New Orleans — Where Jazz Lives in the Streets | Fragmenta · Sképsis

I arrived in New Orleans on a December night.

But to explain why I was there, I have to go back to when I was six years old.

There’s a Turkish idiom: “Bana caz yapma!”

Literal translation is: Do not make jazz to me!

In Turkish, it means don’t talk nonsense to me. Don’t ramble. Don’t make excuses. Don’t argue with me. Just be straightforward.

I was about six years old when I first heard this word. I didn’t understand it. Jazz? What does it mean to make jazz? The “jazz” word sounded strange in my mouth. Foreign. Weird. Strange. Cool. Full of air.

Then one night, randomly on TV — on one of TRT’s channels (National public broadcaster of Türkiye), I think — there was a jazz night. A documentary kind of thing.

There was a huge instrument that you blow into. The sound was unlike anything my six-year-old self had ever heard. A saxophone. For some reason, I loved this word, too. :)

Two interesting words for little Filiz!

From that moment on, I started saying I loved jazz music among my friends and adults.

The adults around me just smiled, I don’t think they knew much about it either. And my friends replied with do not make jazz to us, ahahahha.

But I kept saying it anyway. I think I loved it before I understood it.

I love jazz music. I love it a lot.

The Ticket

This past Christmas, I had a ticket from Houston to Amsterdam (a new place to visit, I was super excited!) and then to my hometown İzmir. Ten days! And, come back. I was packed. I was ready…

But I had a health issue and my doctor said the flight might be difficult for me. So I had to burn the ticket (yeah, I always buy the cheapest one and never had an issue!).

And guess where I went instead.

New Orleans, Louisiana!

Wohooooo! Jazz, jazz, jazzz!

A place where jazz plays in the streets, in its soul, in its cafés. And it was legendary. I loved it so much.

French in America

I went to a French-focused school in Türkiye. We learned that Francophone culture was the height of sophistication. We learned to revere France. :)

Then I walked down the streets of New Orleans and heard French. Americans speaking French with American accents. A Parisian would cringe, they always find everything cringe, ahahhha. A nice Parisian(!) would definitely say “you speak sloppy French” to someone from New Orleans. But it was French!

The Food

Legendary!

I ate constantly.

Gumbo. Seafood. So much seafood. Beignets at Café du Monde. Powdered sugar on my face, my hands, my dog Nikko.

I saw fried alligator on a menu. Americans can eat interesting things too, I thought.

Most restaurants and cafés were pet-friendly. This isn’t a common practice in Dallas. For the first time, I had the chance to dine in with my dog.

By the way, seafood pizza is a must try!

There was a place called Luna Pizza just a 30-second walk from the hotel we stayed at. I absolutely loved every pizza I tried there. :)

The Streets

Even though it was Christmas, the streets were quite crowded. Lots of tourists, of course.

I walked the French Quarter street by street. I really enjoyed seeing small balconies in a place other than France, and watching people relaxing on those balconies. The restaurants had put tables out on the streets. It was like a virtual France. I loved it.

There were a lot of signs about voodoo and magic around. New Orleans Ghost Tours were very popular but I didn’t dare to do one. :D

My dog Nikko-chan was with me and she was quite the center of attention. Everyone who passed by asked if they could pet her. Americans are so polite — how could I say no? Of course, the sarcastic Turkish Filiz inside wants to say “don’t make jazz to her,” and the nice American Filiz wants to say “don’t jazz her up” — but since I’m naturalized, I settle for “yeah, sure, go ahead.”

I walked around Riverfront Park all the way to the French Market.

And, I went to the New Orleans Jazz Museum. It was like a gift for little Filizko. I loved it soooo much.

The Three Streets

I had an incredibly good time. Jazz music came out of every street.

There are really 2-3 main streets:

Rampart Street is the one with most of the hotels.

Canal Street is a long street. It took me 4-5 minutes to walk there from the hotel.

And where the real fun happens — Bourbon Street. Whatever you are looking for, it’s here. There are very good cafés on this street, very good restaurants and bars.

I even saw a few strip clubs. :)

I had always seen them in American TV shows, and I smirked when I walked in front of one. Want a quick culture shock? Here we go. The nearly naked women at the door were taking photos with people passing by. What do you expect? Young men being the volunteers for this photo shoot, right? Nooooooo. Even a family with a child in their arms was taking photos. What a culture shock!!! Hey, what is a child doing there at that hour? :D

Anyway, moving on.

Ahahha, could not!

(A big parenthesis: Goodness!!! What a tragedy, really — that woman could have been your daughter! Shakespeare would rise from his grave and write a new tragedy, the finest of all! Actually, let me pause this post and write a serious essay on moral decadence, social decay, the normalization of the absurd! Just kidding.

Jazz, jazz, jazzz!)