Finding New Orleans
- Image by wallyg via Flickr
It was my senior year in college. I was student teaching and it was time for semester break. We were at the age just before adulthood as specified by graduation. My roommate had an idea. Let’s drive to New Orleans! Well sure, of course, let’s go. I don’t have a car, but I have, um, about $100.00. She had a car and about the same amount of money. Neither of us had ever just ‘hit the road for adventure’ but with great and free abandon that only the young can have, we went.
We got a map, a loaf of bread, jars of peanut butter and jelly, and some Pepsi that would stay cold for awhile. We took turns driving, admired scenery along the way, and slept in the car at a rest stop when we were halfway there. It was safe in those days. Didn’t think twice. Stopped for gas and the guy asked where we were headed. New Orleans, we said! He corrected our pronunciation: ” N’awlins, ” or something like that. We practiced saying it.
The next day we made it to New Orleans, found a cheesy hotel where we had enough money to stay for one night. It would be enough. We set off to discover New Orleans confident in our pronunciation. We knew so little of life at that age. It was a sweet time of innocence. But we had heard about Bourbon Street and after asking the hotel manager how to find it, we walked quickly. And there it was.
Blues bar after blues bar, sweet sounds, people smiling, aromas of seafood, open markets and a sultry, languorous heat. Houses and restaurants with beautiful iron gates. We stopped at a cafe and had dark, rich coffee like none we had ever tasted. We ordered beignets, mispronouncing a word again, but laughed and learned. We walked Bourbon Street as night fell. And the gates of heaven opened.
We stood outside a blues bar. Through the window we could see an old Black woman seated at a piano which was on a platform. She had a kerchief tied around her head. Lines on her face looked deep with mystery and ruin. We went in to listen. She sang with her soul in a voice so deep and mesmerizing that it took you to places unknown, but compelling. She had no teeth. She was beautiful. People talked to us in kindly, gentile manners. We fell in love with each one of them. One told us we must see Preservation Hall. Off we went, but I turned so my mind could photograph the old woman with a kerchief. I begged to remember her.
Preservation Hall. People standing in line to get in. We did too. Once in, old men dressed in suits and ties held musical instruments, played them with eyes closed, and sang of loss and hope and happiness with desperate passion. Nothing would ever equal that experience.
The next day we explored more, stole fruit from the French Market, and sat where we could see the Gulf, overpowering in its largesse and rolling with its own life force. We were silenced by its beauty and power. Back to Bourbon street and its rhythms. Only hours left. Listened to as much blues as we could soak in, as though knowing we were somehow changed forever. At midnight, we went to the parking lot where the car was parked and packed. Magnetic forces tugged at us to stay. The car wouldn’t start.
We did what girls/women do. We opened the hood and stood there looking at its innards and not speaking and not touching anything in there. We might break something. Lights shone from tall lamps in the parking lot. We saw a man approaching us. What’s wrong here, girls? He was wearing the uniform of a mechanic. Just closed for the night, he said. He looked under the hood. Need a distributor cap, he told us. Well, we have to get back to Pittsburgh and only have enough money for gas. I’ll be back, he said. He walked back the way he had come and returned with a proper distributor cap. Don’t worry about the money. You girls be safe. Did I mention he was Black? He seemed like a guardian angel to me.
I have never been back to New Orleans. Life happens. But it has stayed with me. Once you are there, it lives inside you. The Gulf is now in peril and with it my love, New Orleans. I pray for its peace. I pray for its healing. I remember the toothless blues-singing woman from Bourbon Street. She would not have lived to see this. I am thankful for that.
—cher
What a sweet story!
I’ve never been but an hoping we go this year when the Steelers are in town. I know it won’t be the same though… so much has changed.
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Great, evocative story – makes me want to rush out and get a ticket right now!
New Orleans has certainly suffered much in recent years.
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Going to New Orleans is like visiting a foreign country. It is far more than Bourbon Street, the French Market, the blues, and all those yummy restaurants, however. People DO seem to be nicer there! And all the pictures you see of Mardi Gras, the sea of bodies moving through the Quarter (the natives pronouce that Quahda), people with Hurricane cups hanging around their necks, girls flashing their boobs for beads–well there is a lot more to Mardi Gras than that.
Businesses close, schools let out, parades wind their way through the neighborhoods where families wait on the curb to catch beads. It really is a family holiday. Every family with small children has ladders with seats on them, so their children can watch the parades. They sit in the seats with a bar across the front, so no one can fall out. Many of the families have themes for their costumes, especially on Mardi Gras Day.
