Church bells & sirens. Jackson Cathedral startlingly white against a cloudless sky. Artists dragging out their easels, hanging their wares on wrought iron railings. Business owners pressure washing the remnants from the night before into the sewers. Locals hustling to work nod, smile, & offer “Good mornin’.” It’s seven a.m. in the Quarter, & everyone is headed to Café Du Monde for café au laits & beignets. Newspapers snap & the light becomes a little brighter as the sun shines down proudly on New Orleans. Streetcars clatter their way down the cobblestone streets, & steamboats rest along shore. The smell, not unpleasant, wafts in from Lake Pontchartrain & the great Mississippi River. The city is waking up, & with it comes the street performers. The saxophone players, the moody bluesmen, the break dancers. Just as soon as the music begins to fade behind you, another tune picks up just ahead. Tourists are carted by in wagons pulled by mules who have red glittery hooves. Happy to be alive, guides call to each other & provoke laughter at every comeback. Beads hang everywhere, like a manufactured Spanish moss. They are in tree limbs, electric lines, rooftops, across fences, lying in the street. They are draped around doorframes as decoration, looped over mailboxes & front yard fences for passerby to take if so desired. The food alone is worth the trip. A fantastic mix of creole-Cajun, French, Italian, & American, you can find anything you…