Bonding Through The Culture…and Traumatic Experiences

Blog Post #2: Currently in New Orleans- Just finished reading Interview With The Vampire 

Started writing on May 20, 2022 at 9:55 p.m.

Los Angeles and New Orleans, two states in the same country, yet they feel like two completely different worlds apart. The way of life in Los Angeles, a place where I’ve spent the entire twenty-one years of life, almost feels like a fever dream that I left behind and I’ve only been in New Orleans for about 6 days. That isn’t even a whole entire week. Leaving Los Angeles to go to Grand Isle was an adjustment, and then to go from Grand Isle to New Orleans was an even bigger drastic change. It felt like I had to quickly become accustomed to my surroundings and the realization of just how contrasting things are in New Orleans to Grand Isle’s calming fortress of solitude hit me right in the face the exact first night here. 

My peers and I checked into the hotel with the anticipation of exploring the city that very first night. We had all decided that we would go to Bourbon street. What I was expecting was for all of us to have an incredibly fun night full of the infamous New Orleans culture, which we did indeed get, but not exactly how we wanted. What came with the great side of the New Orleans culture, also came the bad side of it. The beginning of our night was filled with live jazz music played in the streets, colored beads flying in the air, the loud laughs of people having a good time, and the big rush of people that consisted of tourists and people who live here. The flashing neon lights almost blinded me as I was being pulled along with the rest of the group. We walked down Bourbon street and I have to say, it was a lot to take in. The night took a drastic turn for the worst when six of us decided that we wanted to step into a quiet IHOP for dinner. Before even getting our food we were exposed to the crime in New Orleans. We had to run out of IHOP terrified, and then we encountered a very rude server when we tried to order pizza. The one thing that kept running through my mind that night was “when will it end?”. We hadn’t even been in New Orleans for a full twenty-fours and we had already seen and been through so much. It was as if the culture of the infamous city that I was so excited to see and experience hit me all at once and I had to play catch up so I could become acquainted with everything. I was hoping to do that gradually as the days went on, but the new city definitely had other plans. I saw New Orleans much differently after that first night. I sort of feel like even though what we experienced was unfortunate and somewhat traumatizing I kind of see it as a blessing and a curse because it showed me a lot. I’m glad I know how the city actually is, instead of continuing to believe this made up perfect setting that lived in my head. 

“I understand, I am just beginning, I am just beginning to understand.”

— Anne Rice

With all negative things aside, I found myself wanting to know more about the city. Wanting to know just what made this city the way it was, crime included. I wanted to know why so many people always feel the need to tell me and my peers to “be careful out here” when they notice that we aren’t from New Orleans. I was hungry to learn more and gain as much knowledge as I can about this city that I was going to be residing in for a couple of weeks and I knew that I couldn't do this without immersing myself into everything as a whole. The culture, the music, the people, the parades, and the streets is all I wanted to see and explore. That is exactly what me and my peers did and I would say that it has brought us as a group so much closer. These feelings that consumed me reminded me so much of Louis and Claudia from Interview With The Vampire when they were trying to seek the knowledge they craved from Lestat and he wasn’t telling them anything they wanted to know, so they took matters into their own hands and searched for it. Well… I don’t think I myself would take such a violent approach like they did, but the point of going out of my way to absorb as much knowledge about the city of New Orleans was definitely met. 

During my time here, the whole class has done a lot! We’ve explored the French Quarter many times and even all got matching tee shirts from a local boutique, seen a couple of parks, danced to the live jazz music played on the streets, tried a plethora of cajun food, celebrated a special someone’s birthday, visited a pharmacy and voodoo museum, went to a huge street parade—which I have to say was one of my favorite moments—and lastly we explored Bourbon street, during the day time though, and might I add it felt much safer to walk around there this time. We even got to examine and enjoy the beautiful architecture of the houses and buildings in the city. Many of the houses were such crazy bright colors, hot pink, purple, and lime green. If I had to choose, my favorite house that we visited was definitely the house they used to film season three of American Horror Story: Coven! The parade itself was such an eye opening experience full of rich culture that you could not see anywhere else, but in New Orleans. The best thing about doing all of these things is that we as a class got to do it all together. While experiencing everything as a class, I can see they have the same drive as I do to absorb all the knowledge they possibly can about this incredible city we have the privilege of learning about. Exploring the city together has brought us all so much closer. I haven’t known everyone here that long, but surprisingly we all feel like family already. We care so deeply for each other and I truly do think that the want and love for exploring the city as a group is the reason for that. I know that once this trip is over and we go back home, we will all continue to be so close and stay in touch. If I am being completely honest, I believe that it was that crazy moment in IHOP on the first night where I felt like some of us bonded over something, even if it wasn’t the best thing to experience. It was then when I realized that in any situation, we all have each other’s backs and we truly want to see everyone safe. 

While enjoying life in New Orleans and taking it all in, I am starting to realize that every moment is so beautiful and you have to make them all count. Realizing this makes me truly understand the message Louis is trying to get across to the young boy that interviews him. Being immortal makes it harder to enjoy life and appreciate how precious it is. Being mortal and knowing that time is precious, that every breath you take is timed makes you enjoy life and the connections you make much more. 

“Every moment must be first known and then savored.”

— Anne Rice

Besides the incredible and interesting information I’m learning about the history of the city and how it came to be, I am also learning the importance of friendship. All of my peers have gotten me through a lot mentally, emotionally, and academically. I am very excited to continue growing these friendships and am very grateful that I am able to do so. May this trip continue to be one for the books…and not have us encounter any more traumatic experiences.

Music for the Soul

“Every moment must be first known and then savored”

— Anne Rice, Interview with the Vampire

Street jazz in the French Quarter

Arriving in New Orleans was like being shaken awake from a nearly comatose state we existed in throughout Grand Isle. We had shifted away from the isolated island lifestyle where the secret to happiness lay between the crashing waves and warm sand. The Big Easy introduced itself to us with a welcoming spirit that celebrated eccentricity. 

Upon our check-in to the Lafayette Hotel, the colorful street lights peaked through the front windows and we felt the floor shake from the grumbling race cars just around the corner. Albeit we were more fitted for a restful night's rest, the excitement of the hustling and bustling city lured us away from our beds towards the commotion. Our eleven-person party raided Canal Street in search of something quick to eat and for the source of all the excitement we were hearing from the hotel rooms. Canal Street resembles the Las Vegas Strip; with weekenders swarming the street, packing the diverse eateries, bars, shops, and showrooms. Neon signs lit up the night sky, luring people in with promises of $5 daiquiris and hot fried chicken. The smells, I will admit, are that of any big city – unpleasant, confusing, and quite honestly, a little rancid. This made me reflect back on the fresh smell of ocean breeze and seaweed in Grand Isle, assuring me that I was far away from the gulf. 

As we wandered throughout the area, we eventually stumbled onto Bourbon Street. And within moments we were immediately swarmed by scammers and swindlers as our young faces and heavy backpacks screamed: “We are tourists!” They were mostly older men who were offering business cards, CDs, beads, flowers, free drinks, and asked several questions they had no business knowing the answers to. Also, the men of Bourbon Street wasted no time revealing their “french” flirtatious nature with the women of our group with their unwavering stares and tactless cat calls. The attention was unwanted to say the least, however, in comparison to Grand Isle we were at least being acknowledged. 

We had barely walked a couple feet before we were welcomed by a scrappy street jazz group. Their instruments rang down the street, drawing in the crowd of nightcrawlers and drunken bar hoppers. The most surprising aspect about the group was not their energetic performance but the fact that they did not look how I expected a traditional New Orleans jazz band to look. In my mind, I was envisioning a group of older black men, handsomely dressed, and each one with a shiny gold instrument. To my amazement, the members in the band seemed to be no older than we were. They ranged from 10 to 30 years old and were dressed (Key and I agreed) no different than the guys who played pickup basketball around the corner of our houses. The informality of the experience was surprising but made the experience more authentic to the casual, laid back nature of New Orleans natives. We were filled with adrenaline as the stomping, swinging, syncopated beat just made us want to wake up and dance!

For our first morning in the French Quarter we wandered around enjoying the Creole architecture, as Andrew pointed out how French and Spanish influences resonate through them. There was a significant lack of chain stores and restaurants in the quarter, and an obvious community support of small businesses, historical preservation, and artwork expression. Most importantly, we were refreshed to be away from the predominantly white, heavily southern people from Grand Isle, in a city that is majority black.

In the center of the quarter, we came across another jazz band. The way that the music drew in people speaks to the soul and it is written on people's faces. The band members were dancing around with their instruments as if they were parts of them. Connecting with each other without the formality of sheet music and a predictable melody. It was a party. 

They used instruments with much wear and in fact used instruments that were not even instruments anymore: There was one boy who was playing his own drum and eventually used his solo time to churn up a beat using the battered “Bourbon Street” road sign just a foot above his head. It reminded me of this quote from Coming Through Slaughter that described Buddy Bolden’s music as having “so little wisdom that you want to clean nearly every note he passed, passed it seemed along the way as if traveling in a car, passed before he even approached it and saw it properly. There was no control except the mood of his power … and it is for this reason it is good you never heard him play on recordings. If you never heard him play some place where the weather for instance could change the next series of notes—then you should never have heard him at all.” This jazz could never be recreated second-hand, it reflects exactly how the artist feels in that moment, and cannot be restricted by a script. 

As the night encroached we took on the rumored Frenchmen Street that the locals have recommended for a fun night on the town for Key’s birthday. Once we hopped out of our Uber we saw how the street had transformed from its calm, lazy, quiet, town-like feeling it had during the day. It felt like we had put on a pair of goggles that showed different characters and colors in the same scene we experienced in the morning. An older white lady had gone out of her way to teach us about a New Orleans tradition that is pinning money to a birthday sash for good luck. She had pulled a five dollar bill from her pocket to pin on Key. The small buildings that were squished together down the street were bursting out of their seams with people. The different types of partygoers and music were spilling out from the small front doors. Each one invited a different world for us to explore, making it harder and harder to figure out where we are going to start. The lyrics of the music mix together and become hard to make out. However what resonates the most is the sound of the drums from each place. Our hearts were beating faster to catch up with the drummers. 

The first bar we entered was called NOLA 30/90 and before we walked inside the bouncer in front was sweet enough to pin a dollar to Key’s sash. The small wooden bar had been stuffed with people who were all surrounding the main band which consisted of a pianist, a guitarist, an electric guitarist, and a lead singer. The members of the band were obviously laying their souls before the crowd as they got into the music, sweating and banging their heads to the rhythms. I was most obsessed with the lead singer who had a powerful alto voice that could shake the walls. Her passion not only showed on her face but on the faces of the people in the crowd who were being moved by her.

The second bar we entered had a DJ who was playing mainly reggae. This bar had completely different demographics than the first place we went into; the crowd was older and predominantly black. The music had everything to do with rhythm. People were flooding the dance floor to groove to the beat and many people were having fun with the trending Nigerian dance move called butterfly footwork or “happy feet”. The difference between the LA club scene and here was that there was less of the feeling of people picking up other people, less people trying to socialize, and less people trying to get the attention of the DJ. The experience was solely for the enjoyment of the music.

The peak of my musical experience at New Orleans went down in Preservation Hall. The hall is located in the heart of the French Quarter and the venue introduced us to an intimate, traditional jazz concert that had an ensemble of 7 instrumentalists: the piano, the drums, the saxophone, the trombone, the trumpet, the cello, and the clarinet. Their first piece started like a whisper, it seemed like a conversation, like they were just getting to know us. As the pieces went on the personalities of each member of the jazz band shown through. Their several years playing together was evident in the cohesiveness of the performance and with their loving and relaxed demeanor they all maintained throughout the songs. The music had a calming effect on me, it was warming my soul, some parts even bringing me to tears to watch. I would say that New Orleans music is more than moving, it takes over my body, mind and soul. The music allows me to enter the thoughts of the musician, feeling every emotion they feel. New Orleans music is the language that translated the rich culture of the city, allowing me to understand before I savored the moments.

An Architectural Fossil

5.23.2022

For me, this trip has served to restore my passion towards my career. You see, I have always held a certain fascination with architecture since I was young. However, through my undergraduate studies I felt a disappointment with how commercialized design has become; questioning my passion. As an architectural engineer, I doubted my purpose in joining a course like this one focused on culture and history. Yet, through my time here I have realized that it is all interconnected, inspiring me with designs that reflect humanity.

Grand Isle Stilt Homes

When studying architecture, you always hear about Italy or most European countries; Louisiana is nowhere to be found in these discussions. But in my opinion, it ought to be. Through our stay in the Pelican state, I have realized that architecture is more than just aesthetics; it tells a story. This understanding all started through our ventures in Grand Isle in which I questioned the houses on stilts which reflect the people’s resistance to the geographic storm surge suffered by the region. These stilts tell visitors a story of resistance that many across the United States would not understand. 

There is something interesting about Louisiana architecture as a whole despite the many differences throughout the state. These differences can be more visibly observed when traveling inwards toward New Orleans. Throughout the journey, you can see a shift in residence styles through the bayou that illustrate the harsh conditions in the wetlands. Continuing inland, the architectural shift shows the progress of engineering and development through the levees that surround the Mississippi; creating the illusion of floating ships as described in the novel, Interview with a Vampire. Yet, all these architectural differences showcase the common experiences of the Louisiana People.

Map of New Orleans showing its resemblance to a crescent

The Shop which was a refurbished Ice Cream Factory turned studio space.

