What It Means to Miss New Orleans

just journaling

If you’ve never heard the tune, you can’t know the words. Missing New Orleans is much like missing a part of your body. You know it’s supposed to be there, but when you look it’s nowhere in sight. It’s like you’re inhaling and exhaling, but you just can’t seem to get any air. Then again, that’s a strange analogy for a place where you can only breathe if you’re nowhere near the Quarter!

In 1995, I moved to Portland, Oregon. I took Greyhound because I couldn’t afford to fly and, after my arrival four grueling days later, I stepped off the bus and immediately noticed a change in atmosphere. The first thing I perceived was there was no longer a need for the eyes, which had permanently grown into the back of my head. And, no one was waiting around the next corner, telling me that he knows where I got my shoes.

Then, of course, there was the weather. I guess it’s small wonder that everyone was so damned rude, as their body parts were freezing and falling off by the minute. And this was in the middle of August! But it wasn’t until the next morning that I began to wonder what I had been slipped to make me come to this horrid, frigid, little part of the country.

I woke up to silence.

Nothing. I mean, nothing but birds singing in the sky. No clip-clop-clip-clop of the horse-drawn carriages trotting down the streets of the French Quarter. No scheming buggy-driver barking at the tourists that ‘anything you want, and anything you don’t want can be found on Rue Bourbon.’ No calliope chiming from the Natchez riverboat on the Mississippi, no intolerable heat and humidity, oozing in through the walls of my Quarter townhouse. No townhouse for that matter. No pungent smell of the urine and sweat from a thousand tourists, all mixed with the fragrant wonder of magnolias and boiling crawfish, which refuses to be ignored or overpowered. But, most of all, there were no horse-drawn buggies.

Now, to the average person, all this may sound like a nuisance to gladly bid tidings of farewell. But, you see that was my home. I was raised in the Crescent City, and the sights and sounds are part of my blood. And I never realized how true this was until I left the place for good.

Someone once told me that the Voodoo Queen, Marie Laveau, had put a spell on the city. Anyone who attempted to leave the city would surely be back, or they would live a life of misery until they returned. From what I know of the divine Miss Laveau, she no doubt did this to ensure return business; she was quite shrewd where enterprise was concerned. But, I believe in this Hoodoo. I believe every single word of it.

New Orleans has a flavor that exists nowhere else in the world. Where else can one eat a dish of étouffée, jump on a streetcar, take it down to the river and party with some of the greatest jazz and blues musicians to ever grace this planet, all inside a four mile radius? Where else is there a vampire on every street corner, standing along side a Lucky Dog cart and drinking not blood but beer in a go cup? And, who else dares to paint their entire city in the colors purple, green, and gold during the late part of February, or early March? Only the City Beneath the Sea, or N’Awlin’s as the tourists like to call it.

So, since 1995, I have yet to go back, and now I live in Minnesota. Destiny is like that sometimes. I’m happy here… I think so anyway. But every year around February, that Laveau mojo starts working on me and I start seeing reminders of the Crescent City. I’ll search through my box of memories and come up with a few saved Mardi Gras beads, and a doubloon or two. I’ll take them into my study and hold them trembling hands, as the memories come crashing through my mind once again; these penny trinkets that for some reason mean the world to me. After a while, I’ll get myself together and put them away until next year. And, when I see the news footage of Mardi Gras floats and the Flambeaus passing by the screaming crowds, I’ll tell myself I won’t cry. “Not this year,” I’ll say, and like every other year, it will be a lie.

Throw me somethin’ mister! Laissez les bons temps rouler, y'all, my heart is forever your lagniappe.
 

Author's Note

In a time when New Orleans cannot be brought up in conversation without someone talking about the devastation caused by Katrina, I thought it would be nice to write about what New Orleans is really all about; what the city means to me.

Reviews

[A.j.]

That mojo has my heart, as well, even as a non-native. It has been well over a year since my last visit, and you've brought my absence to the surface.

