New Orleans and Isleno Culture - Day One

Visiting New Orleans for even a few scant hours is always worth it. Erin and I have been here multiple times - for conferences, family, and even Katrina-related work - and have always enjoyed it. March weather leaves little to be desired, as it is cool, dry, and the start of a riot of plant color. We only had a brief time to revel in New Orleans and weren't sure how to use the time well in pursuit of our genealogical needs. Turns out we needn't worry.

Our lodgings were in the river edge town of Arabi - go to the French Quarter, then slide along to the south and east to Fauborg Marigny, then Bywater, then the Ninth Ward, and then you get to Arabi. Hilariously, the town is actually named for an Arab sheikh who had some notoriety in the 1800s. The town itself is quiet, full of small residential homes and few remarkable cottages and bungalows. The high school, pictured to the right, was a stunning display of design prowess - tiles and bricks in perfect harmony. No longer used as a school, it serves the community as a gathering space. The inside must be impressive - but we didn't get there.

Down by the river, where every self-respecting Louisiana burg makes its living, was a classic 'Jim and Erin' tourist attraction: the Domino Sugar Plant. The picture to the right tries to capture its enormity, but for reference this is the largest sugar plant in the US and has been in operation for over a hundred years. I am not sure what they needed the 10-story building in the back for, but the whole complex felt like a massive chemical plant designed to make my coffee palatable. Next door was an unsung Ford assembly plant from 80 years ago; designed by Albert Kahn (a god of industrial design) it looks today like a truck inventory lot. Back in the day this was one of the major American assembly plants for Fords; today it is a hidden, decrepit site with no signs of attention or a future.

What made this an even more interesting day was that we were apparently in St. Bernard Parish (County) on the day of the Isleno Cultural Festival. We found this out by hand-crafted signs lining the streets. Islenos (there is a tilde over the 'n' for the classic "ny' sound but I am not motivated enough to find the right key!) is the name given to the Canary Islanders who came over in the 1770s to populated four towns in Spain's American colony, as well as to defend it. Their descendants and family names are found to this day in the exact places where they first landed. Think about any other ethnic group that landed, made a town, and never moved - this is a rarity in our history.

The drive to the Festival down St. Bernard Road showed us how narrow and wet is this land. This parish has just a few areas that are elevated enough to plant houses, and all of these are occupied. The Festival took place at the Isleno Museum, a collection of traditional houses in the heart of the parish. It was similar to a lot of county fairs - there was a bandstand with non-stop music, a series of deadly carnival rides, lots of stands selling, and some only in Louisiana sights. Chief among these was the casual guy with the alligator skins in the picture. Turns out he is an international business who harvests thousands of alligators a year from his farm, owns helicopters to scout out nests in the bayous, and sells around the world. His is the largest alligator farm in the world. I would love to go there, but not on this trip.

While not much made Erin feel deeply connected to the culture, there were some rustic buildings that didn't seem too out of place and conveyed a sense of quiet purpose. One was this representative home (yellow siding) with the typical front porch. Porches are big in Louisiana, but I presume they are more useful when it is blisteringly hot outside. The other building pictured here is a 1920s barroom, which looked on the inside exactly what you think a rural whiskey joint in the backwoods would look like. Wooden bar, creaky floor, piano on one side. And this being Louisiana, people were still using the bar, purchasing their drinks and standing outside on the porch to share their good will.

My final picture here turned out to be a primary element of Isleno culture here in St. Bernard Parish - the local dance troupe. The dance was folkloric and at first I thought it was merely a European group that was sharing their moves with the locals. Turns out they were the locals. The dance was very sedate, with lots of dosidos and choreographed moves, but it was well appreciated by the crowd.  The crowd was substantial, hinting at much rowdier music as the evening wore on. But we were worn out, so we left the Islenos for another trip and prepared to head out the next morning for Baton Rouge.