This is even more prevalent in the city of New Orleans, in which the architecture appears timeless as a sort of relic or fossil of the past. Walking through the streets, you get this feel of decay that adds a sense of realism to the historic accounts being told. Even with visiting the Shop, you can learn about the history of Ice Cream development in the early days through its members. With every corner you turn and every step you take in this city, it is almost as if another story is being revealed. With just walking, you can sort of feel the pathway revolving around the river giving a clue that this city has always thrived on being a port. This is what has led to the nickname “Crescent City'', as the grid resembles this sort of shape as a result. You could also observe the scattered bricks on the roads giving age to the city and on the sidewalks you can see name tiles on the floor or wall posts showing the different ownerships of New Orleans over time.

Moreover, if you walk towards the corner of Jackson Square you have the Pontabla Apartments which not only serve as a beautiful relic but showcase Micaela’s feminism in a period in which real estate and business were dominated by men. In this same plaza, we can find the Cathedral that serves as the tallest building in the quarter alluding to the reconstruction period of the United States after the Civil War and can still serve as a representative piece of the progress we have yet to make as a country. In a different corner of the city, we have the shotguns of the Tremine that architecturally speaking are symbolic and air a resemblance to the see-through layouts of the Slave Cabins that can be viewed in the Whitney Plantation.

Wall Post showing how New Orleans was once under Spanish Rule

Comparison of Slave Cabin to Shotgun

Meanwhile, in another part we have the Central Business District that mirrors that of wall street. Preservation Hall on the other side of town serves as a remnant of the early development of jazz. We also have the creole townhouses of the quarter that are an architectural testament to the modern fusion of Spanish and French cultures in New Orleans as visible on the detailed metal work of the balconies. The balconies in itself tell a story and give an appearance of interwoven vines frozen in time. Sometimes, it can be observed as you are walking through the city that these balcony patterns are tangled with flowers, leaves, and other motifs from nature. For me, the infused plants add a sense of elegance and remind me that as humans we often forget that our lives depend on nature even through industrialization. I know that through my residence in Los Angeles, I have felt depressed because of that disconnect with green spaces in the architectural style. So I can imagine that these plants are one of the many reasons that the citizens of New Orleans are often viewed as full of life.

Metalwork of balconies in French Quarter featuring plants

Lastly, we have the historic mansions of the garden district that reflect traditional ideals of southern elegance and privilege. Most of the houses in these areas have plaques that almost serve as a visual representation of the area being a living, breathing museum. Most of the houses in this area are composed of the Greek Revival style, featuring grand white Corinthian and Ionic Columns. It is almost as if this style was purposefully chosen to demonstrate power as many of the owners of these houses were slave owners. Walking through this district, you can almost feel the wealth through the detailing of either the facade or gate in which some houses had carved stone animals reminiscent of family seals similar to Game of Thrones. The roofs of these homes can also be observed to be shaped differently which can be attributed to the fact that they were designed for the comfort of white wealthy plantation owners. This area is also home to the famous Buckner Mansion that was featured as the home of a coven of witches in American Horror Story. However, in reality this mansion was owned by a cotton king-pin named Henry Sullivan Buckner and features an inscription on the floor surrounding education and color which is ironic considering the history of the mansion. 

Buckner Mansion in Garden District

Overall, through my personal exploration of New Orleans I would like to compare the city  to that of a Vampire. Vampires are immortal, yet they have a sense of decay to them. This city has developed throughout the years, yet, the past has remained prevalent. It's almost as if the city looks young but feels old. Observing how the architecture in New Orleans embodies its  history reminds me of a quote in Coming through a Slaughter that touches upon ice being remnants of the Ice age. For me, New Orleans Architecture showed me that architecture is an artform that should be about capturing the essence and experiences of a society to live through the ages.

“As if everything in the world is the history of Ice”

— Coming Through a Slaughter

Exploring Queer New Orleans

“It didn’t seem to me to be a sadness for Lestat, for that smart, gay vampire who used to live there then. It seemed a sadness for something else, something beyond Lestat that only included him”

— Anne Rice

On the third day of my stay at New Orleans, I finished reading Anne Rice’s “Interview with a Vampire” at 2 am, in bed. My first thought, as I reached the last page was: “Wow, this book is so queer!” As someone who identifies as queer, I was vaguely aware of the cult following that the movie adaptation of this book had gathered within gay communities, but I had not anticipated queerness being so explicit in the book. While I do not know Rice’s exact intentions with this queer-coding, the quote suggests that the queerness of her vampires moves past just individuals such as Lestat; it is “something beyond,” that seems to be submerged in the culture of New Orleans. So, over the past few days, in my exploration of the city, I have tried to unravel the city’s unique queerness; particularly, in the French Quarter. 

As I gaze out of the window of my room on the fifth floor of Hotel Lafayette, the first thing that grabs my attention is a pride flag hanging from the window of a building, a block away from where we’re staying. There is no shortage of queer visibility in New Orleans, especially in this time of the year. The flags are peppered throughout the city in balconies, bars, and storefronts; they are anticipating pride month (June). Walking through the city, I have even been greeted by strangers with the ‘limp-wrist,’ signal for queerness. 

“This was New Orleans, a magical and magnificent place to live. In which a vampire . . . might attract no more notice in the evening than hundreds of other exotic creatures”

— Anne Rice

Although Louis, Lestat, and Claudia, the three vampire protagonists of Rice’s novel, live, quite literally, in the darkness, there is something remarkably disruptive about New Orleans that lends itself to their vampiric eccentricity. The very fact that the three are living together as found-family of two men and their daughter in 19th century New Orleans is radical to envision. 

Townhouses at the French Quarter

Yet, I do not want to romanticize the vampires of Rice’s novel, and the culture of New Orleans. The exploitation of enslaved people grounds the city’s cruel history.  As a port city, New Orleans was a prime location for the auctioning of enslaved people. In our seminars, we learnt that the Business district, where we are staying, used to be full of auction blocks and slave-pens, which have now inconspicously been transformed into hotels, restaurants, and banks. Before coming to New Orleans, Louis and Lestat ran a sugar-plantation. In order to conceal their identities, they burn down the entire place, massacring the enslaved people who work there. They live in a lavish townhouse in the French Quarter with enslaved domestic servants. Enslaved people are depicted most frequently as unnamed victims of the vampires’ killings. I kept this parallel history in mind as I ventured through the quarter.

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Hotel Monteleone is hard to miss

To better understand the queer history of New Orleans, I looked into important landmarks in the city, and marked them virtually on my map. Hotel Monteleone, where Truman Capote lived, whose large sign towers over the French Quarter, and the house of Tennesse Williams were literary landmarks that we will probably visit as a group later in the trip. Instead, I was particularly interested in two gay bars – sites of queer socializing and organizing. 

The first of these bars was called “Cafe Lafitte in Exile,” named after the notorious French pirate Jean Lafitte. To approach the bar, I walked down the infamous Bourbon street. Although it was the early afternoon, the street was grimy and brimming with partying tourists. Still, the licentiousness and unruly decadence of Bourbon is a significant aspect of the city. Anne Rice’s novel draws from this licentiousness. She describes Lestat sucking Louis’ blood in rich erotic detail, as they hear the throbbing of each other’s hearts. Lestat forms an intimate relationship with a musician boy who ‘allowed’ Lestat to feed on him while he slept. 

That said, the bar cannot simply be reduced to the licentiousness of Bourbon. Established in 1933, the bar is one of the oldest gay bars to be operating continuously in US history. As I walked to Cafe Lafitte in Exile, an archaic bar called Lafitte’s Blacksmith Shop caught my eye. Later, I learnt that this was the original location of the bar, before 1953, when conflict with the landlord, ironically, exiled the bar down the block to where it is now. Guests dressed up as famous figures in exile such as Napoleon and Oscar Wilde to commemorate its reopening. Lafitte, as a pirate too, was frequently in exile. The notion of being in exile perfectly embodies the queer experience with its transgression and embrace of otherness. 

Lafitte Blacksmith Shop

Cafe Lafitte in Exile

“A fugitive and a vagabond shalt thou be in the earth”

— Anne Rice

The ‘fugitive’ and ‘vagabond’ vampires of Rice’s novel are constantly in search of community. While this status of being in ‘exile’ can embraced and celebrated, the novel also makes it feel melancholic. Louis and Claudia’s search for meaning and community is futile, as it takes them to France, where Claudia dies. Louis eventually returns alone to New Orleans. He is filled with a constant sadness and sense of loss. 

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The firetruck about to pass by me at Crescent City Books

On the way back from one of our group’s outings to the French Quarter to a concert at the Preservation Jazz Hall, I split from the group and decided to pass by the second bar marked on my map: The Jimani. The purpose of my visit, however, was the UpStairs lounge, a former gay bar, that used to operate on the floor above the Jimani. On June 24, 1973, this gay bar had an arson attack that killed 32 people and injured 15. 

As I strolled down Chartres Street, I could faintly smell a pungent odor of smoke. I thought my brain was vividly imagining things, given the history of the space I was approaching. Ignoring this as delusion, I continued further down the street. I stopped to admire the quaint “Crescent City Books.” Suddenly, the piercing sound of sirens broke through the earphones I was wearing. A firetruck, with its flashing red-lights, hurried past me. It wasn’t heading in the direction I was, fortunately. Yet, this coincidence was tragically surreal.

Immediate aftermath of the arson attack

Image from wwno.org

Commemorative plaque

Image from wwno.org

The UpStairs lounge building today

Standing across the street from the building, staring at the decaying green walls and shuttered windows, I felt that sense of loss. I was reminded of the specter of violence that haunts queer history. Once, when waiting in the lobby of our hotel, a queer individual who works there, narrated an incident of them being fired from another hotel for being “too gay” (Unfortunately, since their shift was ending, I never got the chance to ask them their name). In different forms, this specter of violence persists, despite the celebration of queerness in the city. 

My short pilgrimage through the French Quarter was more often grim than joyous. Yet, it also marked the importance of communities that hold onto their connections through the violence of the past. Communities that are unified in their joint celebration of difference. 

Hiding in Plain Sight

New Orleans: The Big Easy, The Crescent City, The Birthplace of Jazz, Crawfish Town. These nicknames show the glitz and glamour that we all think of when we talk about New Orleans. It is colorful, vibrant, and a city of celebration that attracts people from all walks of life. We know New Orleans for Mardi Gras, for live music, and as a culinary capital of the United States. However, many of us visiting this city don’t acknowledge the dark history that all this liveliness was built upon. Our journey Bookpacking thus far has allowed us to truly see the trauma of New Orleans, much of which is hiding in plain sight…

 After arriving to the city at night, we decided to explore and get some food. Since we had been in Grand Isle starring into nothingness for 3 days, I was taken aback by all the bright lights. Everywhere I looked I saw crowds of people, live jazz bands, and colorful signs. This is the New Orleans that I have always known and heard about. It is the New Orleans that comes up on Google Images. It is the New Orleans that brings such joy to those experiencing it. I knew that New Orleans had a haunted side, but often becomes part of the tourist culture (i.e. the ghost tours). Reading Interview With The Vampire and thoroughly discussing the history of this place in seminar gave me a better look into the actual roots of The Big Easy.

For our first full day in New Orleans, we headed over to the French Quarter to explore this infamous part of the city. I remember feeling like I had time traveled. The buildings and roads looked completely untouched, and I got a first-hand glimpse into what life would’ve been like for the Creoles of New Orleans way back then. The area is still bustling with tourists, live performances, shops, and restaurants of every cuisine. From first glance, it seemed as though the French Quarter had this magical sense about it since its very founding. In fact, while reading Interview With the Vampire, Louis describes the opulence of this city, ignoring all the trauma once found on these very same streets.

Both photos taken from Google Images

“…a figure dressed for evening appeared at the railings, the glitter of jewels at her throat, her perfume adding a lush evanescent spice to the flowers in the air.”

— Anne Rice, Interview with the Vampire

New Orleans served as a symbol of wealth: if you lived in the French Quarter, it was a sign that you were successful. Even to this day, the French Quarter gives this same feeling. However, as we walked down these streets, I couldn’t help but think of the people whose stories will never be known, as they were the foundation to creating such a beautiful city still standing to this day. This is the French Quarter that Louis describes, and like many other wealthy individuals at the time, ignored the darkness that this city also created. His words help contribute to this culture of only focusing on the opulence and wealth of history. It is only through Bookpacking this city that we understood the trauma of the past (to the best that we can).

 A few days later we took a trip to the Garden District. The Garden District was the area where the Americans lived, and it is full of these beautiful mansions. The sidewalks feel untouched, with the roots of the oak trees bursting through the cobblestones. I felt like I had entered some dystopic fantasy world where everyone lived these lavish lives. As I continued to marvel at the architecture, I discovered that many of these were former plantations. The pain and suffering of the enslaved people working on these pieces of land were masked by the luxury of these huge estates. Anybody walking through the area would unaware of the historical atrocities that happened right before their eyes. Even Louis, as he describes himself walking through this area, ignores the fact that this was the center of the worst part of American History.

“I could still find in the Uptown Garden District…the moonlight under its magnolia trees…I knew the same sweetness and peace I’d known in the old days…There were the honeysuckle and the roses, the glimpse, and the glimpse of Corinthian columns against the stars; and outside the gate were dreamy streets, other mansions…it was a citadel of grace.”

