“Do you know what it means, to miss New Orleans?” It’s a beautiful song, and especially so when sung by the late, great, Louis Armstrong.
And yes, I do know what it means. New Orleans is a wonderful city, and a beautiful city, filled with beautiful and remarkable people, who make some of the best food in the world, and who can play some of the best music in the world.
It’s been a good visit, albeit a tad subdued: I’m getting a little older, and have been feeling less energetic than in the past. We’ve decided that three days at Jazzfest is now too much for this old fart, as the heat, the humidity, and the walking all conspire to take too much out of me.
That said, walking around the Quarter is still something that no other city in the world can match. You walk, you browse the shops, you stop for some fresh boiled crawfish or etouffe, you stop a while at Cafe Du Monde.
You hop on the streetcars and travel back in time down St Charles Avenue, and you grab a Po Boy at Mother’s.
You stand on a street corner on Royal St, listening to a band playing music, especially for you.
This afternoon, we fly out to Dallas, another city that I love, but it’s not New Orleans.
Yes, I know, only too well, what it means to miss New Orleans, and I’m feeling the pain already.