It’s chaotic, and not at all like America.
Though it resembles ramshackle bits of Spain or Italy, it’s unmistakably French.
Music everywhere! The expected brass, but also jazz, blues, even French folk.
People wandering the streets with plastic glasses of beer, drunk already at 1pm.
Parties on balconies bedecked with beads, ribbons, banners. The colours of Mardi Gras, shine for a month-long bender.
Arguments breaking out as out-of-control kids throw beer down from their balconies onto performers in the street.
The place smells of sugar: praline shops, fudge, chocolate, and powder-covered beignets.
Bars are open to the street, the air balmy and soft on this February day. Chartres Street – most of the tourist chaos left behind on Decator and Canal – has that classic, French-quarter charm you read about. The square at the end of the street is like Paris – street art and performers.
I eat crawfish cakes with hot sauce.
A middle-aged couple order tall cocktails to go.
And Yoda just walked past with a storm trooper.