My Love Affair with New Orleans
I woke up yesterday morning and missed New Orleans. I missed it. The way you miss the person that you love when you are apart. I yawned, stretched, opened my eyes, and rolled over in bed, reaching out to hug the city–but it was gone. Just my stupid sheets in my own stupid bed in Pennsylvania. No live music. No festively decorated balconies. No cornmeal-crusted anything. Deep sigh.
What makes a person fall in love with a city in this way? Since it was my first love affair with a place, it came as a bit of a shock to me. So I gave it some thought, and I have several theories as to when I fell in love with New Orleans. But I’m pretty sure I know why it happened.
It was definitely not love at first sight. In fact, while walking around the French Quarter on the day I arrived, I recall thinking something along the lines of perhaps I scheduled too much time here. No, I did not love New Orleans in my first few hours there. I was unable to check into my hotel, exhausted from very little sleep the night before, and wandering down Bourbon street in the bright light of mid-afternoon (which is not really something anyone should ever do).
It wasn’t my first meal in the city that started my city-crush. After my exhausted ramblings, I stopped for a sampler plate from Remoulade, featuring, among many things, my first taste of turtle soup. Though I have to say–the fact that the waitress automatically brought hot sauce to the table did score the first point in favor of Nola and, particularly, its cuisine. But my first literal taste of the city didn’t immediately ignite the passion I’d eventually feel towards New Orleans.
No, like most love affairs, I can’t really put my finger on exactly where or when it began. There were moments when I realized that I might have feelings for the city. The cocktail tour that evening was a pretty great first date with Nola. While we didn’t go all the way that night, I could see the relationship going somewhere. But the next day, things quickly turned serious. Upon waking up–late–I slowly made my way down to the French Market cafe, where there was music playing. So I sat down and ordered breakfast. While basking in the surprisingly warm sun and listening to live music as I ate my meal–on a Thursday morning in late January–I realized how lucky I was. I smiled at New Orleans, and she smiled back.
Holding hands and skipping down the street, Nola and I enjoyed two blissful days together. We wandered through the park, visited more than our share of bars and restaurants, and chatted with the wonderful people that call New Orleans home. We enjoyed po boys together, licking our fingers clean. We took photos of street musicians–and tipped them accordingly. Hell, we even rode a streetcar and visited the zoo. By the time Saturday arrived and I had to sail away–which, when you think about it, is pretty damn romantic in its own right–I didn’t want to go. As the taxi carried me away from the narrow streets of the quarter and toward the sterile halls of a commercial cruise ship, I snapped one last photo out the window of the cab. Goodbye, New Orleans, I said in my mind. I’ll miss you.
Had I been a cartoon, little hearts would have been streaming out of my eyes, knocking into things, and breaking into even smaller hearts.
It was on my last night in town that I realized not just that I loved New Orleans, but why I loved her…er, it. You see, love is all about timing. And at this point in my life, New Orleans was exactly what I needed. And as I sat at a bar with a friend that night, I saw a cat out of the corner of my eye. The cat was just wandering around the bar. Being a cat, he (or she) felt like he had the run of the place, and a few moments later I noticed him up on one of the bar tables. As he walked along the bar rail from table to table, he rubbed up against bottles of ketchup and women’s purses; occasionally someone would pet him, and he’d squish his face up in that happy cat expression that’s so damn cute. And I thought–there’s a cat in this bar. And no one cares.
This is why I love New Orleans. Because for some reason, it seems that people there just take life a little less seriously. And for me, this year has been about taking myself a lot less seriously–in fact, I just wrote about that over on my other blog, in a post where I finally allowed myself to curse in writing. And why can’t I curse in writing if people in New Orleans can openly smoke in bars, men can paint themselves silver and stand on street corners with penis balloons between their legs and cats can roam freely amongst condiments on table tops?
I miss you, New Orleans. And I love you. Don’t ever change.
xoxoxoxo
I love the story of the cat in the bar 🙂 Hope I get to visit Nola someday!
Glad you liked it. I loved that cat. And New Orleans.
I hope you get to visit some day, too. Everyone really should. Best city ever.
Loved your story on NOLA. I am also in a love affair with that city, and I think you summed it up so nicely. Very well put!!
Glad you liked it. I wonder how many of us there are out there. Perhaps I should start a support group? Nola Lovers Anonymous? 😉
Yeah. It’s that kind of city. It gets under your skin and stays there. How can you not love a city so filled with music that you hear it everywhere you go? Love the way you wrote this, by the way. 🙂
Yeah–the music was awesome. It literally was everywhere. Like overlapping, even. I’m already looking at returning. Soon. I was looking at flights for Easter break last night. Though of course my adventurous self wants to go somewhere new. Oh the problems I have!
Glad you liked the way this was written. I had an almost unnaturally good time writing it. Apparently I really enjoy extended metaphors. 😉
Thank you for writing this. Really, I mean it. I was reading through it and sighing fondly and thinking “Yep, I know what you mean.” but then, when you reached the part about the cat in the bar…that’s EXACTLY it. I don’t think I could come up with a better symbol for the city than that: a cat meandering into an open-air bar and rubbing up on customers, and NOBODY bats an eyelash. A cat with probably no owner, who simply belongs to the city in the same way the city belong to him. Sure the New Orleans is about partying and festivals and Mardi Gras and live music and good food, but it’s something else too, something more subtle and hard to put your finger on. I love it, and as a lifelong NOLA resident I’m always happy to find somebody else who GETS it.
Awww–thanks so much for this comment! It means a lot to me too that I ‘got it’–and that I ‘got it’ correctly, apparently–since you, living there, agree.
I wonder if that cat knew how instrumental it my romance with NOLA? 😉 Probably not, huh?
Thank you for writing this. I am returning to NOLA in a few days to visit and this really explained why.
I’m glad you enjoyed it (and I’m jealous that you will be in NOLA in a few days!) Honestly, ‘thank you for writing this’ is the best compliment I could possibly get for any of my posts. So thank YOU! 🙂