I can’t even begin to count the number of times I’ve walked home via Frenchman and heard the Young Fellas Brass Band. Last night on my way home from Port of Call, they were on their usual corner at midnight.
Once I got several blocks past them into the [marigny] rectangle, I realized I was still dancing and could still hear them – the entire way home.
My walk normally includes 8 blocks of shotgun houses, creole cottages, camelback and slave quarter apartments, lush courtyards with cats lounging on uneven brick sidewalks, blue-fonted street names engraved on corners, crickets and frogs singing at the top of their lungs behind a thick wrought iron gate of the Aquatic Gardens, and dive bars with inspiring names like “Lost Love Lounge”. I know I’m close when I see giant bloom of neon jellyfish staring my way as I turn the corner a block from home. Last night, even the jellyfish were charmed by the Young Fellas.
That’s my “I love New Orleans” moment of the day.