Friday afternoon, after asking our boss if we could do something fun over the long Memorial Day weekend we took off for New Orleans! My coworker grew up on the West Bank so we got to stay with his family and I got to experience the city with someone who knows it! I honestly never thought that I would ever go to New Orleans, as I told people all weekend it is the farthest south I have ever been. I’ve driven around the western half of the country quite a bit. Oregon, Washington, Idaho, Montana, Nevada, Utah, California and South Dakota are places I’ve passed through, if not the destination themselves, at some time in the past 6 years of my life. What I noticed on all of those journeys is that some states blend into each other and if not for the Welcome sign you would not know that you had entered another state. (Western Montana and Eastern Idaho on I-90) Some state borders appear to be arbitrary lines drawn on a map by politicians. (Eastern Wyoming and Western South Dakota) Some borders are defined by topography or large geographical features. (Southern Washington and Northern Oregon are split by the majestic Columbia River) As we drove east from Houston on I-10 I wondered what the border between Louisiana and Texas would be like. I’d heard that Louisiana was often referred to as the swamplands, and I had not seen any evidence of swamplands in Texas. Sure enough, the border between these two states is in an actual swamp, and the change in climate and scenery only gets more defined from there.
Long stretches of I-10 are actually a suspended highway over swampy areas. And this spring the swamps are more like lakes due to the flooding of the Mississippi and the spillways which have been opened. For a fun and informative look at the spillway situation check out: http://blog.xkcd.com/2011/05/08/michael-bays-scenario/. We crossed the Atchafalaya River and saw it surging near the top of the levees and surrounded by a lake with trees partially submerged, according to the GPS we were driving over dry ground, according to our eyes it was a definite lake! Outside of New Orleans, is the Bonnet Carre Spillway. When opened this spillway lets floodwaters into Lake Pontchartrain. We drove over this spillway and the gates were wide open. Water was surging into Lake Pontchartrain! You could whitewater raft on it, literally. It was quite the site to see the muddy floodwaters gushing into the blue waters of the lake. An historic site that I got to witness!
Once we arrived in New Orleans on Friday night we attended Greek Fest followed by a trip to a local gay bar to meet some of my coworker’s friends. My drink (whiskey ginger ale) was all whiskey with a dash of ginger. After buying 2 of them my tab was only 7 dollars and I was drunk. I went outside to answer I__’s phone call and naturally left my drink inside. When I came back in everyone laughed and told me I should have taken my drink with me, because, news to me, it’s ok to just drink all the time anytime, anywhere in New Orleans. In Washington and Colorado where I’ve done most of my bar drinking it is absolutely not ok to bring your drink outside unless there is a designated, fenced patio. And it is also not ok to smoke inside. In New Orleans neither of these applies. Culture shock. We crossed the Mississippi that night on the Crescent Connection Bridge over to the West Bank, which is really the East side of the River from downtown. Culture shock (and confusion).
Saturday we went to a Crawfish boil at a friend of my coworker’s father’s house. This was so much better than the festival we went to in Texas, much more intimate and you served yourself as much crawfish as you could eat with all the potatoes, corn, mushrooms, onions and garlic you wanted. You grab a big tray and a scoop and fill up your tray with deliciousness and then start tearing the heads off the crawfish. So spicy and delicious! My coworker ate 3 trays in the time it took me to finish one, what can I say, I’m still learning! Culture shock.
Driving back to the West bank we passed houses that had been destroyed by Katrina. Some of them have large X’s spray painted on the sides, apparently this means that there were dead bodies inside those houses. It is clear that some areas have been rebuilt, while others seem to have just been abandoned. My coworker and his sister explain what housing projects used to be where newly constructed apartments and houses stand. Some houses have recently been raised and in a few places if you look really closely you can still see waterlines. In some neighborhoods the water was 10-14 feet high, in others it barely flooded at all. It was mind boggling to realize how damaged the city was by Katrina, especially being a “northerner”, it was impossible for me to imagine what was happening when hearing about it on the news, and even after seeing the destruction 5 years later, it is still nearly impossible to imagine. Culture shock, in so many ways.
From the West Bank we took the free ferry across the River to the French Quarter. We wandered through the French Market and various streets. It is so humid in New Orleans! I felt as though I was breathing underwater and even my lightweight sundress stuck to me. Definitely the most humid place I had ever been! After dinner at Port of Call, a burger place where instead of fries you get a baked potato with your fresh delicious burger, we wandered down Bourbon Street. Bourbon St has to be seen to be believed. The street is blocked off so no cars drive down it at night and people wander in and out of neon signed bars, drinks in hand. As the night progresses the wander transitions to stumbling for some. We meet up with some more of my coworker’s friends and head to a dance club, Mimi’s. The beer is good and the dj plays groovy funk. Upstairs everyone is dancing and sweating. If you want to dance you must switch to water, it is simply too hot to imagine drinking anything else. People in the south get down! No one cares about what their neighbor is doing, they are there to get their groove on and it is refreshing and invigorating to be dancing in this environment. I could have stayed all night. It was already 4 am. We ended the night with “breakfast” at an Italian café that was still open. I think that while in Colorado last call is often at 1:35 even though closing is at 2, in New Orleans there is no last call. Beautiful culture shock.
Monday we went to a Hash BBQ. From what I understand these are running clubs and they are all over the country/world. But in New Orleans they are also drinking clubs. Everyone arrives midafternoon and drinks beer from two kegs set up in City Park and eats food grilled there on grills people have brought with them. The park is beautiful, huge Live Oaks with their arms draped in moss stretch over walkways and shade us from the burning sun. At about 6 when everyone is good and buzzed the running part starts. You follow a trail created by one of the members made out of circles of flour. I did the walking version since I was wearing sandals. After the run, every one forms a circle and sings raunchy songs and drinks beer. Groups are called into the center of the circle; I was called in with the “Virgins” since this was my first hash. Others were called in for being absent for a long time, for talking, for being visitors, for…you name it. Now my home hash will always be New Orleans. I can’t wait to find a hash club in Colorado and enter the circle as a visitor! Culture shock.
Now I’m back here in Nixon, TX. Back on night shift. Back to analyzing the Eagle Ford Shale. The moon is a sliver and the sky is still just a little orange on the horizon. I realized the other day that this is the longest I have ever inhabited a place where there were not mountains on one horizon or the other. It’s starting to feel a little strange. I’m soaking up the south. The dirty, dirty south, the vibrant, sticky south. Often these days as I traipse from strange place to unexpected beauty and dancing I’m reminded of my conversation at Vantage, WA with Harry. I still stand by the conclusion we reached that night in 2006. I love America because nowhere else can you experience, with ease, the diversity of people and place and love that I continually find in this country. I’ll probably end up saying “y’all” instead of “you guys” one of these days. Yeehaw!
Peace out!
Pinky
Bourbon Street!
