No Epiphanies, No Problem

At a time when I am supposed to be writing my final paper for this class, I get a fleeting sense of inspiration. It escapes me when I need it for my paper, yet I had the sudden urge to begin writing my fifth blog, my final blog.

As the time to leave New Orleans approaches, I find that I am grateful. At the beginning of this trip I honestly expected to not want to leave when the time came, but it turns out I was over optimistic. Don’t get it twisted, I had a great time overall, but I definitely have had my fill of the city.

And that’s okay. I think when traveling there is a pressure to feel something, to be changed, and, sometimes, that does happen. But I don’t think it needs to be a requirement. I think I’ve documented it rather well in these blogs; I’ve had fun experiences, of course, and maybe some revelations, but I don’t think I’m much different from when I first got off the plane. I’ve felt rather pessimistic throughout most of this trip, but I’ve made the most of it. I think I’ve hit a wall when it comes to writing, which you may be able to tell, but I’m not upset about it. I’ve written so much during this trip, and, honestly, I enjoyed it more than I thought.

Originally, I was worried about these blogs and how many I’d have to write. I felt like the deadlines kept coming and I had no idea how I would keep up; it turns out, I have a lot to say. I own a journal, but I’m awful at keeping up with it. By the end of the day I’m too tired to even hold a pen, so there are large gaps in the dates that I write. These blogs forced me to write my thoughts and feelings, and I’m grateful for it. I can’t speak for everyone, but I know for me these blogs have been an opportunity to share my stream of consciousness, and I honestly really enjoyed it. I think being earnest and sincere in these blogs from the beginning has taken much of the pressure off; it’s truly like reading from my diary and remembering what I did on what day.

If I had to write in my journal, and I probably should, it’d probably say something like this:

I’ve been asked a few times now what was your favorite part of the trip? And, to be honest, I have no idea. The memories have kind of blurred together in a way that I can’t pick out which one was my favorite, but perhaps the one that stands out to me the most is getting caught in a downpour trying to leave Algiers.

Meg and I laugh at our predicament

My friends and I took the ferry to Algiers in the late afternoon. It was sunny with a nice breeze from the river; no clouds, no rain, no weather warning. We sat in a sweet English pub playing darts and laughing, when I got a severe weather warning on my phone. We didn’t know if we should leave or wait it out, but we knew if we waited it out we’d be stuck in the pub for hours. We decided to leave and were met with strong winds and cloudy skies, we thought it was hilarious. We weren’t actually sure if the ferry was still coming, but we were hopeful; it did not come. There was a mix of opinions of what to do, eventually we decided on a Lyft. And then we left. And this story sounded a lot more fun in my head.

That was it, we made it home. But in the moment it was the funniest thing ever. We were soaked from the rain and feeling icky, but it’s a great memory. I think above everything, that’s my favorite memory. Except maybe when we took a swamp cruise and I held a baby alligator, that might actually be my favorite (sorry friends).

And that’s it. This one’s a little shorter, maybe that’s something to be happy about, I think I’ve said all I can say. This doesn’t have much to do, anything to do, really, with books and bookpacking, but I think I’ve done enough of that. I’ve read the books, I’ve reflected on them, and now I’m just reflecting on my time.

All of this to say:

It’s okay to not have a life changing experience, it's okay if not every experience is defining, and it's okay to not have any epiphanies. It's just a city.

A great one, at that, but just a city. It may not be the city you find yourself in. Don’t despair.

“Or just brood for awhile.
Don’t despair.”

— A letter from Robert Gottlieb to John K. Toole. "Confederacy of Dunces"

Pockets of Joy

It’s been a hot, sticky, rainy week in the city. One that has been most enjoyable. It’s been a calm week, one that I feel has had a lot to offer in terms of exploring and where I have found the most fun pockets of the city.

“But there is much to be said for giving up such grand ambitions and living the most ordinary life imaginable...”