— Anne Rice, Interview with the Vampire

Bookpacking often allows us to feel better connected to our surrounding areas, but to be completely honest, Louis’ words made me feel more disconnected from New Orleans. He was describing what I see on the surface, but it is so hard for me not see the years of oppression hiding in plain sight behind these beautiful mansions. To be honest, it helps bury this history even more. I found it hard for myself to focus on the charm of the Garden District, when all I could think about was these unacknowledged stories.

The next day on our way to Storyville, we took a walk through the Central Business District. In seminar, we talked about how the very area that our hotel is in was where the slave auction houses were housed. Society’s elite living in the French Quarter did not want this “distastefulness” near their homes, so they made the Business District just outside of the French Quarter the hub for the slave market. While walking around, I remember all of us saying “It looks like Wall Street”, or “I feel like I’m in Manhattan right now!”. A street filled with wealth and success was built upon the buying and selling of other humans. There is no acknowledgement in the Central Business District of what came before these banks. Any person working in these buildings or walking passed would be completely ignorant not knowing that what happened over 150 years ago on this very same street. It’s moments like these that I am grateful to be experiencing New Orleans through the lens of a Bookpacker. We can feel all the exciting aspects of the city while acknowledging the historical obscenities that once happened on the very sidewalks that we step foot on.

Walking through the Central Business District

My experience Bookpacking through New Orleans has had a much more profound effect on me than traveling regularly. I can look past and see the deeply rooted traumatic history that this city has created. Cities such as New Orleans don’t want to acknowledge their past, leaving many visitors unaware of the extent of it. Uncovering and understanding this history in the exact places that they occurred has been a huge reason why I have enjoyed being in New Orleans so far. Everything that we’ve done so far only makes me more excited to do the same in other parts of Louisiana.

A Taste of Camaraderie

The first night in New Orleans was a night I will not forget. The setting went as follows: a blending of old and new infrastructure, streetcars whizzing by in every direction, and a Willie’s Chicken Shack and daiquiri dispenser on nearly every corner. This town was a sinner’s best nightmare. I could not think of a better novel to prepare us for these ferocious streets other than Anne Rice’s Interview with The Vampire. Rice was a New Orleans native, born in the 1940s under a Catholic household. By the 1970s, Rice had a daughter who died of leukemia at the age of five. In 1976, Rice published this novel; one of the characters is a young vampire girl named Claudia, who is given a second chance at life after losing her parents. This new life, however, is one that is filled with death and despair. Although Claudia can no longer physically age, her mind ages with the times of her surroundings, molding her into an intelligent and fierce creature of the night.

“I saw my real gods…the gods of most men. Food, drink, and security in conformity.”

— Anne Rice, Interview with the Vampire

If I were a vampire, where would be the best place to masquerade? Well look no further than Bourbon Street. Since this was our first night in the Big Easy, me and the gang decided that it was time to immerse ourselves in one of the most notorious spots of this town. As I take each step, my eyesight was illuminated by all the dark wonders: debauchery, gluttony, and did I forget to mention the endless pizza splice counters? But do not be fooled by the bright neon lights, the kind solicitors, and the boisterous street performers. Just a like vampire, this street has fangs and will not give a second thought into who it punctures. So, as a gentle warning: do not venture into the night unless you have a companion, or two, by your side. As depicted through the words of the Frenchman Louis, companionship is a natural phenomenon that goes beyond just human tendency. Everywhere he ventures, Lestat and Claudia will be by his side to ride out the night until they must obey the rays of the sun and crawl back into the dank coffins from which they slumber.

“It was as if the very air were perfumed and peculiar there, and I felt an extraordinary ease walking on those warm, flat pavements, under those familiar oaks, and listening to the ceaseless vibrant living sounds of the night.”

— Anne Rice, Interview with the Vampire

Even after decades of living in New Orleans, Louis sees no immense change to the familiar sights and structures that he grew up admiring. In one of his descriptions of the city, Louis recalls the Garden District. Filled with mansions of all sizes and shapes, the district gives off this rich and luxurious oasis, distant yet connected to the heart of downtown NOLA. Every street that we walked on, we were greeted by these magnificent oak trees. The trees were nearly as tall as the mansions, with branches and limbs that could stretch across an entire intersection. These lengthy branches served a doubled-edged purpose: as communication lines, sending signals among the foliage on how to extract the most nutrients. Also, the limbs looked as if they were plotting on how to rip up the pavement and other man-made barriers. In the midst of these mega and mini mansions were two-story homes called double galleries. At this point, the French-Colonial theme has hit its highest stride: multiple columns on each floor, stacked onto each other in unison to showcase solidarity in the wake of the nature’s unkind shrubbery. This was a place where home dwellers could practice the exteriors of symmetry safely from the unknown and untouched green chaos that lay outside their doors. But in all honesty, I really did like these galleries as it made me appreciate the unique art styles in the cozy neighborhood that our group visited the day before: Treme.

Treme is one of those towns where people are enthusiastic about home design and, more importantly, expressing their self through that design. Gone were the lavish mansion-style homes and pompous two-story galleries; instead, we were welcomed by vibrant and colorful cottages and townhouses with the exception of a few shotgun houses to add some wild tunes to the scenery. Just to give a quick clarification on the differences, the cottages are smaller and usually just a single floor level. Townhouses, on the other hand, will typically be two stories high and are occasionally wrapped around by an ornate balcony. Shotgun houses, in contrast, are way tinier in square footage but do offer a sizable length, kind of like a loaf of bread. It was enlightening to be a part of these Creole roots, where people could live peacefully and express their chaotically beautiful minds on full display. Although they lacked freshly cut lawns, the individual looks of these homes more than compensated for this loss. Some boasted a purple haze coating, others a watermelon glaze. In comparison to the Garden District, we are again seeing the theme of unification, a different note is being played: unity through differentiation. Neighbors of all colors and backgrounds are coming together to bring something new to the band, and with each addition the artistic sound becomes richer and more whole.

This wood was repurposed from the devastation left by Hurricane Katrina.

“There was no city in America like New Orleans. It was filled not only with the French and Spanish of all classes who had formed in part its peculiar aristocracy, but later with immigrants of all kinds, the Irish and German in particular.”

— Anne Rice, Interview with the Vampire

During our brief stroll through Saint Louis Cemetery – No. 2 to be specific – I noticed that the names of the perished were not only names of French and Spanish descent. There were also Italian and German bones under the soil that I walked on. This speaks to Louis’s quote of the flooding of immigrants in the earlier days of New Orleans’s founding years. In the back of the cemetery were these massive mausoleum structures that stored dozens upon dozens of remains that belonged to a single guild, charity, and even a union workforce. One of these groups that caught my attention was the “Societee de Bienfaisance des Bouchers,” a society for butchers incorporated in 1867. Another community I found was “Cotton Yard Men,” incorporated in 1880. These men shared the same space just as they did in their former occupation but with their only means of company being the tall grass poking out of the red brick. Even if their souls did not find any loved ones or could not rest by the families they were born with, these men could depend on their secondary brothers to be there. This is the spirit of camaraderie at its best moments; through their involuntary connection with Lestat, Louis and Claudia form an unusual but necessary bond. In some ways, Louis is like a father to Claudia, guiding her on her vampiric transition with his possessed knowledge. While the years go by, their connection only grows stronger as their loved ones perish with their former lives. It is up to the next generation to tend to the needs of these graves, and the one after that.

Before going to the number 2, our original plan was to check out the St. Louis Cemetery No. 1. Unfortunately, due to serious grave decay, this location was closed for repairs. This city has been dealt two lethal blows: first COVID, then Hurricane Ida. The financial burden now looms over the restless souls which remain under the tombstones.

As our group headed out, we came across a seasoned veteran of the area by the name of Victoria (Vicky). Vicky was a kind old lady who knew a thing or two about these streets and gave us context on the current situation with the Mardi Gras parades, particularly with the Second Line. This is a group dedicated to not just filling the NOLA streets with jazz, but also to provide financial support for the proper burying of loved ones. Along with providing charitable works, there are groups like the Money Wasters whose civic duty is to uphold the community and its vibrant culture. However, as explained by Vicky, some of these groups have fallen on their obligations to look after the member’s generational graves, resulting in decay, deterioration, and – in some cases – significant cracking. This should not be the case; the second generation must be there for their members or else risk losing a piece of their heritage. The names on the stones may age, but the love for the family – whether related or not – shall never falter. After we thanked and said our goodbyes to Vicky, we marched on in search of the next divine meal. I could hear the bass of my stomach getting louder, a rumbling which could only be calmed by the tastes and smells of NOLA’s finest Southern cooking.

The first of many dining experiences in the Big Easy started with the birthday of one of our own. To celebrate Key’s turning of twenty-three, we gathered at Evangeline, a Creole / Cajun restaurant with high-end fixings. When the gang and I arrived, the waitress moved us to the outside seating, where a long table awaited us. We took our chairs and our eyes were immediately glued onto the menu…or at least mine were. This establishment had all the Creole essentials, with some fine dining twists in the mix. Tonight was not the night to play it safe; it was time that I ventured out of my comfort zone and explored the lesser known aspects of the Creole cuisine underworld. To assist my palate was a French 75, a concoction of lemon juice and champagne with a hint of gin. The order went in as follows: fried okra, fried green tomatoes, and alligator Creole. Let’s talk about alligator meat. Have you ever eaten gator? Are you afraid of the texture? Well, I sure as heck was until the plate came over. On the bottom of the simmered gator bits were diced tomatoes, soaked in an acidic bath and fluffy white rice soaking in both the tomato and the tangy sauce. All these flavorful notes were in sync when I put that first spoonful to my mouth. The gator, to my surprise, had a chicken-like texture backed with the bite of a cow. Yes, it was like eating a juicy, fatty piece of steak but with less of the guilt. As I munched down on my prey, I slowly raised my glass in honor of the birthday celebration. Dessert was not out of the picture; the gang made an unanimous decision to order beignets – bread pudding style – as well as a brown butter sugar cake…don’t even get me started on this cake. It was like biting into a warm block of sugar with oozing brown sugar syrup dripping down it. The flavor was extremely rich but delightful. This event would go down in history as one of my most deliciously satisfying nights in the city. Little did I know this euphoric feeling would only last so long.

The next day, me and some of the gang ventured back into Frenchman Street, a vibrant destination for those who desire a little bit of live music and a little bit of fresh seafood. One of the restaurants we stopped at was this jazz & blues bar named 30/90 NOLA. 30/90 was the place to come after a long day of parading; live jazz music filled the atmosphere, washing over our fragile minds and persuading us to partake in a jig. In the back of the bar was where we sat, outside in the semi-cool shade. Our group was greeted by a caterer whose Instagram handle is ChefDJ504. The caterer did not bring us any hip-hop beats, but she sure did know how to whip up a mean crawfish boil. Did I mention that this was going to be my very first time eating crawfish? Along with the boil, we ordered an abundance of delicacies including jambalaya, po’boys, gumbo, boudin, mini muffulettas, and a lake’s worth of fresh oysters. The muffulettas had left much to desire as this wasn’t my first rodeo with iconic sandwich. This dish would not exist if it wasn’t for the early Italian immigrants who accepted and made this city their new home. As the dishes kept rotating in, my nasal passages picked up a salty, spicy, fish-like aroma originating from the caterer’s pot. The crawfish was ready to be devoured by hangry college students. The technique for consumption went like this: twist the head off and suck out the juices, followed up by the peeling of the shell and eating the delicate meat. At first bite, I was met with a vicious coughing brought on by the pungent spices. When the spices subsided, I licked my lips and took a deep breathe…absolute satisfaction. This was a common Creole dish fit for a poor king. I eventually got my fingers around one of the boudin balls which packed a savory salty crunch; boudin is a type of French blood sausage. It’s like they say, you can’t have proper Creole without the addition of a few French items. As I childishly played with the freshwater crustacean in my hand, A wonderful French phase kept repeating in my head: “Laissez les bon temps rouler” (let the good times roll). And the good times were indeed rolling, rolling me straight into a severe food coma. Thankfully, I had my hurricane drink to bring me back from the drowsy state. Rum, sugar, spices, seafood, and smiles all around. United, we took the menu by storm and made good on our promises to keep our stomachs from rumbling that day.

Digging into some boiled crawfish with the gang.

One of the last dining extravaganzas that I felt compelled to include on this blog was Thai night. Our group had grown weary of the Cajun spices and a needed a new flavor that could satisfy our cravings. The decision came down to a restaurant called Thaihey Nola. Inside, we befriended this very kind waitress who was bubbling with pure joy and laughter. If there was anyone who could reverse the mood of the most depressed being, it would be this lady. The night called for a Mai Tai; without this beverage in hand, I felt like a vampire trying to blend in during Mass. So, I stuck with the theme from the sip of my beverage to the last slurp of my soup. The table was littered with Thai classics like crispy tofu, crab fried rice, and Tom Yum Boran noodle soup. The tofu was seasoned with a Creole taste that burned so well on the rims of the mouth. In the soup were these generous clumps of spicy pork and scattered crushed peanuts. The routine for maximizing flavor intake was to chew, to slurp, and to crunch. While I was distracted by the Thai symphony, some Southern staples had invaded my territory and started to chime in loudly. The first of these invaders was the fried okra which was dusted with a Tom Yum sauce. To clarify for my foodie enthusiasts, Tom Yum refers to a hot and sour soup base found commonly in Thai cuisine. The second intruder was a little more thorough with its hiding technique: fried chicken bits that just came out of a spicy green curry shower. These comforting foods proved that fusion works under the right circumstances, and Thaihey has aced this concept with flying colors. The word camaraderie comes from the French term “camarade,” which means “friend” or “companion.” Sharing the dishes amongst ourselves worked yet again. If you seek to dine, dine in company and you will go far. Dine alone, and you may be robbing yourself of a lost opportunity for your taste buds. With our minds completely blown for the third consecutive night, we stumbled toward the door and into the humid streets of NOLA.