New Orleans is a city of big extended families, and everyone is always welcoming and friendly. Our daughter has lived there for more than 30 years, and despite the hurricanes and oil spills, I don’t believe she would ever live anywhere else. I know she would be glad that you enjoyed it!
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bluzdude,
Actually, this might be the perfect year to visit New Orleans. Keep it alive and help the people to forgive those who’ve trespassed against them so egregiously.
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Chris J,
I would encourage everyone to visit New Orleans, especially for the reasons I gave to bluz.
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Judie,
I envy your daughter living the New Orleans life. I was so taken with the warmth of the people we met and the pervasive feeling of joy, this in spite of what they have endured. Let me know the next time you visit. I would love your take on how it is now in the aftermath.
I feel such a longing to go back.
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[...] This post was mentioned on Twitter by askcherlock, askcherlock. askcherlock said: New blog post: Finding New Orleans http://askcherlock.com/2010/06/finding-new-orleans/ [...]
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Your post is so beautifully written that I felt like I was there.
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We were there a few weeks ago on our way to Atlanta. We went to our favorite local restaurants, walked our granddogs on the levee, drove through City Park, went grocery shopping at Robert’s (pronounced ro bears)
We were there a year after Katrina, and it was like a ghost town. It was dusk when we got into town and we drove through familiar neighborhoods in which only one or two houses on the blocks had a light on. In the light of day, we saw the devastation–block after block of houses condemned, houses with circles drawn on them with X’s in the middle of the circle, and a letter and a number in each corner of the X indicating how many dead people or pets had been found, and how many had been rescued. This was all within 2 or 3 blocks of our daughter’s house. Imagine seeing that in your own neighborhood. Her house is 9 feet higher than some of those blocks, and except for massive water damage, her house was spared.
This trip, the talk was all about the oil spill. “They’ve forgotten about us,” she said with tears in her eyes.
One city–one old, beautiful, historical city–has taken hits that it didn’t deserve. The people are so sad.
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timethief,
Thanks so much for your kind words. Please know how much they mean coming from you.
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Judie,
“They’ve forgotten about us,” she said with tears in her eyes. That tells a complete story. I thank you for sharing this. It is heart-wrenching, but people need to know. Hearing this from you gives perspective many of us do not have. I am grateful that you took the time to share.
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We have a responsibility to our country and to our planet. Our people must not be made to suffer as the people of New Orleans have. We are not a third world country, but sometimes we act like one. Sad but true.
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What a beautiful story Cher. It takes me back to my youth when I wasn’t aware of the dangers of the world and I just lived and experienced like there was no tomorrow. Truly that is the way to live, but it’s harder now.
Your story helps reaffirm that most people are good.
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You’ve perfectly described the attraction that many share in regards to N’awlans… Every person I’ve talked to (who has visited) shares the same desire to return. During our visit a few years ago, I remember standing in line, waiting to gain entrance into the famous “Pat O’Briens” …. As we patiently waited, we struck up conversation with an overwhelmingly polite local – who hinted that the infamous “Pat O’Briens” was a tad bit touristy – and suggested a quaint little outdoor venue (a few blocks away) where we would find the best Mint Juleps New Orleans had to offer.
I’ve since ordered beignet mixture online, along with cans of coffee from Cafe DuMonde – in an attempt to recreate their famous Cafe au Late… Mine did not turn out as well…..
Ahhh, how I’d love to return.
Let’s go…. I’m ready when you are!!
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One of The Guys,
I do believe in the innate goodness of people, but the lack of pure intentions in the Gulf have diminished that. Too much today is about money, truly the root of all evil. If we are not careful, those ill-intentions can spread with cancerous speed and chemotherapy cannot heal character.
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Dear Tiffany,
Tentatively planning to go back in March. So pack your bags, and we will all share it together. How is that for quality family time?
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You painted the picture so beautifully with your description. I’ve been to New Orleans, but even if I hadn’t I could picture it from your words. It is so sad for the people there and for everyone along the Gulf Coast. My husband went to Biloxi to help with the hurricane cleanup there 2 years ago and the beaches were an enormous mess with debris washing up. I can’t imagine oil on top of that. It’s so sad.