— Walker Percy

I’ve now seen Lake Pontchartrain, something I had been looking forward to seeing since we arrived in New Orleans. It’s a bit underwhelming, there is no beach or clear blue water to be found anywhere, but I was also not expecting that. There are only steps leading to a dark, vast expanse of water. You cannot see to the other shore, only the horizon. A good place to start the search for the meaning of life, although I advise the opposite.

It is simply that, a lake. There are people on boats celebrating memorial day, no doubt having a better time than I am in the heat of the almost-summer. But still, I’m glad to have seen it and am ready to go back to the comfort of the AC in the van. To tell you the truth, I’m not really sure what else I did that day. Clearly nothing exciting.

Is this what Binx Bolling feels like in Gentilly? Bolling, the wonderful protagonist in Walker Percy’s The Moviegoer, lives in Gentilly and despises the French Quarter. Binx appreciates a simple life, one that I assume involves sitting on the shores of Lake Pontchartrain and searching for the meaning of life. He would hate to see what I have in store for the rest of the week.

Tuesday it seems the French Quarter defines my existence. Something that would cause Binx to roll in his grave. I saw a great performance at Preservation Hall, a humble and sweltering building that has no air conditioning. During a lull in the performance the trumpet player comments, saying it’s not that hot if “you don’t think about it.” All I do is think about it. I think of myself as a pessimist, a live performance in front of me and all I can think about is how hot it is in this room. No matter, I still enjoyed it very much!

A handsome man.

When we exited the small building my friends and I popped over to a bar across the street, truly a hole in the wall but it had the most delightful surprise. It was called Clyde’s Corner, Clyde being the owner’s dog. He was very friendly and wore a bright green vest. I would come in just for Clyde, but to my benefit they also had great frozen strawberry daiquiris. At this point it had started to rain, making me want to go home but the way the day continued, I’m glad I didn’t.

We ran through the rain, making our way to a favorite of ours: The Garage. Described as a music club, I have never seen more than a few people in there. There’s pool tables, hurricanes, and speakers blasting random pop music; maybe not everyone’s cup of tea, but it is mine. My friends and I share a hurricane and play a round of pool; I’m lousy at it. We only have time for one round, but it was still plenty fun. Still, there are only about two other people in the bar in addition to us, maybe a well kept secret. Or maybe I just haven’t seen it on a Saturday night. Something tells me Binx would despise this place. It is still raining when we leave so we decide to take a Lyft, something Binx would definitely hate; good thing I am not him and he is not me. The rain leaves with Tuesday; Wednesday is a new, sunny day. We leave New Orleans and escape to Gretna, Louisiana; there is nothing there, so why are we? A very important reason: to find cowboy boots. Gretna has two things going for it: a Waffle House that I will be going to before I leave, and Cavender’s Boot City, our target. It’s about a 10 minute drive until we reach boot city and, eventually, we are dropped off in a seemingly empty parking lot, the only thing there being the store and a Wendy’s that I will eat at later.

Boots are made for walking

I have cowboy boots but Alice needs some; we proceed to spend roughly an hour while she picks some out. I tried some on as well but the selection isn’t great. I still have a great time. She selects her cowboy boots and we are out of there, on our way back to the French Quarter where we do some more shopping and exploring.

Do you think Binx would wear cowboy boots?

Thursday and Friday are filled with more mundane activities of existence, but I think that’s the point. I’d say nothing this week was extraordinary, but filled with happiness; I did new things, tried new food, saw new places, nothing crazy. I think it’s important to fill your life with little things that you can look forward to; it doesn’t always have to be a concert, or a trip, or something big but rather shopping, a movie night with friends, dinner, anything! Just something to distract you from your mortality…

I’m just kidding. But really, there is joy to be found in the ordinary and I think that gets taken for granted. Binx searches for meaning in his life, unaware that he has found it through his walks, his movies, his opinions, yet he understands that his value does not depend on his contribution to society. Binx may be stuck in his own world most of the time, but it's his. The world revolves around Binx for all he knows, a sentiment I think we should all adopt at some point or another. Existence isn’t based on anyone else but yourself, and I think it’s time we start living that way.