[Katherine Wyatt]

I lived there post-Katrina. I was married there it total New Orleans style..LOL! I moved a year ago..I still get those moments you described when I want to go back so bad it hurts. (Those are half donkey half horses in the quarter by the way..LOL! ) I miss the music ..it was everywhere..music floats through the air there just like the smells do on every street corner. And the way people would accept you for who you were no matter what..an accountant could have a pierced eyebrow and wear anything and it was all ok..I always call it the "Great Human Experiment"..in acceptance I guess. Thanks for writing this..I love where I live now.in the mountains..(never lived anywhere but a big city before) but we have gone to Harrah's for that huge Thanksgiving feast for two years now and I think it is time to insist on tradition again this year..I haven't been back there since last Thanksgiving and I am having N'awlins home sickness. Must be the voo-doo queen herself pulling me back again!

[No one]

"Excuse me, mister. Hey, mister," said a man who looked like he lived in the gutter.
"Yes? What's up?" I said.
"I bet you a dollah I can tell you where you got those shoes."
"Uh... Hmm. Where?"
"You got those shoes on yo feet walking down Decatur street." And he guffawed, then asked for his dollar.

When I read your reference to that question posed to me only a few years ago when I walked in the Quarter, I guffawed, too. Just like that man had done so many sunsets ago.

Reading this reminded me of why I need to go back to New Orleans, and of why I probably need to stay away. Thanks for taking me along on your walk down memory lane.

I went to New Orleans with my girlfriend, a francophone from Montreal, when I was just learning the French language. I'd mastered none of the subtleties, but could introduce myself and tell someone to be quiet and go make me an egg (which is a childish cut-down and really only made me sound like an imbecile when I said it with a serious expression). My girlfriend, Genevieve, was shocked to find that no one really speaks French in the French Quarter. Not only that but when there are signs written in English and French most of the time the French is grammatically incorrect and words are misspelled (which makes me think someone had imbibed a wee bit too much vin rouge while making said signs). The expression that broke my girlfriend's back, as it were, was Laissez les bons temps rouler! which was written thus: Laissez les bon temps roulez! She couldn't believe that the French language could be mangled like that by any self-respecting restauranteur, and in New Orleans of all places. In the end it was just another thing to laugh about in a collection of hilarious things that happened to us in 'Nawlins.
We've returned more times than I can count on one hand. But just one hand. Soon I'd like to say we've returned more times than I count on both hands and both feet.

Because this was a journalistic piece and because you lived for a time in New Orleans I was expecting some type of insider information about the city, mention of a place well off the beaten path, or something I hadn't seen in the city before. This was the only thing I found: --->standing along side a Lucky Dog cart

[Chloe..Across the Unive..]

This touched me .. I live in Arkansas and visited New Orleans so many times.. and yes, i do think Marie Laveau may have put a spell on the city of New Orleans .. She sure pulled me into her ample bosom .. the City has spirit, heart and soul.. So much diversity there .. I love that city and I cried my eyes out for her and her people when she was drowned by Katrina .. Loved walking through the Quarters, the Cafe Du Monde and the Garden District .. of course Mardi Gras and The Old Absinthe House where so many writers and actors went for the liquid green elixar . that City still has a piece of my heart.. Enjoyed this well done.

Chloe
xoxo

[cyanskye]

Have only been to New Orleans once and cannot wait to go back. I don't think I could ever live there, I would beome a total deviant!
Laissez les bons temps rouler.
C

[Collette]

Ahh, this was a lovely write. I've never been to New Orleans, but I do know what it's like to have some sort of love-hate relationship with your city. I've never left Chicago, but I dream of it. However, I'm not so sure I'd be happy anywhere else...especially after reading this. You did an excellent job with it though. It's interesting, emotional, and eloquent. Great write!

[Mysteral - Night Prowle..]

A wonderful piece of writing. I know nothing about New Orleans other than a few pictures of Mardi Gras, but it sounds like I need to make a point of visiting. Also, big thank you Damian. I've always wondered, the name of the "Witch Queen of New Orleans" as sung (I believe) by Redbone. (Memories of my childhood) I could never decipher the surname listening to the record. We argued for hours over what it should be.