Voodoo, Tears and Shiny Beads
N.B. First you dance is what Ann says when she welcomes her friends in New Orleans.

New Orleans, the Big Easy is a colorful, dazzling cauldron, fascinating and mysterious, a melting pot of all different religions and cultures. This travelogue can only give a small insight about the town. When I finally arrive after a long flight from Nuremberg to Louis Armstrong International Airport, the mix of 30° heat and high humidity feels like a wall. In the city that I wanted to visit for 20 years, I'm meeting with 5 other women: one French, one from England, another from Germany, one from Colorado and Ann, an online friend, who lives in one of the suburbs of the city. In September 2005 I promised her that at one point in the near future I'll be knocking at her door.

(Hotel Ghost?)

Shortly before Katrina had raged through the city that was prepared for a hurricane, but not for the levees to break and cause one of the biggest natural disasters in the history of the United States. For weeks we were worried about Ann, since we only got sporadic news from her. On the way to the hotel we pass the Superdome. Who doesn't remember the pictures of thousands of evacuees in the media? I feel goosebumps along my back. "That's just from the airconditioning in the car," jokes Ann. (Later, Rachel from England tells me she's had the same feelings when she first saw the building up close.) A few minutes later we're in the French Quarter, at the Dauphine Orleans Hotel. What room do I want? "The one that is haunted," I answer spontaneously. I've read on the Internet, that the Daupine used to be a bordello and furthermore a place that is haunted by several spirits. Promptly I hear about all different kinds of supernatural activities.  I prefer to believe them. It makes things more interesting. Later in the evening, after a first short visit to the notorious Bourbon Street I proudly wear a number of beads. Not so sober men give these to women (and the other way around) as gifts all year 'round, not just at during Mardi Gras, the famous carnival.

The next day we're on our way to discover the Quarter which was mostly spared by Katrina. The Old Town has an inimitable charm - it's a mix of music pubs, classy fashion boutiques, antique shops, countless restaurants for every price range, art shops, parks and of course the famous decorated balconies, that make every hobby gardener green with envy. We eat beignets at Café du Monde while we listen to damned fine Jazz; we're impressed by St. Louis, a cathedral. At the French market we find Cajun spices, little Voodoo dolls and Mardi Gras beads for every taste. Beads with alligator heads, flowers, guitars and with the fleur de lis who has become the symbol for rebuilding the city.

On Friday we're invited by Ann and her husband to  her home. They were lucky, even though the eye of the storm was right over them; only the roof of their house was damaged. It's a point of honor for the residents to wait over a year until one of the local companies can do the repairs. For the rest of the day we enjoy the characteristic hospitality the people here are famous for. On our way to the Garden District on Saturday we're suddenly stuck in traffic. We hear the music of a brass band and there are only two possibilities: either one of the countless parades or a Jazz funeral. It's the latter.  Mourners, dressed in white, dance to rhythms that sound happy rather than sad to our ears. I like the idea of having a funeral like this. After arriving at our destination, open-mouthed we take photos of mansion after mansion, backyard after backyard, like the former villa of Ann Rice the writer (one of her bestsellers "Interview with a Vampire" was filmed in Nola). One thing is certain; if we win the lottery, we'll buy a house here.

Talking about vampires, later that day I stand at Lafayette cemetery in bright sunlight in front of the gravesite of Caravella and Ernst. Images of old horror movies come to my mind. No wonder the cemeteries in New Orleans are called cities of the dead. Buried is probably not the right word either, for the dead are put in mausoleums above ground, even without coffins. The soil of the swampland is not made for real burials.

Saturday night finds us bar-hopping in the quarter. Ann has bought two screaming pink boas for everyone. "One to wear and one to share." We enjoy fresh oysters for 5 dollars for half a dozen, listen again to the best Jazz at Fritzel's Bar, right next door - it's raw (pure) blues. Sometime that night I exchange my second boa for a couple of beads, before we finally end up at the bar of the Hotel Monteleone with dry martinis and a piano player. Everybody knows the words to "piano man" and sings along.

A little hung over we climb in the car on Sunday for the "disaster tour". Even though we know what awaits us, it hits us hard: a couple of hours driving through the areas (like the 9th Ward) that have been completely destroyed by flooding. It's like looking at a war zone and I have tears in my eyes. Streets with ruined buildings, refridgerators still stuck in treetops, "stranded" fishing boats only one meter away from highway lanes. "We have to get used to the new normal. But we won't give up - and the city is still so attractive for tourists," explains Ann.

It's these words I remember the next day, when I hold a baby alligator in my hands and stroke the little guy's head. Captain Dino, an ex-marine who works for nature conservancy now and calls the hurricane "my good old girlfriend Katrina" teaches us a lot about the swamps and alligators. They have nick names like "Miss Vic" or "Little John" and he feeds them marshmallows, of all things. They could smell any kind of meat on the boat and would jump right on board.

Monday - the Voodoo Museum and the Voodoo Spiritual Temple naturally attract a fan of all things spooky like me. Priestess Miriam lets us know that the little dolls with the pins were never meant to cause pain or bad things for people. In fact they were used for healing and positive things. "Hollywood started all that nonsense". The most famous Voodoo Queen was Marie Laveaux, whose grave can be visited at cemetery No.1.

Tuesday - a last stroll along the bank of the Missisipi and thanks to the low exchange rate for dollars, a visit to the Riverwalk Shopping Mall.

After two weeks, a short trip to friends in San Diego included, I step into a plane again. From above I take a last look of the city, the swamps and the still shattered areas.  Damn - I could stay another few weeks or months and enjoy the attitude to life here. Oh yeah - and the incomparable food.

At first you dance - an old Cajun saying that perfectly describes the "flair" of this unique city.

New Orleans was founded in 1817 by French immigrants. Nola, as the locals call her, is located in Louisiana, the South of the United States. The city grew fast and stayed unique until today because of the influence of the people from the Creole Caribbean, France, Spain, Africa and America. The city is renowned for writers like Ann Rice, George W. Cable and Truman Capote, musicians like Louis Armstrong, Dr. John and Branford Marsalis who play their Jazz, Blues and Zydeco here. Last but not least, there is of course Mardi Gras, the carnival, that took place for the first time in 1837.