“Don’t you feel obliged to use your brain and to make a contribution?
No’m.”

— Walker Percy

Home Is Not a Place

I’ve been in Louisiana for about two weeks and as much as I’m enjoying myself, I really can’t stop thinking about how I can’t wait to return to California. I was born and raised in California and have never lived anywhere else, nor have I wanted to; I actually don’t know if I’ll ever leave.

Maybe it's the suffocating humidity, or the fact that this is the longest I’ve been away from home, but I find that I’m irritable. I miss all the people and pets and places that were common sights for me to see everyday, I miss my house and my own bed and, most of all, I miss the familiarity and routine that I had, all the way across the country. I miss my mom.

It feels selfish, to be in a new place and have the ability to experience so many new things and to still want to go home, but it’s how I feel. I’ve found that I’ve hit a wall; I still enjoy the city, but I feel as if I’ve been here so long, which I think can be reflected in my work. But I do feel that that is the reality of traveling and being away from home. I reflect on the people who call this place home and how every year they deal with intense heat and an unpredictable hurricane season, a season I’ll only narrowly miss when I leave for home in the beginning of June. Hurricanes have always been a far off thought in my mind, something I’ve always heard of but never experienced. Nothing new for the locals.

Being very studious at CC’s. The Moviegoer on hand.

I’ve been keeping busy with reading, exploring, and, of course, these blogs. Reading a book in the same place that it’s set in is an interesting feeling; I’m sitting in the place someone has written about, clearly a place that was important to them in some way. Currently, I’m sitting in CC’s Coffee House, the same one in which Sarah M. Broom worked over a summer when she was still living in New Orleans. She briefly mentions this in her memoir The Yellow House, learning the ins and outs of the French Quarter from her older brother. I think about my older brother.

I’ve done a lot of thinking during this trip, mostly about my future. When I’m alone or find myself awake late at night I think about if this is how the rest of my life is going to go; I miss home, I miss my family, but I have to grow up and be on my own. I miss my dad. I grew up with only one sibling, unlike Sarah’s 11 other siblings. I was the youngest, the focus of my parents then and still now. We’re all very close which has made this trip all the more difficult. My brother is 10 years older than me so I had a similar experience to someone who is an only child; to this day, I’m bad at sharing. This also made me appreciate solitude.

Being alone is not something I’ve had much experience with on this trip; everywhere I’m surrounded by friends or my roommate (hi Alice!). To clarify, I’m not complaining, but this is something different for me.

“... tourists are passing by in an air-conditioned bus snapping images of your personal destruction”

— Sarah M. Broom

The lot where the yellow house once stood.

Recently, we took a trip to New Orleans East, the part of the city where Sarah grew up. We visited the short end of Wilson Avenue and saw what used to be the yellow house that she lived in with her family. To me, home is invincible; it can withstand everything, but that’s not the case. To see an empty lot where a home once stood is a strange feeling that leaves you sitting with a strange pit in your stomach. Someone used to live there, that was someone’s safe place once and now, there is only an empty spot. I felt slightly embarrassed at the way we were looking at the lot, a bit like a tourist looking at the destruction of a place, similar to tourism after Katrina. I have to wonder how Sarah would feel about us looking at the place she used to live. I can’t place myself in Sarah’s shoes and imagine how she must feel knowing the house she grew up in is gone.

At the risk of sounding self centered, I think about the houses I’ve lived in throughout my life. At one time, these places were my home. Everytime I left I couldn’t wait to return because that’s where my life was. They are now strange structures to me; unfamiliar yet I know everything about them inside. I have no right to go inside them anymore, but they once held my stuff, my memories, and me. An empty structure to me once I vacated, but to someone else it is where their family is, where they feel safe.

“The house was there, and then it wasn’t. That’s strange, how something could be and then it’s not”

— Sarah M. Broom

Sitting in the back of Terrence’s car. Meg and Alice are also there!

