a little different light. We combed the historic neighborhood of Faubourg Marigny for overlooked or forgotten treasures. Amused and friendly strangers greeted us with genuine smiles and questions about our morning. Cars make an effort to stop, just to let you cross the street. I reveled in the beauty of something so simple, but something I’d forgotten—the joy of a morning with nothing more on my mind than contemplating the things in front of me. I’ve missed my camera, I’d stopped appreciating it fully and had given it a break the last few months. The happy reunion that morning where holding it again, I remembered just how wonderful it was to play with cameras again, capture the little moments of a day.

Marigny is more beautiful after a good night’s sleep, without the confines of a taxi, in person. Stumbling (literally) down potholed, uneven sidewalks that have seen years of abuse, as tattooed, scruffy hipsters on classic cruisers leisurely ride by in pairs, past rows upon rows of colorful houses, I imagined the happy paint mixers at the hardware store mixing every shade of every color imaginable. Never a dull combination. Never the same thing twice.

Coffee on Frenchman Street leaves much to be desired. But the environment is priceless. Young and old stop in, greet each other (or make introductions) and a lazy Monday morning passes, as an old eccentric (in the midst of it all) with a white ponytail and enormous shaggy white overcoat (something from a pimp’s closet, fo’ sure) dons a black top hat and “snake-eye” glasses with a haphazard smile.