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Our journey went from our week on the Florida beach to the Castles of the US, and then onward to Louisiana where we got to visit my extended family. They’re all centered in Lafayette, the capital of Cajun culture in South Louisiana.

As far as tourism goes, there’s probably not much to see in Lafayette, though it is a beautiful city in and of itself, filled with scenic bayous and low lying homes that blend in with the swamps, it's a bit sprawling and somewhat converted by the main brunt of pop-American Walmart culture. With the exception of the local university, complete with its on-campus gator-filled swamp, and its annual jazz festival, which is easily one of the best in the world. There are also a great deal of swamp tours around Lake Martin, of which I'll talk about in a few weeks.

The gator-stocked swamp on the University of Lafayette campus is probably the most unique thing, and the easiest way to spot a gator. During some festivals, students even have canoe racing across the swamp, which probably helps the school's average GPA.

An unusual warning in the middle of the University of Lafayette

But first, a history of Louisiana and what is the difference between Creoles and Cajuns, something every visitor will wonder as they see these ubiquitous phrases.

The Cajuns

The Cajuns got that name from a series of accents that got harder and harder for Americans and Frenchmen alike to pronounce. Originally, they were Acadians, but the name devolved to Cajuns, pronouncing from Akadianne, to Akadien, to Akadjien, to 'Kadjien to 'Kadjun. This is why those everyone calls themselves Cajuns, they also call Cajun country "Acadiana".

the middle of the UL campus but a common scene for Cajuns

The Acadians were from France, fleeing religious persecution during the Wars of Religion. They landed over in Acadia, Quebec, then a French colony somehow open to non-Catholics (granted, along all their travels, they apparently got tired of persecution and became Catholic along the way). The English though took it over, and as they were pissed off that the French there continually sided with the French crown in everything, like in the French and Indian War (7 Years War, for Europeans), they decided to just get rid of them all. So they ethnically cleansed Acadia, killing and driving away everyone who was French and/or native there, and renaming the land Nova Scotia and New Brunswick.

a typical oak with its branches spreading like roots

If you were Acadian, a few things might have happened to you. You were brought to a different part of the colonies, where you were forced into slavery for a set number of years (called indentured servitude, where the set number of years was usually, but not limited to, 7, and you generally were treated better than a black slave, but not by any large measure). You might have had worse luck and been sent to the Caribbean, or if you were somehow truly blessed by God, you might have just gotten deported back to France.

giant snapping turtles relaxing in the UL lake

Once in France, you didn’t know what to do since your family hadn’t lived there for a couple hundred years. That’s when you’d answer the weird Spanish guy at the tavern, because boy has he a deal for you. Why not serve the Spanish crown and settle in Louisiana? You see, Louisiana had just been recently acquired, and it was filled with French speakers, and they needed a larger population to fend off the savages and the English (often confused with one another). So they packed up and hit the bayou. They weren’t the landed class of French that were already there, but rather made a kind of subgroup, as they bred with the Indians and freedmen, though remained white to varying degrees of color and greasy hair. For those who were more black, skip down to the Creole section.

a gator waiting for drunk college students

Cajun culture is centered around Lafayette, which is about a two hour drive from New Orleans, across a vast and awesome swamp. They were generally not the caste of plantation owners, as those folk were usually the pure white folk who descended from the original French colonists of the area. Because they weren’t pure white and could barely speak English, they were often known, especially in the military, as “coonasses”, which is the probably not PC way to refer to someone as "the ass of a black guy". The Cajuns were usually hunters, trappers, fishermen, and accordion players. So maybe I picked up playing the accordion because it’s in my blood.

the Mid-City Aces playing zydeco in New Orleans

Cajuns today don’t speak much Cajun French though and have largely assimilated with the standard white Louisiana culture, which has largely assimilated with the modern American white culture. The culture is in its death throes, identified only by a vague lingering interest in their zydeco music, hot spicy food, and their overuse of the fluer-des-lis.

The Creoles

The other half of Louisiana is defined as the Creole, which is to say the mixed ancestors of African slaves, Native Americans, Cajuns, and the bastard children of the high Frenchmen of the plantations. Creole culture truly swelled just after the Civil War, when all the black slaves high tailed off the plantations and headed for New Orleans. For quite obvious reasons, they weren’t much interested in anything that had to do with farming, so some picked up other trades, while others became artists and musicians. Many Africans were trained as musical entertainers of their former masters and played the white-folk music popular at the time, like Bartak and Beethoven. But many just had music in their blood, as the only way of release from the harshness of laboring 16 hours a day. They would sometimes gather and praise the Lord in the only way they knew, with tribal beats.