I don’t think I’ll ever call New Orleans home, but to some people it is the best place they’ve ever lived. I had the pleasure of catching a Lyft home with a driver named Terrence, a very talkative man which was a pleasant surprise; I’ve found many of the Lyft drivers here to be very quiet and keep to themselves, as is their right, but sometimes conversation is nice. He mentioned that he was born in the bayou, but moved to New Orleans as soon as he turned 18 and hasn’t looked back. He said he loves living here; the culture, the music, the food, you’ll never find anything like it. His positivity made me feel abundantly better about being away from home; although it's not my home, New Orleans is home to so many people who love it and would never leave, which is something I can understand.

Although I’ve been talking about places, I don’t think home is one specific place or thing. I think about Terrence whose home was in the bayou and is now in New Orleans. I think about my mom whose home was Mexico and is now California. Home is an ever-changing thing; it is not one place or one person, but something that adapts. I think about Sarah. Her mother made a home for her and her siblings, one that is now gone, but the concept remains. Home is your family, whether found or by blood.

“The house was my beginnings”

— Sarah M. Broom

I think this whole blog is to say I miss my family. And friends. A lot. While I grow a bit sad at the idea that home is still a few days away, I find pockets of joy. Terrence’s positivity was a welcome interaction, one that I did not expect to impact me in any way, but here we are. While home is adaptive and rarely does our home remain in one spot the entire time, it is a constant factor in our lives. I’m grateful for the home I have and I can’t wait to return to it. But for now, there is still exploring and reading to be done.

I want to get to New Orleans!

The city of New Orleans could not be more different from our idyllic island setting that we left behind a few hours ago. A change I appreciated; island life was getting old rather quickly for me.

“I want to get to New Orleans!”

— Anne Rice

New Orleans is a city like no other, at least not one that I’ve ever seen. The fusion of French, Spanish, and, of course, American influences provide the backdrop for a very distinct culture; one that, without being told, can be identified as New Orleans.

The geography of New Orleans lends hand to the city’s identifying features; it sits next to the Mississippi, on a grid, and at a 45 degree angle. The city itself is damp, dirty, and dark; being in the French Quarter at night feels like you’re standing in a different place, at a different time in history. A time where electricity does not exist and the street lamps are still lit using oil, real flames lighting up the streets. Except, you can see the flames are real and electricity does exist. But still, you find street lamps with fire instead of lightbulbs, and you wonder to yourself about the existence of these things in the modern age. In simple terms, New Orleans is a spooky city. A fact that I find fascinating as a lover of spooky things. As our time in the city progressed, I was anxious to discover the French Quarter at night; we had been out in the daytime a few times, but I had a feeling the Quarter transformed when the sun went down.

The Bourbon-Orleans. See any ghosts in the window?

Lucky for me, on Wednesday evening, around 8pm, we took a classic New Orleans ghost tour. I had been waiting for this day since the beginning of the week. I had a feeling we weren’t going to see anything outwardly spooky, but I was thrilled to explore the quarter at night. Having recently finished Interview with the Vampire, I couldn’t wait to explore the city in which Anne Rice chose to set her novel in. As you walk past the oil lamps and dark alleys, there is no wonder Anne Rice chose this city for a story about vampires. Our tour guide was great, very comical which I appreciated, and had plenty of knowledge surrounding the haunts in the quarter. We passed by the Bourbon-Orleans Hotel, said to be haunted by a few ghosts, but unfortunately they were camera shy as I’ve yet to see one in any of my photos; we passed the iconic St. Louis Cathedral that overlooks Jackson Square where public executions were held, and a few more iconic sights that deserve their own sentence. Being built on a grid, the quarter is disorienting; every turn looks the same, there are plenty of dark corners to hide in, and if you’re not familiar with your surroundings, every corner and every street start to blend together. It’s wonderful.