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I don’t remember just when Mardi Gras is next year. If you go to NOLA then, please let me know so I can give you directions to the best places to view the parades. We used to go to Mardi Gras every year, and even had our own krewe, the “Krewe of Dew” because the younger guys guarded our spot and our ladders all night long on St. Charles Ave. Planning our costumes was so much fun, and setting our theme was something that was done at Thanksgiving. Even though Mardi Gras day was a game of “hurry up and wait” we still had such fun.
I used to be a “bead whore” and came back to Tucson with as much as 55 pounds of beads, which we gave out at Halloween instead of candy. I am known as the “Bead Lady” in our neighborhood here in Tucson.
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Tina T,
How wonderful that your husband went to help in Biloxi. It is all just so sad, and as of now the true damage cannot be determined. How deep is the oil within the sand, for example? What about toxins and the impact on residents as well as marine life? What will happen in the duration of hurricane season? Heart-breaking beyond belief. And for what? Greed, probably greed.
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Judie,
Your story of Mardi Gras really puts it in a new light. I guess I always envisioned debauchery, but hearing this from you sheds a whole new light on it. “Bead Lady.” I love it!
We must have been sisters in another life.
I was in Tucson a few years ago for the first time and also loved that city. It was a difficult time during an illness with a family member, but to a person, everyone was kind, warm and outreaching. I took a taxi to and from the hospital every day and invariably the cabbies were ex-hippies. Each one gave me good tips about the city and more of a history lesson than any book could have given. Much as I love Pennsylvania, I could have easily moved to Tucson. The first morning at dawn when I saw the purple mountains, I was breathless. It was at the foot of those mountains where most of the doctors I dealt with lived. The doctors could not have been kinder. Since your blog is a recent and treasured find, have you done stories about Tucson? I would love to read some.
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I lived in West Chester for a very brief time and loved the atmosphere of small town living. I could have stayed there forever, walking to the town square, the library, and the green grocer. Our time there was short, however, before we moved to Chicago.
We came to Tucson in 1998, after having lived in Memphis for quite a while. We love the southwest. It has been such an inspiration for me as an artist. I am a founding member of the Southern Arizona Art Guild, and have made many dear friends who have been inspiring to me in my work.
As you know,I started my blog in January of this year. You are certainly welcome to read my earlier posts.
If you and Rich ever want to visit here, just let us know. Rod is the best tour guide around. We are only 85 miles from the Mexican border, so bring your passports and we can haggle with the natives for trinkets!
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Judie,
Sounds awesome! Passports at the ready!
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You’re a brave girl Cher, Pa to Louisiana on $200….bet you didn’t tell your parents till you got back.
“We did what girls/women do. We opened the hood and stood there looking at its innards and not speaking and not touching anything in there. We might break something.”……yes I am sitting here laughing, thanks.
Like you, but four years out of college, I and a friend drove to Alaska via Kentucky, spent the first night at Pitt(sister), $3000 each. It was wonderful, the trip of a lifetime with so many memories and funny stories and wonderful people. A smile for you, we got stopped 4 times DUI, a song and a dance followed by a lecture and a thank you officer have a good night….politeness wouldn’t help with that one in todays world. They were different times that is for sure but they were good days.
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KAK,
Adventures are wonderful, aren’t they? The beauty is that life is an adventure, and I still have a few planned and hope for. You drove to Alaska via Kentucky, eh? Now that’s an adventure! So glad you had a great time.
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I finally got down there two years ago. My best friend from high school calls Bengals’ games on radio. (Don’t tell anyone!) I met him down there when the Bengals were there to play the Saints. Had a great time. Also spent a week in Biloxi after mucking out houses Katrina. Love the south, but I’m not one for that much heat and humidity… so I doubt I could live there. But the culture (food, music, accents, architecture, etc.) is so rich. Great post.
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Carpetbagger,
I would have guessed that you would have helped in the aftermath of Katrina. That is the kind of good heart you have. And you’re right; the South does have much to offer. Not sure I could live there either, but I really want to visit again. That’s the thing about posts, sometimes. Awakenings!
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Oh Cher, I will never forget this story. it’s as clear to me now as it was to you then that you were truly in a state of magic. many of us don’t understand how close we are entwined with the universe, until we get to nola. forgive my absence, as we are in a time of mourning for five members of our family who have all left us within seven days. that in itself is pure magic.
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My Dear RE,
I am so terribly sad for your loss. Feel a warm hug and know that you are in my heart and prayers. Magic. It has a way of letting us know that life is to be savored, and that those we love may not always be with us. We must make the moments count. You, my friend, are a blessing.
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