New Orleans is the crown jewel of Creole culture

Mix that Bartak and later Debussy with African tribalism and you’ve got some real magic. You’ve got jazz. New Orleans was one of the only cities with large populations of blacks to survive the Civil War (Atlanta was nearly erased from the map by Sherman), and served as a real capital for black freedmen. Teaming with this mixture, just overflowing, and in a couple of generations, you had a real lineup of genius musicians born. Where once white people had shunned and outlawed “race music”, after Louis Armstrong and his folk hit the scene, whites were thirsting for it.

a street band playing some hot jazz

But not only jazz came from New Orleans. Following the gambling boats up the Mississippi, wherever blacks went, they brought their rhythm, and blues was born too (and rhythm and blues, which is the record company way of saying "race music"), and in the swamps with the Cajuns, there came zydeco. New Orleans was and is truly the soul capital of America.

Language

French was the mainstay language for several hundred years, whether it was from the original French colonists, the Cajuns, and also the Creoles. It’s only been in the past fifty years that English has taken over. There was a pretty steady cultural cleansing from the 30s, destroying the non-English culture and bringing it into the mainstream. I’ve great grandparents that never spoke a word of English, but then my dad’s generation doesn’t speak a word of French, nor do any of my cousins. There are still some bayou folk that speak Cajun French, but it’s largely dead as a language, and will be dead as a culture in a generation or two. There are some movements to revive the language and culture, but that’s mainly limited to the aforementioned whacky accordionists and musicians like Lee Benoit and the recently passed Buckwheat Zydeco.

Now the language is mostly on display as catch phrases, like "Laissez les bons temps roulez" or the Saint's football slogan of "who dat".

walking down Bourbon Street in New Orleans

Food

Creole food then is different than Cajun food. Where Cajun is French-based, with rich sauces and sautés, Creole is more red beans and rice and soul. You can find some good Cajun food in New Orleans, like at Mulate's, but it’s not a common thing. For the most part, you’ll get the not-as-spicy Creole. But also, in most touristic districts, they tone down the spice all around because tourists really can’t handle that crazy hot bayou food.

best place in NOLA for Cajun food

Creole food, as my Cajun cousin tried to explain to me, is a lot more tomato-based. Red beans and rice is the main dish, along with fried catfish, fried okra, and fried whatever else you can think of. There’s no overly clear line between the two, as there’s a huge overlap in Cajun and Creole cultures.

my uncle's gator sauce piquant

My favorite Cajun dishes are crawfish ettoufee, gumbo, boudin, and gator sauce piquant. Crawfish ettoufee and gumbo both come down to a brown roux, which is basically a braised flower. The roux in ettoufee is baked into a sauce—the Creole variant adds tomato—and gumbo is made into a soup, mixed with okra, andouille sausage, and whatever’s in the fridge. Boudin is a super spicy mystery meat mix stuffed in some pig intestine. And is pure awesome. Sauce piquant can be made with any meat, but is best served with the slightly chewy gator. As the name implies, it’s also properly spicy as all heck.

my all time favorite Cajun food: boudin

Capitals of Culture

As you see, Louisiana is a real jambalaya of culture. And anyone wanting the complete tour of it, should get out of New Orleans and also witness Lafayette and the other villages, like New Iberia or Breaux Bridge. As Lafayette is certainly an Americanized city, the University of Lafayette campus is at least something to see, as are the restaurants Blue Dog and Ruffino's. At Randol's, you might even be lucky enough to witness some proper zydeco played by one of the last of the breed, Lee Benoit.

Writer's pictureShawn Basey

Nuremberg has an unfortunate history which could certainly and unfortunately mar its future. More than any other city in all of Germany, it suffers from the curse of the Nazis. For the entire time of the reign of the Nazi regime, Nuremberg was the center of the Party's power, and for this reason Hitler had Albert Speer design his gigantic Olympic-sized festival grounds made specifically for Nazi party rallies. When you Google “Nazi party rally” that’s what you’ll see – monumental sized concrete monoliths, stages, and flag holders, all built just outside of the city of Nuremberg. Of course, that all lies in rubble now, the weeds and wild flowers having long since defeated the once fertile grounds of white supremacy and racism, driving out the floating dandelion seeds to different grounds and across different seas. It's a vast and somewhat beautiful park now, and parts of the rubble are even being used for rock concerts.

Nuremberg had suffered a terrible fate in World War II, like Dresden it was scourged and raked; had the days been those of the Romans, the fields would have been sewn with salt. All that was left after the Allied bombing campaign was a smoldering castle on a hill, missing much of its palace, and the coals of a once bustling medieval city-scape, only the occasional charred church spire rising from the smoke, the carbon coiling around the Gothic buttresses and spiky peaks.