Check out those orbs! Or maybe dust on my camera…

As we began our tour, the moon hung brightly over the cathedral, a perfect start to a spooky night. I think what jumped out to me the most was the overarching shadow of Jesus over the cathedral, a bit harrowing to me, but maybe a comforting reminder to some. It reminded me of Louis’ venture into the cathedral after his transformation; a crisis of faith is enough to make anyone go insane, vampires and mortals alike.

We passed through the alleyway next to Jackson Square and learned very quickly to avoid the puddles as, like our tour guide would say, that is not water. After walking away from the looming presence of the cathedral, we walked down some smaller streets and learned a few more ghostly stories. In between all of this we had a bar break, or bathroom break for me. My friends and I stepped into the Lafitte Hotel and Bar looking for a short break from the heat, but we found much more.

A pianist played in the lobby of the hotel, next to the bar. He was very lively and we quickly started to sing along with him, truly a wholesome memory I won’t forget anytime soon. He played a few songs and a lovely rendition of “Only the Good Die Young” by Billy Joel, my personal favorite. Our time in the hotel was short as our tour had to continue, but we had a great time, regardless. On our way out we got his name, Steven Monroe, and his schedule. If you're near the Lafitte Hotel on a Wednesday or Friday night, pop in! You won't regret it.

We walked through a few more streets, saw some buildings that were used in the filming of “The Originals”, a great show, by the way. Reaching the end of our time, our last stop was the infamous Lalaurie mansion. Madame Lalaurie was a wealthy New Orleans socialite known for her cruelty, as well as the amount of slaves she kept locked away in her home. The tour groups gathered beneath the surrounding buildings, yet no groups stood directly under the outside terrace of the mansion. The tour guides are superstitious, aware of the energy that can be felt from being near the mansion, and consciously choose to stay away from it. As our tour guide was talking, I began to get the strangest feeling…

I have had déjà vu a handful of times in my life, always spooky, but I tend to take it with a grain of salt. If you’re unfamiliar with the term, it means to feel like you’ve been somewhere before, experienced something despite maybe never having been there. Sometimes I'll be in a situation and realize I have dreamt about it before, or of something very similar. I don’t know what it means, nor do I try to interpret it, but I find it fascinating. As we stood near the mansion, I started to get the feeling that I had been in this exact place and time before, except I never have. I felt it for a moment, and then it faded, the familiar feeling had passed.

Curious, I asked the tour guide if she had ever had anyone mention it before, she said it's not uncommon, but still something to note. She mentioned that she doesn’t know much about it, but that I can take it as a sign of being somewhere I’m supposed to be, as if I’m reaching a place along my journey, whatever that may be.

I still don’t know what it means or how to feel about it, but I know I’ll be thinking about that long after I leave New Orleans.

All of this is to say, New Orleans is strange. And interesting. And beautiful. And every adjective in between that I can’t think of right now. Anne Rice made the right choice, if there is one, in choosing New Orleans for the setting of her gothic novel. My experience is just one of many from the thousands of people in the city, and from this I'd say everyone should experience at least one night in the French Quarter, maybe you'll meet a real vampire. Or at least hear Robert playing a lovely song.

Steven plays my favorite Billy Joel song. I sent this video to my mom.

Getting Older

A few weeks prior to getting on a flight to Louisiana, I remember all I could think about was one thing: humidity. Humidity and I don’t agree with each other and being uncomfortable for more than a few minutes makes me upset, but the swamps and marshes of Louisiana have a way of growing on you.

I’ve been to New Orleans once before in my life, and the extent of it was seeing the Audubon Aquarium and Bourbon Street, which you can imagine is scary to a 14 year old. But I still had high hopes for this trip; the idea of staying in a beach house while also receiving academic credit was very appealing to me, but what I did not expect was to see myself so much in a book that I had never even heard of.

Golden hour at the beach house.