The Tom Yum Boran noodle soup, filled with juicy pieces of sausage and crisp green beans.

DAM if we do, DAM if we don't

〰️

DAM if we do, DAM if we don't 〰️

Just today, our group was blessed with an abrupt change of plans. Rather than watch the Divine Ladies, we had the pleasure of being a part of the Dignified Achievable Men (DAM) Social & Pleasure Club (SAPC). It was an electrical experience, walking with the crowd and the group members. The musicians fired off their worn-down tubas and the sea of people followed. Some of those in the crowd added improvised instruments into the jam session. A couple of floats passed by, carrying true patriots of the Second Line. At the conclusion of our march down Claiborne Avenue, I was sweating and shaking not just from the heat but also from the sheer thrill of this event. These SAPC’s embodied the energy of the community perfectly, and I was truly honored to be a part of that sea of ecstasy even if just for a brief march.

The band’s march comes to a satisfying conclusion.

“If you don’t shake, don’t get no cake.”

— Michael Ondaatje, Coming Through Slaughter

After going through our vampire phase, we transitioned to Michael Ondaatje’s Coming Through Slaughter. The book focuses on the life of one of the greatest jazz musicians ever to live, Buddy Bolden. The story takes us through Storyville, a red-light district that was notorious for its prostitutes up until 1917. With most of the buildings destroyed, all that remain are housing projects and apartment complexes. During this time, Bolden played a heavy hand in the early developments of the jazz genre. On a Saturday afternoon, me and the gang went to Preservation Hall, a music venue that has stood in place since the 1960s. This was another magical destination for feeling the wild rhythms of jazz. Once inside, we congregated at the very back of the room where we stood with unwavering anticipation. The band slowly creeped onto stage and resumed their seats. In the blink of an eye, a saxophone cried out for attention. Next came the soothing melodies of the flute. The drums and the piano were also feeling vigorous that day. Each instrument could drift off from the beaten path of the band’s melody and come back without disrupting the flow. At times of passion, the band members individually stood up and expressed their identity through their own divine tune. This fragmented play style mimics the uncontrollable mental state of Bolden throughout Ondaatje’s book. Diagnosed with schizophrenia, Bolden had an extremely difficult time reading off of sheet music. And yet, this man knew how to tame a cornet to fit his vivid imagination. It was hard for me not to get into a shaking rhythm when the jazz notes were filling up at Preservation Hall. Divided, these band members played very well; but united, they channeled the very essence of jazz’s roots.

New Orleans is the place to both lose and find yourself. Are you a nocturnal beast with no eating preference, hell-bent on slurping up daquiris until 4am? Are you the foodie connoisseur who avoids sketchy establishments and makes it their lifelong mission to try every item on the menu regardless of what your friends say? Or are you both? Whichever identity you decide to masquerade as, just know that NOLA will still welcome you with open arms and tables.

Time for a Great Death

We’ve been in New Orleans for a week! I’ve been really fortunate to really be able to drink in the rich experience of the exuberance of the city in this short time, from its beautiful colonial architecture and chaotic yet syncopated jazz to its spicy gumbos and decadent beignets. While visiting Bourbon Street the first night in New Orleans may have not been the best experience , being able to explore the French Quarter, the Business District, the Warehouse District, Faubourg Marigny, Tremé, Storyville, and the Garden District to get a picture of the incredible Catholic, Creole, African-American, Protestant, French, Spanish and Cajun influences that make this such a unique and beautiful city.

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However, as our class dug deeper into the history of New Orleans, I got to understand the complex and unjust history that built the foundation of such a vibrant city, which gave greater context and helped me to recognize the undertones of melancholy that runs under the joyous party-style atmosphere as Andrew had previously described. As we walked through the busy business district where slaves had been sold, there was no trace of the previous wrongs that had been committed. This was just one of many layers of the city that I have come to ponder as we uncover the complexities of the city.

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During our seminar on Saturday, Andrew posed a great philosophical question to our class that has been an altogether deliciously tricky one to ponder: what makes a good death? It may be something morbid to think about, but it’s something that I thought was fitting to grapple with as we read our book for the next leg of our journey, Anne Rice’s classic gothic horror novel Interview with a Vampire. In a city famed for its connection to the gothic supernatural, the novel aptly tackles themes of love, danger, culture, and the passage of time through the chilling confessions of Louis, a vampire from the tail-end of the 19th and the early 20th century who recounts his story and experiences as he wanders the lonely streets of New Orleans.

““This was New Orleans, a magical and magnificent place to live. In which a vampire, richly dressed and gracefully walking through the pools of light of one gas lamp after another might attract no more notice in the evening than hundreds of other exotic creatures””

— Anne Rice

A Live Oak with Spanish Moss drooping off of its branches in the French Quarter, where Claudia loved to search for her victims.

“Years passed in this way. years and years and years.”

— Louis, in describing how Claudia grew up

The passage of time is something that is felt very poignantly in Rice’s novel, as the immortality of vampires such as Louis and his vampiric love, Claudia, plays a large role in how they interact with their environments over the course of this story. Louis, a wealthy former indigo plantation owner turned vampire in 1791, describes how his family built their wealth off of indigo and the exploitation of black slaves in the early period of Louisiana’s history. Claudia, a child he turns into a vampire who later becomes his lover, is described as “the demon child…moving toward womanhood, never to grow up”. As these immortal beings are stuck in the bodies of their former selves, they see people they once knew and the city and culture they come from change as they themselves are captured in that state of being for supposed eternity.

As I myself have spent two decades on this Earth, it would be a stretch to say that I have felt the passage of time keenly. However, I have seen how I have grown and changed both physically, emotionally, and as an individual over this time to reflect my lived experience, my knowledge and my sense of self. I’ve seen how places I’ve walked as a child change with time, old neighborhoods rusting away and new, shiny buildings rising to take their place. I’ve seen friends as they’ve grown old with me, met new friends and grown distant from others, seen family members come and go—it’s all just a small part of this experience we call life.

“Though the live-oak glistens there in Louisiana solitary in a wide flat space,
Uttering joyous leaves all its life without a friend a lover near,
I know very well I could not.”

— Walt Whitman, "I Saw in Louisiana A Live-Oak Growing"

Now going back to the question of what makes a good death. With death, one must contemplate life, and what it means. Unlike the vampires of Rice’s novel, we will all die—in fact, I would hate to live forever like Louis and Claudia are cursed to, to be quite literally an adult in a child’s body. Instead, the goal is to be a part of or make something that will. So rather than what makes a good death, I instead choose to look at it from the opposite side of the same thread. While Andrew posed the question to us in terms of what makes a good death, I'm choosing to approach it from the perspective of what makes a great death, for what makes a great death is a great life. It's a subtle distinction, but when I look back on my life, I don't want to have deemed it just a perfunctory obligation to live, eat, breathe, sleep, exist in a vacuum, what could easily be defined as a "good" life. It’s not about the length of my life, but about the depth of it, as no one is going to remember me for the good grade I got in my accounting class, the extra hour I spent working. Instead, my legacy will be left in the people and relationships I had. My faith is something that is really important to me, and so I choose to live my life in the perspective that while my life on Earth may be short, what comes after is forever. A great death isn’t just about it being painless, or content, or even surrounded by loved ones, even though that would be nice to have. For me, it’s about knowing that I’ve lived a life worth living, and having accomplished what I’ve set out to do in my life.

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Because vampires in Rice’s novel have eternal lives, if anything, they fear death even more. Each responds to death in their own way—where Louis’ mentor Lestat chooses to laugh at death, Louis himself looks at death with a sincerity and somber attitude, elaborating in his interview that he “never laugh[ed] at death, no matter how often and regularly [he] was the cause of it.” It’s a grim and sobering response from a man who quite literally feeds off the blood of innocent victims to survive, an interesting parallel to his former life as a plantation owner metaphorically feeding off the blood of innocent enslaved individuals to build his life and his wealth.

Tomb of the Unknown Slave

As we’ve spent our time here in New Orleans, I’m in awe by how much the threads of death are woven into the very fabric of the city, as we’ve explored graveyards and tombs, and seen how voodoo influences the city, which in and of itself is tied with the supernatural and of the interplay between life and death. We’ve explored the plantations where enslaved people have literally lost their lives building the backbone of the exuberant wealth of the South at the time, and even stood in front of an unmarked grave commemorating the unknown who were discarded, their lives treated with so little respect they weren’t even buried with their names, their identity.

Yet it can also be a beautiful thing, as we paraded down the streets with the Moneywasters social club— we were supposed to go see the Divine Ladies, but they had apparently moved their parade up a week in commemoration of famed musician Ellis Marsalis, who had passed during COVID-19 but hadn’t had a proper sendoff until this past week because of the pandemic. While we weren’t there to experience it ourselves, from the social club’s gathering we were in, I was touched to see how family, fans, and friends would have come together to celebrate with music and color Marsalis’ life rather than simply mourn him. Death is a regular part of time as it moves ever so steadily forward, and so while the city of New Orleans will continue to be an exuberant force of celebration and excitement, it’ll also stand as a testament to the ones who were enslaved and gave their lives to fuel and bring prosperity to the sheer exuberance and decadence of the Big Easy.

Louis Armstrong Park Statue

Vampires, Voodoo, and Vices

License vs. licentious. There is a fine line between the two, and New Orleans tends to cross that line because it has an unmatched sense of freedom drawn from its history of always pushing the envelope. I mean, we’re talking about a place that once regulated prostitution in its infamous Storyville. Now, the city is known for its avant-garde parties with music bursting out of the speakers, people spilling out of bars onto the streets, and drinks overflowing from cups. I knew most of this, and yet the true, debauched nature of New Orleans did not hit me until we found ourselves in a precarious situation on our first night in the city, one that involved a large group of men, fighting, the police, and an IHOP. Luckily, our group made it out unscathed, but it was eye-opening. In the aftermath, I remember telling my fellow bookpackers that I was almost thankful we had such a treacherous experience so early on in our trip because it drew us out of our naivete. We realized the warnings we had received from family and friends prior to this trip about roofied drinks, human trafficking, and increasing crime rates were not empty. It set the tone for the rest of our time in New Orleans as we became more aware of our surroundings, never ventured out alone, and watched out for each other.

While we quickly recognized the dangers lurking among the streets of New Orleans, I think many who come to this city are still blind to it. And that’s part of the reason New Orleans has been able to grow into what it is today, a place perfect for hiding monsters and roaming spirits. It also sets New Orleans, specifically the French Quarter, up to be the perfect setting for Anne Rice’s Interview with a Vampire. When we visited the French Quarter, there was both a sense of awe and eeriness. The buildings are so beautifully constructed with gorgeous galleries that span the streets and intricate railings, and they’re all painted in bright, bursting colors. It is a truly magnificent view. At the same time, you can see gothic elements in the architecture, and the city’s long history practically bleeds out of the buildings with some of the walls decaying from age and the tropical climate, and vines bursting out of cracks. The first time I saw the French Quarter, I thought Disneyland can try to replicate it as much as they want to, but there’s truly nothing exactly like the French Quarter in its uniqueness and essence.

“This was New Orleans, a magical and magnificent place to live... A city in which a vampire might be gone before the words had even passed the lips, seeking out the alleys in which he could see like a cat, the darkened bars in which sailors slept with their heads on the table”

— Anne Rice

Between the hustle and bustle of New Orleans and the darkness described by Anne Rice, it is not a surprise that vampires were able to walk among mortals without being caught, hiding behind corners, and rushing through the night snatching up unsuspecting victims. In the debate of license vs. licentious in the city, Louis represents license while Lestat is symbolic of licentiousness. Both men have supernatural abilities that provide them with a sense of freedom and agency to move slightly out of society’s rules. Louis struggles greatly with this, not wanting to take too much advantage of his power and opting to feed on animals instead of human beings. On the other hand, Lestat takes his license a step too far into licentiousness as he plays with his food, seducing women and befriending men in the moments leading up to the deadly bite he imparts upon them. He finds joy in the act of killing.

“Lestat was laughing, telling me callously that I would feel so different once I was a vampire that I would laugh, too. He was wrong about that. I never laugh at death, no matter how often and regularly I am the cause of it.”

— Anne Rice

Another facet that you see in both Interview with a Vampire and the city of New Orleans is a struggle between religion and spiritualism. The city is home to some iconic places of worship like the St. Louis Cathedral, but it also the center of voodoo culture. We truly got a sense for this in the New Orleans Historic Voodoo Museum. Even Marie Laveau, the voodoo queen, was believed to have a connection to Catholicism.

“God did not live in this church; these statues gave an image to nothingness. I was the supernatural in this cathedral. I was the only supermortal thing that stood conscious under this roof!”