The roofs of Nuremberg

The first time I had visited Nuremberg I was with my wife. I had decided to save all the “Nazi sights” for when my parents were there – the parade grounds which now serve as a coliseum for rock concerts and a gigantic park, filled with joggers, sunbathers, and twenty somethings playing frisbee with their dogs – and of course, the Palace of Justice which served as the home of the Nuremberg trials. There’s also a museum of a dungeon that was used to hold stolen art pieces, protecting them from the rain of fire from overhead. We were there for the Christkindlemarket though, which was hardly the right spirit for the Nazi tour anyway. When my parents came, we still didn’t have time for the Nazi tour, as it was only a stop of a few hours. My attempts at pleasing my inner Nazi kept Hitfailering though, since we had found a different reason to visit Nuremberg: the old town festival. I might add that I don't have an inner Nazi, it's just some wry history nut's humor there, dearest NSA reader.

The Nuremberg Hauptmarkt

My father wasn’t quite sure that he wanted to suffer the crowds of Munich and the main Oktoberfest in all of its dirndl glory of breasts and granfalloons, but he did want to go somewhere with beer. So a quick search of festivals in the area of Bavaria and Franconia – we were in Rothenberg at the time, trying also to find something in the direction of Prague – brought up the Nuremberg Old Town Festival. Now, if you read my description up above about Nuremberg’s placing near first in Allied ravaged cities of World War II, then you might be wondering, what Old Town? And you’d be perfectly right in saying that. But buildings and people manage to survive the worst of terrors, and then are sometimes just destroyed for the most petty of things, like a parking lot. Vonnegut – in I think Slaughterhouse-five – once noted how the destruction of war is all seemingly completely random, how a bomb might fall on a house, burning everything to embers, but for a desk with a stack of paper and an inkwell, somehow sitting there completely untouched.

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All that to say Nuremberg’s old town rose from the ashes, though in patches. Some streets were recreated to look fairly similar to its medieval past, streets and buildings rivaling the old timey beauty of Rothenberg even, and then other streets lined with the glass, steel, and concrete of the modern era, with giant red lit H&M signs, the red light districts of market perversions and materialistic obsessions.

H&M is somewhere on this street

We had a limited time for our exploration. We began making our way to the small medieval market, the Handwerkerhof Nurnberg, that’s hidden alongside the old town wall and tower. Then we followed the granite pedestrian streets which made up most of the town center to the Lutheran Church of St. Lorenz, which started construction in 1250 and was finally finished in 1477. It’s one of the few Lutheran churches that was spared the iconoclasm of the Reformationists, as the locals saw all the art as pieces of their heritage and refused to remove them from the church. The church is a must see of Nuremberg, with its hundreds of statues still lining the walls. We then followed the streets down to the bridges of which there are many beautiful crossings over the River Pegnitz. The most beautiful is an old iron chained pedestrian bridge, the Kettensteg, built in 1823. It follows along a mysterious building that serves also as a bridge and was, as I was told, once used as a prison, but is now one of the more famous biergartens in Nuremberg, the Kettensteg Biergarten. If it’s a sunny day – which I’ve never seen on my many visits to Nuremberg – then be sure to spend your time there. Another bridge that you should be sure to use in crossing is the Trodelmarkt bridge, which leads to a small island of the same name in the middle of the Pegnitz. At one time this was the pig market, and later a sort of medieval flea market, it’s now the host of beautiful restored medieval style buildings which are the homes of quite the variety of boutique shops – if you want to get away from the chains found on the South side of Nuremberg, then head here.

view of the Henkerhaus bridge from the Trodelmarkt bridge

From there, we headed up Winklerstrasse to Sankt Sebaldus Kirche, which is a bit more properly Lutheran in that it’s depressing and stripped of all of its ornaments, a real contrast to St. Lorenz. Then we went up and up towards the Imperial Castle. The best way to approach it is along Albrecht Duhrer Strasse which leads to a nice and narrow advance to the Tiergartnertor, which served as the main gate of the city back in the old days, leading around the castle moat and into the city just underneath the auspices of the castle. There are the typical buildings of medieval character, with plaster white walls and dark wooden crossbeams, and a huge stone tower that dwarfs everything.

The Tiergartnertor

Also not to be missed near the Tiergartnertor are the Albrecht Duhrer House Museum and the Historischer Kunstbunker. The Albrecht Duhrer house was, in some incarnation, the home of the famous woodcutter Albrecht Duhrer, who in the 15th century made a series of incredible woodcuts of Biblical scenes, of which such a quality in woodcutting is still unmatched. The Historischer Kunstbunker Is where the Nazis stored a lot of stolen art, along with the local treasures of the city (like Duhrer’s woodcuts), hoping that the Allies wouldn’t destroy them in the bombing and that perhaps they wouldn’t discover them, so then they could be sold on the black market after the war and the Party heads could finance their exiles off to Argentina in style. There isn’t much here left but an empty bunker filled with photographs and a video, but it’s an interesting place nevertheless, and if you’re in Nuremberg during a blazing hot summer, it is air conditioned.

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