As the city gave way to endless stretches of road and tall cypress trees, we joked on the bus that we were leaving civilization. I noticed the distance between houses getting bigger and bigger, until eventually the suburbs gave way to wetlands. The sky was a light gray, signaling a storm, and I thought about how eerie everything looked; rural Louisiana is a far cry from the busy city I’m used to in LA, but it was a welcome change. I felt a little bit like a child seeing Disneyland for the first time. I saw billboards about crawfish, little shacks on the river's edge advertising fresh seafood, and heard some country music I wasn’t even aware existed, and I say that as someone who does listen to country. The scenery didn’t change much as we got closer and closer to Grand Isle, Louisiana, our destination. In addition to not knowing the book, I had also never heard of Grand Isle and I have to say, it is a treasure.

On Tuesday, our first full day in Grand Isle, I began reading The Awakening by Kate Chopin. This was a book I didn’t know existed before this trip, let alone knew the plot. Little did I know, I would read something written by a woman in the 1890s that would mean so much to me in 2024.

I read on the beach which is something I never get to do, I mean when is the beach right in your backyard? And at first, I wasn’t really sure how I felt about the novel. We meet Edna and her husband, and, of course, Robert who charmed me in about two lines. Edna and her family, along with a few other Creole families, spend much of their summers in Grand Isle, away from the busy city. Reading the story of her journey, in the exact place where she goes through a transformation, is an interesting feeling. Kate Chopin has a way of capturing mundane and often sleepy moments that, in addition to being on the island, help transport you to the setting that Edna is living in. Being on that beach, having quite literally nothing else to do except read and relax, was like nothing I’ve really experienced before.

““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

I would be a lousy sailor in a greek myth, the siren’s would easily win.

In Grand Isle, the sea really does beckon you to it. During our lectures, next to the big windows of the house, I would catch a glimpse of the tide and think about how nice it would be to go for a swim. The gulf waters of Kate Chopin’s time were most definitely much cleaner than the gulf is today, but regardless I found myself going for a swim when I could. I loved what the ocean represented in this book; Edna’s transformation begins and ends in the ocean and I can see how Grand Isle provides the perfect setting for that. There is nothing in Grand Isle, not back in Edna’s time, and not now. Staring at the ocean, for me, has always been the source of a crisis, existential in nature. The ocean reminds me how small I am in the grand scheme of things and, like Edna, could swallow me whole if I allowed it. In the serenity and desolate nature of the beach, I was forced to do some soul searching; when life slows down, it's much easier for thoughts to creep in, thoughts I try to keep at bay most of the time.

While I’ve only just entered my 20s, I do feel like I have grown more in the past year than I ever have before. When Edna describes everything remaining the same, yet she feels herself different, I feel like she’s just described the past year and a half of my life. I feel like I live the same day over and over, but when I look back on the years, I realize everything has changed, everything about me has changed. As a recent graduate, I acknowledge that I came out a completely different person than I was when I entered college 4 years ago, and I can’t describe how much better I am for it. Like Edna, I feel as though change came suddenly. I realized one day that everyone seemed to know who they were, whether or not this was true, and how much I didn’t know who I was. I didn’t know myself and this caused me a lot of inner turmoil because, in my head, how can I not know who I am? I’ve lived with myself for 21 years, I have to know.

““But the beginning of things, of a world especially, is necessarily vague, tangled, chaotic, disturbing.” ”

— Kate Chopin

But this came with time; more time than I wanted, but time that I needed. I think I find something new about myself everyday, and this novel helped me realize how far I’ve come. Edna and I live very different lives but, somehow, I understand exactly what she felt. Realizing you’re changing is never easy and, if you’re like me, you hold tightly to the past, clinging on as long as possible to relationships and your past self that you’ve outgrown; growing up is never easy, and realizing you’re not who you once were is jarring, but it’s necessary.

I never thought I’d love this book as much as I did, and maybe I’ll read it in a few years and realize I actually don’t like it that much, and that’s okay. This book is what I needed at this place in my life, and I’m grateful. I’m grateful for Edna, and I’m grateful for Kate. It’s comforting to know that women who came before me have the same struggles, and these struggles are just growing pains.

Maybe rural Louisiana isn’t so bad.