— Anne Rice

Personally, walking through the Voodoo Museum was a remarkable experience for me as someone who believes in a lot of similar ideals and practices. There was an entire wall dedicated to some of voodoo’s greatest ancestors that reminded me of the areas in my own home dedicated to those who have passed. I thought a lot about how instead of always praying to Buddha or God, I actually pray a lot more to my grandmother. I feel a more profound connection to her than I do to some divine being that I might never know or meet, and I feel a deep sense of protection from keeping her in my heart and mind. That’s not to say that I don’t believe in a larger force out there. As a firm believer in “everything happens for a reason”, I do think someone or something God-like plays a role in our lives. I have never felt more comfortable in my beliefs than in the city of New Orleans because that push and pull between religion and spiritualism is so prevalent in its history and current-day culture.

As I look forward to the rest of our trip, I hope I will be able to encounter more people who are enveloped in the voodoo culture, maybe even an actual voodoo king or queen. Every voodoo store we’ve visited has felt so commercial and inauthentic. The museum was an immersive experience, but there’s still so much I want to know, and the best way to learn more is through primary sources. Throughout this trip, I have learned the importance of talking to the people in the communities we explore if we want to fully grasp and understand everything that this city stands for. We might be studying it, but they’re living it. New Orleans has such a complex culture with French, Spanish, and American influences. It is home to the oldest African American neighborhood in America, the Tremé. And while history books might try to grasp the nuances of this great city, I don’t think they will ever pinpoint its exceptionalism the way native New Orleanians can.

A Beach of One's Own

“No multitude of words could have been more significant than these moments of silence, or more pregnant with the first felt throbbings of desire.”

- Kate Chopin, The Awakening

It’s a weird feeling to step back and see just how fast you’ve been living life; how easy it is to get used to the pattern of being overwhelmed, and then underwhelmed when that intensity is missing.

Before the trip, I was living off that intensity (it probably didn’t help that I went to a Paul McCartney concert the night before we left) and I don’t think I was ready to let go. The excitement of being busy is addictive, like anything in the right amount, and I simply was not going to sit on the beach and read a book uninterrupted.

But at the suggestion of relaxation, I tried. After our first seminar, I decided I wasn’t going to try and complete a checklist: go to the beach, go to this and that, etc. (at least not for the first day). So, I read, granted with the intent that I’d finish early and go and complete said checklist, but the kind of languidness of midday crept up on me and I just sat and read, just looking up at the beach whenever I felt like it.

While reading, it’s usually my goal to be distracted – for having been an avid reader in the past, my habits now are to expect interruptions, sometimes to hope that something will come up for me to avoid what I’m currently reading because it’s just too slow. But these interruptions almost blended into the book, at the beginning there was a specific moment where Robert and Edna were laughing at something that in retrospect, wasn’t really funny when retold, but they laughed anyway. I think I read that and just looked up at the beach to imagine that feeling that we’re all probably familiar with, and at the risk of sounding cliché, it was nice to kind of slip into that imagination. Something kind of dreamy even, where I was in this world, because I was.

And for the character of Edna, in all of her acute awareness of her own thoughts combined with the lethargy of the setting, I approached the same way I approached studying: I wanted to find a reason, a purpose, a feminist focus and create some grand idea that would be perfect to share. I sat and scribbled and concentrated, at times pretending to enjoy the scenery and contemplate, but really only looking up when a new idea wouldn’t come to me, and I had to work myself out of that. That it was okay, that I could find it all later, because it would happen no matter how much I sped up the process.

So I just kept to the idea of letting things happen to me. I’d read and let myself look up at a lime-green lizard with his strange little orange gill hopping from rung to rung, then opting for an easier path of the flat handrail (I would’ve loved to drop a picture of him, but I think I committed a little to hard to not doing anything and just watched him until he was too far away to take a picture :’)). Or at the blue shutters of the house across the way, one window with the shutters propped straight out and the other pushed gently to its left side. Really inconsequential, but it was there anyway.

But Edna’s journey of self-realization is about acting too– going beyond just thinking and feeling. Acting on impulses, taking the step first without the turmoil of overthinking.

So I finished my reading on the first day around 3 o’clock, and some people were sleeping or continuing to read, and I decided to walk alone. It wasn’t really on my list to things to do, but I just did it anyway. I took a walk to the beach by myself, stopping along the way to take pictures of flowers and taking some pretty unprofessional looking pictures of the sky and the beach, but it made me happy just to be able to capture it. People passed me by and I couldn’t care less, and I didn’t even want anyone to accompany me. I would’ve gladly had anyone join, but then, it was perfect. I walked across the street to Jo-Bob’s just to stay out for a bit longer, and came back. And just like that, it was enough; I’d had my fill. So I came back and lounged around for an hour with nothing in particular to do and nothing particular in mind.

I don’t think I’ve ever done that before. A year ago, a month ago even, I wouldn’t have gone out on my own. I would’ve sat and wanted, and never had the courage to go out and act on an impulse. And I wouldn’t have sat actively tried not to achieve some maximum potential I set for myself for the smallest tasks. So, yeah, it is kind of a wonderful thing to let go, to just rest. I don’t know how long I can sustain it, but Grand Isle was definitely the place to take a stab at it. I can have just as many thoughts and ambitions and strongly worded things to say as I did before, but time will let them play out.

“In short, Mrs. Pontellier was beginning to realize her position in the universe as a human being, and to recognize her relations as an individual to the world within and about her.”

- Kate Chopin, The Awakening

If Edna had the time to sit and laugh, to take a nap and have the time to find her own path of agency and self-discovery wherever she was, there might be time for me too.

My Own Awakening

“She could only realize that she herself – her present self – was in some way different from the other-self. That she was seeing with different eyes and making the acquaintance of new conditions in herself that colored and changed her environment, she did not yet suspect.”
- Kate Chopin

European capitalistic way of life is unsustainable and leads to burnout. Living to work, constant availability, rushing, appealing to norms, and living life in an inward capacity, leads to life and time being work and not developing a quality way of life. It leads to depression, unhappiness, and an inability to be fulfilled. I know it all too well. I was living a life in constant motion and restraint, unable to be genuinely myself. I limited myself from being me, being expressive, making decisions for me. I know the feeling of not being able to express myself in a way that would be understood, being on the impossible pedestal of unhappiness, and having to show up for other people as a woman, friend, sister, or as a lover. I know the feeling of intense emotions, anger at the inability to change, and feeling lost. 

I came to Grand Isle in the same state as Edna, a woman in tightly held by societal norms and her roles to other people, who wants to find herself and break away from the pressure of the life she created, carrying a primal need to change the circumstances of her life. Someone who was finally feeling different, a momentum change to be the person that she full wanted to be; different from the person I was yesterday. I relate to Edna and The Awakening she had on the beaches of Grand Isle. Kate Chopin’s ability to explain the deep emotions of life, society, expectations, and reality on the beaches where her awakening occurred, simultaneously with mine, was a fantastic experience I didn’t see coming. 

Flying over the Mississippi!

I hugged my parents and my siblings on May 14th, driving over the Mississippi River, and finally landing in New Orleans. After driving hours listening to indie music and having a light conversation, I arrived in Grand Isle. I, and everyone around me, was exhausted from a day worth of traveling, leaving our busy lives in Los Angeles and USC behind. It was only that morning that I had said goodbye to my family and embarked on a journey that I knew would change me, something I was hungry for after two years of heavy work at USC. As a graduating transfer student, I was leaving behind a rough semester of dealing with mental illness. I was on the flight over, caught up in my mindset of worrying about my GPA and living up to my high expectations. As a pre-law student from a low-income, marginalized background, I always had something to live up to prove myself in the back of my head. Waking the next morning and opening my bedroom door to the beauty of the beach, the quietness of the house, and the overall calmness of the Great Isle, I had too recheck in with myself to make sure it was all real. It was so surreal, walking down the path to the beach and experiencing the intense emotions I know all too well, but through the writing of Chopin and the life of Edna. 

“The voice of the sea is seductive; never ceasing, whispering, clearing, murmuring, inviting the soul to wander for a spell in the abysses of solitude; to lose itself in mazes of inward contemplation. The voice of the sea speaks to the soul. The touch of the sea is sensuous, enfolding the body in its soft, close embrace.”

- Kate Chopin

That morning, we walked down to the beach, felt the hot sand between our toes, and felt the warm gulf water around our legs. We walked across the water, getting a breaker of rocks with much little marine life. We relaxed on the rocks and looked out to the water, talking about our lives and tattoos and suddenly getting a glimpse of a family of dolphins making their way across the gulf. There was so much beauty in the nature around us. The water was so calm, and just the serene silence of the gulf was intoxicating. Watching the family drive their buggies around the isle, finding places to park on the beach, and the dogs running by. But there is something particular about the water, and I was similarly drawn to the water like Edna. 

The water draws you into Grand Isle, there is a sort of calmness that resolves over this whole beach town, and there is a sort of sleepiness that forces you too slow down and be reflective. I found myself constantly looking out toward it, yearning to be back in it, on the shore, and enjoying the silence, the pause you receive. Juxtaposed with the calmness of the sea, the wreckage left by the Hurricane Ida surrounds Grand Isle. It is mad how nature can be so beautiful, yet so sad, painful, and moving so fast like the winds of a hurricane. Your plans can go into disarray, people die, people leave, a pandemic and things can get ugly, and you are thrown around, losing your purpose and yourself. I think this is the same awareness that Chopin had with her complications with mental illness and the knowledge that a hurricane completely wiped out an island she used to visit, Cheniere. I think this because I had the same awakening and awareness that nature can make you lose everything in seconds, even when you are already struggling with what you are facing. 

Throughout my time in Grand Isle and reading The Awakening, I felt impossibly connected to Edna. I found myself rooting for her in her journey to find herself, the same journey I found myself on leaving Los Angeles for the first time and what I wanted on this trip. Like Edna, I was longing for a change: from the roles in life that I had a responsibility to the societal expectations and family and relationship expectations. I had moments where I destroyed things and felt guilty. I have made some silly decisions, all in the namesake of feeling some control over nature. Over how it could be so beautiful one day, and seconds later, your world collides with another and makes a change forever. How you can feel like you are on the right path, but you suddenly realize you aren’t. As a white woman of the 19th century, Edna has similarities to me as a Black woman of 2022. Although I have a significantly different lived experience than this woman, we relate because of how society has prevented us from being indeed us. We both want to engage in the most radical act of loving ourselves and choosing you for the first time. Although Kate Chopin is not a Black woman, nor do they have the experiences of a Black woman in 2022; this quote I am leaving you with captures ultimately The Awakening Edna had, and I am in the midst of. Radical love comes from radical decisions that might trample on the little lives around you. Women have so much power and strength that we need to return to ourselves.

“As a black woman, the decision to love yourself just as you are is a radical act. And I'm as radical as they come.” 

Bethanee Epifani J. Bryant 

My Time in Grand Isle

Post #1: Just finished reading The Awakening by Kate Chopin 

Written May 16, 2022 at 10:42 p.m. 

What does it mean to really be free? This is such a complex yet simple question that could be answered in a variety of ways by a multitude of different people. Each person you ask could give you a very different answer according to their meaning of  “being free”, possibly connecting their answer to their own personal life and unfortunate hardships. The one thing that leaves me constantly deep in thought and incredibly fascinated is the fact that no one will truly and deeply understand anyone’s answer personally. 

This is a question I have been repeatedly asking myself during my time on the Grand Isle. It’s quiet here, maybe a little too quiet. To the point where I sometimes feel like all I have to occupy myself with are my incessant thoughts and I’m not sure if that’s a good thing…or a bad thing. Coming from Los Angeles, a place where I feel like it’s common and expected to be overstimulated all the time, it’s a drastic change coming to the Grand Isle. It’s so peaceful and the days feel much longer. When I first got here I had this overwhelming feeling of unnecessary stress and I felt like I should be doing something all the time, which isn’t the case and being here has shown me that. I have the opportunity to be in an incredibly peaceful environment and the freedom to do what I want with my time. 

I was laying on the hammock outside yesterday, when it hit me. It was at that exact moment when I realized that this feeling I’m feeling right now is what it feels like to be free…or at least to me. If you were to ask me any other time my answer would probably be different. You could ask me the day after, a week, maybe even in a month and my answer could be different. 

The Awakening was a book of such descriptive emotion. I found myself relating to Edna many times as I was reading. There have been many times where I was feeling a myriad of emotions and I just couldn’t find a way to put what I was feeling into words and Chopin did just that. Although I say that I have felt a lot of what Edna was feeling, like I said before, no one including myself can truly understand what she is going through except herself. Emotion is a complex thing and The Awakening showed that for me. Sitting on the beach, touching the sand, and being in the water, along with reading the book, helped me sort through these anxious feelings that overcame me at random times throughout the day. It was such a surreal feeling when a wave of calmness and freedom washed over me. People see the word freedom so differently and my time on the Grand Isle felt like freedom itself. I had the freedom to just be and exist and I don’t think I’ve ever felt that before. My time on the Grand Isle will forever be remembered. 

Embracing "Frenchness"

“A feeling that was unfamiliar but very delicious”

— Kate Chopin

“Just step back and smell the roses'' – is what my parents reminded me when I left the house for LAX. I kept repeating that in my head over and over on the plane ride to Louisiana, trying my hardest to shut out the gnawing thoughts of my final grades, past assignments, work, my family, my friends and quite possibly every other worry under the sun. And contrary to how it may sound, I have actually been bursting with excitement on the days leading up to this trip. I couldn’t remember the last time I was able to relax unburdened by a single worry, time crunch, or obligation. But oddly enough, my brain was ping ponging all over the place, relentlessly, from genuine excitement to an irrational, lingering worry. Why couldn’t I just smell the damn roses?

