After that, we strolled down St. Charles Avenue for a bit, a major thoroughfare that follows along the curve of the Mississippi River. We didn't walk the whole street, instead opting to hop on the St. Charles Avenue Line, the oldest continuously operating street railway system in the world. Since 1835, the line has carried New Orleanians back and forth from the east end of the city to the west. Rusty, antique, and timeworn, the streetcars and their charm take longtime and first-time passengers on a tour of New Orleans' various neighborhoods, arrayed with mansions, churches, and universities. The ride is clunky at times, jerky at others, but darling nonetheless.
We rode it all the way to the end of the line to the Carrollton neighborhood. There, walking along several southern live oaks and beautiful homes, we found where our final meal of the year would be: Jacques-Imo's. An eclectic and quirky restaurant split between two neighboring buildings, we dined outside as the afternoon became dusk, and dusk became night. We treated ourselves to shrimp, drum fish, scallops, and rabbit as the restaurant and surrounding area became more multifarious as it became more lively with midnight, and 2012, creeping ever closer.
After being ripped off for a fair fare by our cab driver, we set out to brave the French Quarter for the dropping of the giant fleur-de-lis in Jackson Square. It was about 7:30 by this point and heading down Decatur Street, the street leading up to park, was rich with revelry and merriment already. Eager to participate, we purchased customary, and essential, feathered Venetian masks and bead necklaces. My necklace featured skulls with jester hats, my brother's dice, and my sister's beignets.
We were fortunate enough to find a spot to sit on the steps in Jackson Square right by the "A NOLA New Year's Eve" stage, as most of the spots had already been claimed. It took a little less than a couple of hours before the official festivities got started onstage, but the ambiance was astir to keep anyone awake. Even if you just hoped to people-watch, all your senses were increasingly stimulated, from the colorful sounds to the loud visuals.
Among my favorites was this one man who was at least 60, maybe 65, but had chosen to ignore the conventions of his age; he had more of a youthful spirit than most of my peers. With hardly any reason other than conviviality, he stood up in front of the masses of people sitting, and turned them into an audience as he began to dance, inviting passers-by to join him. Around him, street entertainers in costumes that looked like they were straight out of New Orleans local folk stories and Voodoo legends complemented the mood. "Who dat?" someone shouted, a chant popular among Saints fans, and the crowd responded back with the same phrase. Even a cop accepted a handful of raisins from some twenty-somethings standing on a railing, just a misstep away from falling into the bushes. For some in Jackson Square, New Year's Eve was the reason to party; for others, it just so happened to be New Year's Eve while they were already looking to party.
A couple of local radio deejays eventually came out onto the stage and, after pandering to Virginia Tech and Michigan fans, the participants of Tuesday's Sugar Bowl, kicked off the musical portion. Three local groups - the Lagniappe Brass Band, MyNameIsJohnMichael, and Shamarr Allen and the Underdawgs - came out and performed, each featuring either a trombone or trumpet in their ensemble. From swinging instrumental numbers to a vibrant cover of "Rolling in the Deep," toddlers, college kids, parents, and old-timers tapped their toes, clapped their hands, and moved their bodies. With St. Louis Cathedral serving as the concert's backdrop, and Andrew Jackson's equestrian statue keeping a watchful eye all the while as well, the music seeped into everyone's veins as easily as the beer, champagne, margaritas, and whatever else was openly enjoyed in the streets.
Just before midnight struck, Mitch Landrieu, the city's mayor and latest member of the Louisiana political dynasty, raised a martini glass onstage to wish everyone the best in 2012. Then the countdown began. "Ten... nine...." Thousands of heads turn away from the stage to the neon fleur-de-lis atop Jax Brewery on the square's south corner. "Eight... seven..." The new year now appears closer than wherever the masses of people on Decatur, St. Peter, and St. Ann Street end, if they even dd. "Six... five..." Eagerness, anxiousness, anticipation, jubilation all mount. "Four... three..." Final glimpses of 2011 are caught by wandering eyes. "Two... one..." Immediately, horns blow, family and friends embrace, and fireworks thunder. It's 2012, and New Orleans likes what it sees so far.
Brass instruments blare over the speakers, and the first party of the year is underway. Cigar smoke and the perfume or cologne of whoever you just hugged are the welcoming scents of 2012. Hopeful gamblers, looking to test their luck right away, line up for a wait that looks like might take until the next December 31st. What lies ahead in the next few hours looks very similar to the last few, but it seems all too new in this unmarked year.
Both fittingly and unfittingly, "When the Saints Go Marching In" plays as we made our way out of Jackson Square; the song may be an anthem for the city, but saintly behavior hardly suited those going further into the French Quarter. But, if it's New Year's in New Orleans, and you want to be in that number, even the saints will probably give you a pass.
Bonne année à tous de la Nouvelle-Orléans!
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