As the first day in Grand Isle rolled around, I was overwhelmed with the vastness and beauty of the bayou. As I went down Louisiana Highway 1, I was given a front row seat to the miles and miles of endless wetlands that surrounded the barrier islands. The sea was still, untouched – so much so that at first glance one would believe they were being tricked by a glossy mirage. The wetlands that enveloped the road eventually led me to a long shore with an active beach and many sand dunes – where we stayed for the next three days. It resembled a painting. It was a paradise.

However, as expected, the task of adjusting to an island lifestyle, without a care in the world, wasn’t a hard one. I would say that being able to shake the anxieties of my, now halted, Los Angeles life, running without me didn't disappear in an instant, but the vacation mindset was, to say the least, an uncomplicated concept. 

Our cabin had grand, ocean front windows that gave us a serene view of the quiet beach just a few steps away. My eyes never failed to wander over to that window, entranced by the calm waves creeping onto the sand or the peaking fins of bottlenose dolphins above the surface. The strong rays of the sun shone from end to end of the shore. The birds glided gracefully across the cloudless sky in a perfect line, skaine, without the push of wind. This together left me desperately needing to jump in for a swim – reminding me of Edna from our reading, The Awakening. In the novel, Edna described the “long, sandy path, upon which a sporadic and tangled growth that bordered it on either side made frequent and unexpected inroads.” This mirrored the landscape almost exactly, even when she mentioned how the green clusters “glistened from afar in the sun.” Like Edna, I felt that the water was “sensuous, enfolding the body in its soft embrace.” It wrapped around me so warmly, I understood why she found it  impossible to ever leave. 

Another pastime that I found surprisingly impossible was probably the most simple of all: reading. It had been so long since the last time I had dedicated time to fully focus on reading a book that I felt that the action itself was not an efficient enough use of my time. My worries and anxieties that had been fading away came knocking on the door once again. Every few pages I would catch myself thinking about ways I could multitask or things I would usually be doing. I thought to myself: “Maybe I could rearrange my suitcase? Or I wonder if I should check the schedule again? Sometimes I would look up from the book for no reason at all, I simply wasn’t accustomed to focusing on words for long periods of time. It was like my body learned to relax but my brain hadn’t.

It wasn’t until the third seminar, when we learned about the “frenchness” in Louisiana, that I got a better understanding of what slowing down really meant. Essentially, Andrew walked us through the vibrant French influences that have shaped Creole culture as we know it today. It was only then did I realize that the French were a romantic people who focused on working to live rather than living to work. They valued a tight knit community, meaningful interactions, and finding happiness in their lives. For example, I remember the group and I were rushing into the water when we ran into an older couple who perched two beach chairs in the shallow end of the shore, relaxing side by side, basking in the sun, unbothered. My initial thoughts were: “Isn’t it Monday?” and “Why aren’t they at work?” After connecting Andrew’s lectures to the situation, I realized that the residents of Grand Isle must work on their own clock. Another situation involved another couple that came by in a golf cart, with a young labrador, dressed in old shirts and khaki shorts. I watched them hop off their cart and hoist their trapping gear on their backs to walk towards the trap area we happened to be foolishly swimming near. Hence the many pinches to our feet. As the couple splashed around happily, I was surprised to see the ideal work-life balance occur right before my eyes.

The culture of this town is like no other. I’ve witnessed a passion for living life simply that doesn’t resemble anything I’ve encountered before in America. Even food is enjoyed with a different passion. The people here are driven toward happiness within themselves rather than in their work.​​​​​​ They value a strong sense of community over individuality and sense of purpose. Grand Isle may not be a place for everyone but I can attest that it has taught me a great deal about the art of smelling the roses.  

Waking Up in Grand Isle

Our drive from the Louis Armstrong New Orleans International Airport to our vacation home Sol et Terre in Grand Isle started off on an interesting note with our first stop being a Popeyes drive thru for some “authentic” Louisiana fried chicken. We were the last two cars to make it to the order window before closing, and they were unfortunately out of almost everything. To say the least, our first meal in a state known for its rich cuisine and culture was disappointing. The failed Popeyes outing was followed by a mad dash to the supermarket, where we purchased a variety of frozen foods and ramen. Again, not exactly the most ideal menu. Finally, after an hour and a half of driving, we reached Grand Isle (in complete darkness without the beautiful view of driving across the water, of course). Despite our bumpy start to the trip, we all still felt quite optimistic about bookpacking and were excited to get to know each other. During our first night at Sol et Terre, we stayed up late drinking and chatting. A true bonding moment, and one that was very reminiscent of the little soirees in Kate Chopin’s The Awakening, which takes place on Grand Isle and which we read during our three-day stay.

The next day, we discovered the beauty of Jo Bob’s Gas & Grill, a fast-food restaurant and gas station hybrid that quickly became our saving grace providing us with coffee before morning seminars, some of the most buttery and soft biscuits we’d ever had, and $5 jambalaya. Later that morning, we ventured down to the beach with The Awakening in hand, ready to read about Edna Pontellier and her journey as she attempted to gain control over her life. The first reading session didn’t last too long as Edna ventures down to the beach and takes a dip in the gulf in the earlier parts of the book. And in true bookpacking fashion, we paused and ventured into the water to truly grasp Edna’s feelings in that moment. We perched upon rocks, enjoyed each other’s company, and observed dolphins swimming by. It was a truly wonderful moment that introduced us to the beauty of bookpacking and being immersed in the world you are reading about. For me, this was reiterated when I was sitting in a rocking chair after our beach outing reading Edna’s description of the beach and the horizon, and I was able to look out the window in front of me and see that exact same view. It was surreal.

“Edna Pontellier, casting her eyes about, had finally kept them at rest upon the sea. The day was clear and carried the gaze out as far as the blue sky went; there were a few white clouds suspended idly over the horizon.”

— Kate Chopin

As we approached evening on our first full day in Grand Isle, I took a nap. This might not seem like a big deal, but napping is an extremely rare occurrence in my regular life. With my usual hectic schedule, it is not easy to make time for daily naps. Being out in Grand Isle though, it was almost impossible not to close my eyes and take a moment to rest. And it was something I desperately needed after 15 jam-packed days leading up to our departure from Los Angeles. Before arriving at LAX for our Maymester, I attended a three-day music festival in the desert, went on a five-day family vacation to Hawaii, completed my final exams, planned and hosted a brunch for 130 guests, moved out of my sorority house, read our first book, A Confederacy of Dunces, and packed for our three-and-a-half-week trip to Louisiana. I was exhausted, and that nap was cathartic. The lethargic tone that weaves throughout The Awakening had bled into our real lives. As I said during one of our afternoon seminars, “they sleep a lot in this book” and we did too.

The longer we stayed in Grand Isle, the more we assimilated to the French/Creole way of life exhibited in The Awakening by the likes of Léonce Pontellier, Madame Ratignolle, and Robert. In the novel, Edna’s British American upbringing makes it difficult for her to fit in with and relate to her Creole counterparts and their looser lifestyle. As the book progresses, Edna starts to adopt the carefree attitude of her friends, letting go of society’s conventions and rules. Similarly, we started our trip worrying about objectives, rushing from one place to the next trying to beat the sunset. However, as we settled at Sol et Terre, we started to let go of our stresses, not to the same extremes as Edna, but we did it, nonetheless. I stopped worrying about what was happening far away at home in Los Angeles. I barely thought about my final exams or grades. In the French way, I put my phone down, stayed in the moment, and just appreciated the people around me and the gorgeous beach scenery before me.

There’s a great sense of relief when you isolate yourself from your world and the problems that go along with it. Everything that seemed like such a big deal before just bleeds away. The still waters of Grand Isle pulled Edna in and awoke her from the drab cycle of life she was in. Those same waters helped me find my inner calm. I spent our days at Grand Isle reflecting and identifying negative aspects in my life that I wanted to purge myself of. I also thought about what I wanted to gain from the rest of our trip: a better understanding of our country’s history, an appreciate for cultures outside of my own, and a special bond and friendship with the others on the trip. If there’s one thing to take away from The Awakening and Grand Isle, it’s that death and destruction are inevitable. Edna ended her own life at the mere age of 29. We saw dead catfish and baby sharks on the shores of the gulf. We came across property that was completely wiped out by Hurricane Ida last year. Places we wanted to visit were either eradicated by the COVID-19 pandemic and the hurricane or in the process of being rebuilt. We watched Deepwater Horizon and learned about the absolute devastation that oil spill wreaked on the gulf, the wildlife, and the economy. We visited the Grand Isle cemetery and examined the raised tombs. Our lives can be flipped upside down in an instant. We need to spend more time appreciating what we have and the loved ones in our lives. Personally, I need to stop thinking about what comes next and focus on what’s happening right now. As they say in Louisiana, laissez les bon temps rouler.

The Aftermath of Disaster at Grand Isle: Unwinding and understanding

The white shimmer of the sea in the distance

After crossing the Mississippi River, the drive from the New Orleans Airport to the Grand Isle was in the darkness. The water and swamp that surrounded the narrow road was illuminated only by the dim streetlights. Sometimes, there was a white shimmer in the distance. Glimpses of the vast sea caused by the flashing lights of ferries, oil rigs and fishing boats. The orange glow of a large fire grabbed my attention. Two men seemed to be burning a pile of scrap wood, leisurely watching the flames from underneath a stilted house. I had only then realized that all the houses that we sped past were on stilts. We were in Grand Isle after all, and it had only been a year since Hurricane Ida violently hit its shores. Perhaps debris from the damage caused by the hurricane was fuelling the fire.

The next afternoon, I started reading Kate Chopin’s The Awakening, sitting lazily on the beach with my legs spread out in the sand. Chopin’s descriptions of the ‘soft’ and ‘languorous’ breeze, the intense glare of the sun, and the ‘seductive’ whispers of the sea reflected what I was experiencing with my senses. As I read about Edna Pontellier’s vacation at the Grand Isle, I felt the oppressive heat of the sun, and the continuous soft crashing of the waves. I was overwhelmed by the fact that I was, quite literally, in the world of the novel.

“The voice of the sea is seductive; never ceasing, whispering, clamoring, murmuring, inviting the soul to wander for a spell in abysses of solitude; to lose itself in mazes of inward contemplation.
”

— Kate Chopin

While Kate Chopin’s writing is dense with description, this description is not just a realistic account of the life and geography of Grand Isle. Edna’s mental state is embedded within the sea. Gazing at the horizon with the book open in my hands, I too drowsily drifted into these ‘mazes of inward contemplation,’ often getting lost in them for hours.

I contemplate my foreignness to Grand Isle. Edna, too, is an outsider – she is a presbyterian from Kentucky trying to assimilate into the French Creole world. Meanwhile, I am an international student from India, studying in Los Angeles, and visiting Louisiana for the first time through the Bookpacking class. The circumstances that brought me here couldn’t be more different, yet I felt an affinity with Edna’s position. Even though the environment encourages idle relaxation, I feel unsettled.

There is an intense sense of loss in Grand Isle. While the guesthouse we are living in has been repaired, the effects of the disaster are clearly visible throughout the town. When I step out of the guesthouse onto the main road, and stroll to Jo-Bob’s Gas and Grill or the Sureway Supermarket, I pass the remains of once-intact homes. The remnants of a house dismantled by the hurricane. It is unlivable, but still held up by its stilts. The destroyed house, enveloped in overgrown vegetation sits right beside a newly painted yellow two-story bungalow with a trimmed lawn and a neatly arranged row of trees. When we visited the western edge of the island (that is connected to the rest of Louisiana by a bridge) to take photos for this blog, I felt the absolute violence of the hurricane. Half of a jetty, painted green, was demolished. What seemingly used to be a pier was now just a chaotic collection of ruptured wooden stubs sticking out of the water.

The impact of Hurricane Ida

The impact of Hurricane Ida

The impact of Hurricane Ida

The impact of Hurricane Ida

The impact of Hurricane Ida

The impact of Hurricane Ida

The impact of Hurricane Ida

A few years before The Awakening’s publication in 1899, the Chenière Caminada hurricane, in 1893, killing close to 2000 people in total. About half of these casualites was the entire working-class fishing community Chenière Caminada. Although The Awakening’s story is staged before this time, Kate Chopin seems to be reckoning with this disaster, as she preserves memories of the space in her novel, describing a jovial mass that the characters attend at Caminada. This blog post is, in a sense, my reckoning with Hurricane Ida and its effects that intertwine with my relaxing experience at Grand Isle.

These past two days have been filled with lethargy and leisure. I resonate with the French Creole culture in The Awakening of winding down and appreciating the delights of life, Yet, this is a partial story. As a visitor, I have the privilege to choose when to visit the Grand Isle. Were it in a state of complete disrepair, our group would not have been able to visit the place. On the other hand, the community living and working here is always preparing for the possibility of natural disaster. It is a grueling cycle of destruction and rebuilding. As a tourist, I am separated from this, in the same way the wealthy Creole families in The Awakening are separate from the people who died in the Chenière Caminada hurricane.

An endless stretch of sea and sand

“She did not look back now, but went on and on, thinking of the blue-grass meadow that she had traversed when a little child, believing that it had no beginning and no end.
”

— Kate Chopin

I experienced something similar to Edna in the above quote when I set out to walk the entire stretch of the beach, parallel to the sea. I faced an endless stretch of sand in front of, and behind me, and to my left was the horizon of the sea. I felt calm and at peace. I was also a little terrified by the lack of visible boundaries.

Slowly treading deep into the endless sea, Edna drowns herself. She, too, experiences a brief terror. Reading Kate Chopin’s novel while on the beach awakened within me a morbid curiosity with death by the sea. I stared at and clicked photos of a catfish and half-eaten crab washed up on shore during the low tide. The corpses of a pair of sharks caught the attention of our group. Maggots were crawling over them and decomposing their flesh. While these might be regular, though gruesome, sights on a beach, Chopin’s writing drew my attention to death in nature.

At the entrance to the beach from our guesthouse, there is a cross made out of driftwood. I do not know why it is there. Someone jokingly suggested that it was an unmarked grave that haunted the beach. I like to see it as a recognition of the casualties of Hurricane Ida.

As I get ready to depart from Grand Isle these images of death and disaster stay in my memories. But, I will also not forget laying in the hammock on the balcony overlooking the ocean. Falling asleep to the gentle sound of waves and a warm sea-breeze. Throughout this blog I have emphasized that the locals of Grand Isle are dealing with the aftermath of a hurricane. But, they also fish calmly on the rocks by the sea. They enjoy fried crawfish at the Starfish restaurant after a day of work. An appreciation for the pleasures of life still exists in the face of constant disaster. I hope to carry traces of this way of life with me as I continue my travels.

The mysterious cross on the beach

The Feeling of Travel

5.17.2022

Don’t get me wrong I have always loved to travel; the thrill of exploring new things that are unfamiliar is my adrenaline. I have been to several places from France to Spain and it is the reason that I choose to move across the country for college. However, this trip to the Louisiana territory has had a unique feeling to it, that is different from the other trips I have taken in the past. Having spent the first few days on the island of Grand Isle, I was really able to reflect on the aspect of chapters in life and the meaning of travel. Reflecting on my first two days of travel, I felt isolated and far away from my loved ones. Part of this is because I had graduated the day before our departure. Reading the Awakening, I realized that although I consider myself as independent, I thrive on social interaction with those close to me and unlike Edna who finds life in Grand Isle; I have found sadness in a sense in these first couple of days.

Places I have traveled, so far

Comparison of Landscapes: Everglades on the top and the Bayou pictured on the bottom.

Being at Grand Isle, the landscape, the climate, it reminds me much of home in Florida. It reminds me that I only got to spend two days with my parents for graduation despite not seeing them in awhile. It reminds me of how despite saying that I have never experienced homesickness since moving to USC, it can happen to the best of us even if we consider ourselves as independent beings. Just the thought of being surrounded on this trip with strangers from diverse backgrounds, who would hopefully become my friends after getting to know them, flashes me back to when I first met my closest friends at SC. Those same friends that would be scattered across the world upon my return from this venture since we have graduated and that implies that nothing would be the same. Those memories and experiences of familiarity that I could not hold onto for a little longer due to the timing of this trip, just as Edna couldn’t hold onto her first experiences with Robert in The Awakening. Even if I could travel back to Los Angeles right now some of those friends would already be gone into their next chapter. Making it different to how I remember my experiences at SC before graduation, similar to the indifference Edna faced by Robert upon his return from Mexico.

Graduation Picture with my closest friends in Los Angeles, CA

Exploring the island on this trip, I just see destruction everywhere; reminding me of the fact that life can change abruptly from one second to the next. To me it symbolizes that travel isn’t always pretty. It shows us that it can be uncomfortable and that it can hurt. These first days of travel showed me that a hobby that I thought to thoroughly enjoy had the capability to break my heart. To be in Louisiana, I had to sacrifice celebrating graduation with my closest friends on Saturday and I may never get that chance since our group is splitting to different regions of the world, making our reunion to be unknown. For me finding my group at SC took awhile, and this trip reawakened that feeling of terror that I felt at SC when I couldn’t sense if I belonged somewhere.

Grand Isle destruction from Hurricane Ida

Dead Sharks

However, they say destruction can be a symbol of rebirth. In Grand Isle, remnants of piers from the hurricane have served as a crab birthing spot, and houses in the island are being reconstructed signifying strength. Yes, travel can be uncomfortable. But, that's okay as the journey should change you. It leaves a mark on your memory, consciousness, heart and body. It is this unpleasant feeling that allows you to grow. For me, this trip serves as a transition. It is helping me to prepare for my life in Boston in the upcoming months, in which I would be all alone again in an unfamiliar territory with complete strangers again. The experiences in Grand Isle these past days helped our group to bond in my opinion, and today for the first time in a while I felt as if I made new friends as we were swimming in the ocean. I had gotten so used to being in a single friend group in the past couple of years that I forgot how to make new ones. If I do admit, it is this terror that drove me on our first beach day to venture off by myself, making  friends with a crab instead. Reflecting, It is better that I get out of my comfort zone now whilst doing something I love than in the fall with a master thesis looming over my shoulders.

Death can be beautiful to reflect upon. Through our exploration, we witnessed a pair of dead sharks washed upon the shoreline. Upon seeing this, I was immediately further saddened because of my deep admiration for oceanography and marine life that was instilled due to my Floridian upbringing. However, this discovery made me reevaluate my stay here at Grand Isle. For starters, it made me realize how disconnected I had been this past year to ocean life in Los Angeles; the one thing that has always kept me grounded. Personally, I have always been drawn to the ocean as it gave me a sense of peace. Seeing the sharks made me realize how lucky I was to have the opportunity to compose myself and close this current chapter in my life before starting the next which is alluded to be hectic. Moreover, these sharks also gave me hope. I say this because it allowed me to picture the previous night in which we as a group watched Deepwater Horizon. Watching a film based on a tragic story that plagued the area in which we are staying in, allowed us all to appreciate the nature surrounding us throughout the day in a way that would bond as friends, setting the tone for the rest of the trip and thus making me less afraid of the uncertainty in my move to Boston. That is what I think is beautiful in death and sadness, the hope of being near a new horizon.

Here’s to a new adventure!

A Time to Remember, A Time to Rebuild

On a Saturday evening, I arrived in Louis Armstrong International Airport to begin my Maymester journey that spanned across various regions of Louisiana, the first of them being a charming little island called Grand Isle. My stomach was running on fumes and the jet lag had not yet set in. The first of my meals comprised of an unhealthy dose of fried chicken nuggets, mini beignets injected with artificial raspberry flavoring, and leftover French fries that deserved a better fate than my grumbling stomach. The food was far below expectations, but still, it had a story to tell. The meal was courtesy of the beloved Louisiana fast-food chain Popeyes. This restaurant – and many others – worked off an 8pm closing deadline. By removing the graveyard shift mentality, employees are given the flexibility they need to return to their dwellings and rest after a monotonous day’s work. This theme of relaxation continued to play its tune for the remainder of our time on Grand Isle.

“He was spending his summer vacation, as he always did, with his mother at Grand Isle…‘the house’ had been a summer luxury of the Lebruns…it enabled Madame Lebrun to maintain the easy and comfortable existence which appeared to be her birthright.”

— Kate Chopin, The Awakening

One of the first books of our bookpacking journey was Kate Chopin’s The Awakening. The story begins and ends with a Creole woman and wife by the name of Edna Pontellier. She and her husband, Leonce Pontellier, live with their children on Grand Isle, a small island located West of the Mississippi Delta. It’s the 1890s, Industrialization has made its impact on the traveling lifestyle of Louisiana’s inhabitants. Those who had the jobs had the stable wages, which enabled the emergence of a vacationing era where one could afford the luxury of nearby travel to not-so-distant places. For the Lebruns, the vacation home was a gateway to comfortable living. It signified the easy-going, carefree state of the Creole population which is still very much alive today. And what do we mean by Creole? This term has an endless number of definitions, but for now we will condense it to fit the mixing of the French and Spanish.

Chairs that scream “sit on me!”

“The water of the Gulf stretched out before her, gleaming with the million lights of the sun. The voice of the sea is seductive, never ceasing, whispering, clamoring, murmuring, inviting the soul to wander in abysses of solitude.”

— Kate Chopin, The Awakening

When we arrived at the house, I was welcomed by several reclining chairs overlooking the emerald ocean. In the distance I could make out several shrimping vessels, eagerly awaiting their next catch of shrimp. The interior of the house was nearly all wood, giving off a warm cabin-like essence. As I made my way to the ocean, there were these rows of houses with the similar architecture: large wooden beams on the bottom for support and slanted rooftops – sometimes accompanied by a much smaller roof piece. In the gulf were these rock formations which acted as levies to protect the homes from elevated water levels. While dipping my feet in, I could feel a weight lifting off my shoulders; the burdens of life were briefly put on hold. With the humid air gently rolling over my face, it was almost like I was in a trance. Like Edna, my soul belonged to the will of the nature’s currents. The only thought that could invade my clear mind was what was on the menu for that evening. In keeping with local cuisine, my taste buds were ill-prepared for what was to come.

This island, while small, still had much to offer in the form of deep-South cuisine. My first delicious encounter with the local diet was at a low-key gas station called Jo-Bob’s Gas & Grill. Jo-Bob’s had your local liquor-store essentials, from the go-to six pack of Purple Haze beer to your dependable bag of Zapp’s potato chips (I decided to get the Voodoo flavor and planned to eat these guys on the road back to New Orleans). But the real treasure I was after was at the food counter. In the back, Jo-Bob’s was equipped with simple, classic Southern dishes like po’boys, biscuits, and jambalaya. My heart longed only for the jambalaya, a rice-based concoction seasoned with meats and vegetables. Jambalaya can either be “wet” or “dry,” but this one appeared to be on the dry side. Also, this jambalaya only contained three ingredients: rice, sausage, and chicken. It wasn’t trying to flatter the customer with some fancy presentation; it was there to satisfy their soul…and it did just that. Along with the jambalaya came a buttery biscuit and meat pie (the contents of which my tongue still tries to decipher as I write these words). This was a dependable meal; no change of the weather could bring this dish out of season.

On Sunday evening, our group was given a much deeper dive into the rich seafood delicacy that this beautiful island had to offer. When we arrived at Starfish Restaurant, there didn’t appear to be a single table left for us to claim, and this was a good sign. While waiting, I quietly observed the dishes that the customers were feasting on. The po’boy was the main star of this establishment, and I would not rest until my hands had gotten a hold of one. With the waitress by my side, I placed the order as follows: a fish po’boy with a basket full of fried okra nuggets. Okra holds a special place in my heart; it’s a green seed-pod vegetable that – in its raw and natural form – almost looks like a pepper, but don’t be fooled! It does not carry any sort of spice. One nugget at a time, I felt my body dissolving into the chair. A salty, slimy, murky texture reminiscent of the wetlands that surrounded Grand Isle. My daily salt intake was reaching critical levels, and yet I still munched on.

Unfortunately, there were no green salads in sight, so the okra would have to suffice.

The waitress delivered the po’boy in two halves, one for gazing at and one to firmly grasp. I quickly analyzed it: fully dressed with diced tomatoes, shredded lettuce, and a thin spread of mayonnaise (or could the chef have made the delicious mistake of adding butter? My taste buds said yes). After taking a couple bites, there was this sense of awakening in me; fresh, fried white fish that slowly melted on the tongue. I wasn’t entirely sure about the fish type, but my gut was telling me it was catfish. It was at this moment I knew what a po’boy should represent: a harmony between healthy and unhealthy, combining the best ingredients that both the sea and land could offer. With just a dash of seasoning, the most impoverished of cuisines can become a spectacle to the lips. This dish showcased the pride of the island’s Creole population on full display. In comparison to Jo-Bob’s cuisine, the food did was not meant to be elegant but to be a sufficient and sustainable meal for the blue-collar folk of this land. There was no “fishy” taste afterwards; with the plate empty, only my grand smile remained. To wash down this smorgasbord of fried nourishment, our group was treated to a few puffy beignets. Generously powdered with sugar, the beignets were the final catalyst to my emerging coma-like state. Through experiencing the local cuisine, we collectively learned that fried food was the customary diet (although grilled options were available upon request). It was like we were at a banquet, and we were the honored guests of this island. After paying our respects and appetites to Starfish Restaurant, we returned home to lazily continue our relaxation. A time for remembering the important obligations of life would have to wait until the next day.

“A woman who would give her life for her children could do no more than that – your Bible tells you so.”

— Kate Chopin, The Awakening

The warm and calming emotions brought on by the sea was placed with a gloomy sense of solitude. Around Monday evening, the gang and I took a stroll through Grand Isle Cemetery. In my few experiences with cemeteries, never have I seen one adjacent to a kid’s playground. Was it meant to distract the kids during funerals, or was this placed here to remind us of our earlier days? In The Awakening, Edna discusses with Adele Ratignolle about giving up the “nonessential.” Edna’s wealth, children, and husband are all things that Edna believes should not have a hold on her individual being. On the other hand, Madame Ratignolle, a Creole from New Orleans, believes that the wife should sacrifice herself for her family. This heated debate speaks to the Creole culture of keeping close family ties, even through death. For Edna, this presents a conflicting issue as she is married to a Presbyterian but has a father who is Catholic. At the cemetery, we could observe Edna’s deep Catholic ties through the burials known as mausoleum crypts. These crypts were above ground not for the purpose of addressing the risks of hurricane weather but could nevertheless serve this purpose. Rather, this design was based in Catholic roots; the bones of numerous generations of a family line, all packed into a single crypt. One other thing that I picked up on were these common surnames: Bradberry, Terrebone, and Landry. Some of these family names are the lasting remnants of French origin from this island.

I found the name Terrebone at a café in the town of Houma, further illustrating the grasp of French influence across Louisiana natives. For my French enthusiasts out there, the name translates to “good land”.

Si tu savais

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Si tu savais 〰️

One of the French phrases that Edna relays to the audience is “si tu savais” (If only you knew). While this phrase will be taken out of context, I want to apply it to the current living situation of Grand Isle. In the late summer of 2021, Ida – a Category 4 hurricane – made landfall over Louisiana. To put this in perspective, Louisiana had never seen such an impactful geological disaster since Hurricane Katrina back in 2005. Grand Isle was not spared by Ida; debris littered the beaches, the walls on the houses torn clean off. At every turn, it seemed that there was no definite conclusion to this weather cycle of suffering. And yet, as I walked down the long road stretches, I saw wall posts and lawn signs signaling a different story: a road to recovery. It was like each advertisement was a helping hand to the cause: one being roof repair, another debris removal, another for reconstruction efforts, and another for demolition and home remodeling. If there is one takeaway I got from The Awakening, it’s that nature is an immeasurable power that can impact human lives in ways that we can’t quite comprehend. On our last day on Grand Isle, I saw a banner on one of the houses with the hashtag “grandislestrong.” This community is filled with a lively and resilient Creole community, and I am hoping that I get the chance to come back and see if they restore Grand Isle to its full glory.

An Awakening of the Self

Awakening: rousing from sleep, coming into awareness

What is an awakening? As I looked over the first book our bookpacking class would read together on Grand Isle, Louisiana, Kate Chopin’s The Awakening, I knew that it wouldn’t be as simple as the surface level definitions the dictionary could give me. I got a surface-level answer from Google, but as our bookpacking class traveled to Grand Isle, Louisiana, I pondered what revelations the next few days on the island would bring to that word.

“The Awakening” by Kate Chopin

The island air, warm and heavy, enveloped me the moment I stepped foot onto the shores of Grand Isle. The incessant buzz of the insects, the gentle murmur of the water, and the gentle cry of the shorebirds invited a sense of lethargy that tempts even the most productive of souls into taking a cool, refreshing nap to escape the incessant heat of the midday afternoon. The pace of life felt slower here on the island, almost like I was trapped in time, in another era where the final exams and internship searches that seem to crowd every walking step in my studies as a business student at USC were but a dream.

““How many years have I slept?” she inquired. “The whole island seems changed. A new race of beings must have sprung up, leaving only you and me as past relics.””

— Edna Pontellier

Rocking Chairs

Rocking Chairs with a oceanside view—perfect for a good afternoon read

Waterside

A sunset view of the water’s edge—where Edna learned to swim!

Grand Isle Landscape

The broken landscape of Grand Isle post-hurricane

Hammock

A colorful hammock for when the mid-afternoon nap calls

It’s in this dream-like location of Grand Isle where our protagonist Edna Pontellier, begins to establish her independence and define her role as a woman and an individual in 19th century Louisiana. The novel sets itself between two worlds, the busyness of the bustling city of New Orleans and the languid romance of Grand Isle. I’d previously read this book for my junior year English class in high school, but this time I felt ready to grasp Chopin’s nuances of exploring themes of repression, femininity, culture, and depression through Edna’s story while experiencing the same warm breeze and froth-tipped waves that she describes so vividly.

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“In short, Mrs. Pontellier was not a mother-woman. The mother-women seemed to prevail that summer at Grand Isle...they were women who idolized their children, worshiped their husbands, and esteemed it a holy privilege to efface themselves as individuals and grow wings as ministering angels.”

— Kate Chopin, "The Awakening"

One way in which Edna feels trapped is in her societal expectation to be this “mother-woman” figure which her friend and her literary foil, Adèle Ratignolle does so well. She fights this societal expectation to have a maternal instinct, declaring that while she’d give her life for her children, she wouldn’t give herself for them. While I’m not bound to the same social expectations that Edna is, within my identity, there are so many facets which bind me to social expectations in my background as a second-generation Asian-American, older brother, son, student and so many more. Although our paths are wildly different, I empathize with her struggle not fitting into the Creole society of the day and her role as a “mother-woman” figure. As a student, I’m constantly struggling with feelings of imposter syndrome, not feeling worthy of my place here at such a prestigious university. Even though logically I know I was chosen to attend this school for a reason, there’s still an emotional tension, a back-and-forth that invites a certain responsibility and necessity to act and perform up to a certain standard in my everyday life to “fit in” with the academic culture and the expectations of myself as an Asian-American student from my peers around me, filling my life with academic and extracurricular activities to be “competitive” for college, then for post-grad life, for the first job, and on and on.

2022 Maymester New Orleans Bookpackers Class Photo

Edna’s awakening from her past subdued self is stemmed from her lover Robert’s awakening of her repressed identity. She comes into awareness of her unhappiness in keeping with societal norms, from her Tuesday’s at home receiving calls to caring for her children and being a good wife to her husband Leonce, and casts it aside to do whatever she wants to do. When questioned by her husband about what possible activity could have led to Edna’s sudden departure from the house on her calling day, she replies simply, “Nothing. I simply felt like going out, and I went out.” This laissez-faire attitude toward her domestic responsibilities and following of her own desires and whims shows her newfound independence and refusal to adhere to social norms.

In many ways, this trip is a personal awakening to the importance of not filling my schedule packed to the brim with things to do as I see others around me compare how busy they are, as if it's a representation of their self worth. At college, I’m used to running about my day, a dozen or so meetings, classes, interviews, and lunches that I’ve got to attend. Here though, when we’ve inquired with our illustrious Lord Chater, also colloquially known as Andrew, what’s on the schedule for the day, he replies simply: “time to rest and read”. I’m used to taking an hour of rest here or there to refocus and recharge. But a twenty-two day excursion that is both somehow class and travel at once is foreign to me. My habitual instincts call out to me to be productive, to get things done and get ahead on work. The waves and the hammock beckon gently though, and I’m entranced by the sweet simplicity of living life laissez les bon temps rouler, or letting the good times roll. 

Laissez les bon temps rouler

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Laissez les bon temps rouler 〰️

What does living with the good times mean?

It means I’ll mull over ideas as I wander the lonely streets of Grand Isle with my peers, or as I’m eating my fried catfish po’boy (somehow everything in Louisiana happens to be fried?) at the Starfish Café. 

It means reading, toes in the sand that Chopin’s Edna’s children played on, or wading in the warm gulf waters breathing in the same salty air where Edna is first wooed by the voice of the ocean, and later returns at the end of the book, to take her final fateful swim. 

It means engaging in conversations around our wooden table about the origins of Creole Louisiana after eating a hearty portion of jambalaya from Joe Bob’s, an affectionately named gas and grill station on the island that is named after the store’s pet cat, or exploring the old tombs in the cemetery that hold the remains of residents of Grand Isle of over two centuries ago.

I would be remiss if I didn’t mention the other type of awakening to reality when we saw the destruction Hurricane Ida had left on the community of Grand Isle. As we arrived to the location where Andrew had previously brought bookpacking classes to take pictures, he lamented the destruction and loss of what had once been a vibrant thriving community that had been reduced to a broken debris of homes, bridges, buildings, and parks. It was an unpleasant awakening to the destruction this little community had suffered, but its resilience and dedication to rebuild was evident all over the island, as home-made signs and kind-hearted individuals proclaimed their love of the island and their determination to rebuild Grand Isle together. 

So what is an awakening? I’m still not quite sure, but I believe it’s a new beginning, a new start to what we’d once been asleep to. It’s a recognition of what’s new and a realization of our surroundings and behaviors that we’d previously been unaware of. I’m looking forward to continuing our bookpacking journey through Louisiana, awakening to a new culture, locale, and pace of life.

Creating Community on Grand Isle

As soon as we crossed the Mississippi River, we swapped out the city-life we all know well for the rural swamplands of Louisiana, and I had no idea what to expect. I was taking in every little bit of scenery from the mosquitos to the steamboats. While chomping on some questionable Popeyes and starring into the darkness, I tried to fantasize about what Grand Isle looked like in the light. I can’t remember the last time I truly relaxed, and despite not knowing what Grand Isle looked like, I had a feeling it would be the perfect place to truly let go…

Watching a gorgeous sunset as we crossed the Mississippi towards Grand Isle.

Waking up beachfront that very first morning, there was only one thing on my mind: I NEED COFFEE. As Ashley and I made our trek to Joe-Bob’s (my new favorite restaurant), I immediately noticed the sense of community and the Southern hospitality I was always hearing about. The employees knew every customer by name and were laughing with one another. Their welcoming nature felt like a warm embrace, with every other word out of the cashier’s mouth either being “sweetie” or “thank you”. It was a very different atmosphere than I am used to having grown up in Southern California, where everyone seems to compete with one another over the most mundane things. This sense of hospitable nature made me very eager to truly be immersed in Louisiana culture.

After our experience at Joe-Bob’s, I was shocked to hear during seminar about the divide between American and Creole cultures in Louisiana during the late 19th century. An area that seemed so unified was built upon two polarizing cultures. Americans and Creoles have different values, traditions, and ethics, so how is any unification able to occur? It’s no wonder Edna felt so distant from the Creole community on Grand Isle! It immediately made me think of my own background. Growing up in an Iranian American household, I was brought up with two different ideals and often felt conflicted. French culture reminds me a lot of Persian culture. Both are family-oriented, place a huge emphasis on arts and food, and are extremely social. The French and the Persians love to throw a party! However, I could in a sense understand Edna a lot when she couldn’t relate to people like Madam Ratignolle. She truly embodies the ideal Creole woman, someone who Edna thought she needed to be but truly wasn’t her. Because part of my fundamental identity is American, there are parts of the Persian culture that I can’t relate to and doesn’t make me feel as connected to my Iranian heritage. However, growing up has allowed me to create this sort of blend of the two, giving me multiple cultural perspectives. I think as Louisiana has grown over time, it has done the same. But the question still bothered me: What about Grand Isle specifically has created this sense of community?

I thought I would leave Grand Isle with this question unanswered, but as I began to read The Awakening staring at the same shoreline that Edna once did, I started to put the pieces together. The environment of relaxation and excitement that the ocean brings is a universal feeling. When everyone comes to a beautiful island like Grand Isle, they can’t help but be fascinated with the water. This sense of peace can help create a much more welcoming atmosphere, where time really seems to slow down. As I turned to Chapter 6, my first true experience with Bookpacking occurred when Edna describes her view of the ocean.

“The voice of the sea is seductive; never ceasing, whispering, clamoring, murmuring, inviting the soul to wander for a spell in abysses of solitude”

— Kate Chopin

As I stared into this seductive sea that Edna mentioned, I too fell under its spell. To me, the Gulf was a little like the unknown. Having only seen the Pacific Ocean before, I was so confused by the lack of huge waves and the warm water. Our group collectively (maybe all swayed by Kate Chopin’s words) followed this intriguing calling and went into the water together. We all were shocked by how shallow, flat, and easy it was to walk in the water. We made our way to the rocks and sat out there for hours talking about anything and everything. The unifying nature of the ocean really allowed us to bond as a group even though at the time we were strangers. Being in this setting of Grand Isle is the perfect place to foster community: you have no distractions and nothing but beautiful scenery to look at. Swimming in the water alongside the group in the same place that Edna and Adelé once swam is mind-boggling. I can really understand the closeness that they felt on the beaches of Grand Isle together.

Walking back to the house after spending all day in the water on Grand Isle.

Later that day, we headed over to The Starfish Restaurant for a delicious Po-Boy dinner. Looking around at the various tables, I could really feel the strong community found in Grand Isle. Each waitress knew most customers on a first-name basis, groups of friends sat at their table for hours and hours just talking, and overall, just pure happiness. After that heavy meal, Chelsea, Emery, Alex and I wanted to take a nice stroll to burn off all that fried food. Trying to better understand the concept of Bookpacking, I followed Edna’s words on walking.

“I always feel so sorry for women who don’t like to walk; they miss so much—-so many rare little glimpses of life”

— Kate Chopin

Not wanting to miss out on those little moments (especially given our limited time here) we embarked on our mini journey. Walking allowed us to see so many tiny details a car doesn’t show. We saw children’s shoes laying in the debris from the hurricane, the local school, and most importantly, the rooster beneath Joe-Bob’s. We were able to form a better understanding of what life is like on Grand Isle, walking in the footsteps of the people who call this place home. Making these little memories like Edna encouraged us to do allowed us to feel more a part of this quaint Grand Isle community.

Despite this community being struck by disaster on disaster on disaster, their hospitability and strength echoes throughout the island. As we drove to where the jetty once was, there were signs hanging from houses that said, “We Will Rebuild Grand Isle Together”. This really resonated with me, as much as this community has been torn down by Hurricane Ida, it continues to remain intact. The beauty and calmness that Grand Isle produces has drawn people here for well over 150 years, and I’m so glad to say that we were able to create our own community because of this place, despite many of us coming from different traditions and backgrounds. Even though Louisiana was built on many differing cultures, it was able to create this unique blend of many different backgrounds as our group has done. As we start to head into New Orleans, I am extremely to see this cultural blend and Southern hospitality in a city setting.

Despite many people having their homes destroyed like this one, the residents of Grand Isle are still able to maintain such a strong sense of community. This definitely was the perfect environment for us as a group to start bonding and getting closer.