Explore the student perspective of our cultural excursion in New Orleans. Read the thoughts of our Multicultural Ambassador below.
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New Orleans. Ah, New Orleans. I think it to be one of the greatest walking places. The Cajun and Creole spices seem to fill the air here. I am convinced a more pleasurable scent does not exist--how could it? Ne'er have I yearned for food so wholly, so completely. I, consumed by my greed, comforted by the everpresence of food sources, neglected my responsibilities, my budget, if only for a moment.
No. This is not why I am here. I travelled here not to fill my stomach with food but to fill my mind with stories. Here, the line between legend and truth is a blur, appearing only in moments of doubt and fear.
After a bit of a walk we found the Square--Jackson, of course, lies between the St. Louis Cathedral and the Café du Monde, and probably others, though I do not care. My mind, once consumed with greed for the food lining the blocks is now consumed with greed for the hundreds of pieces of art hanging upon the gates to the Square. Owls, monkeys, and skeletons!
And the jazz pieces! Thrice I pass by this artist. Each time his so-called "nifty planks" steal my attention, but it takes a fourth pass to hold it. I must have his work. But which one? Each calls to me, begging me not to leave it hanging.
I make my decision. It has been titled "Jazz Emporium"--at least, that is what the sign says. Below the sign, a man leans against a wall, playing his saxophone. Simple, but delightful. It will place wonderfully in my room.
More walking. How far have we gone? Again, I have neglected my responsibilities. Where are we? I'm glad I do not travel alone...
Oh, right. The tour. We arrive at a coffee shop. At least, that's what the sign says. Really, it's an entrance to a courtyard, beyond which is the coffee shop.
I didn't think much about the tour until I saw our guide. Instantly, my mind began racing. We're going to a cometery?! Isn't that...disrespectful? After all, it is the place for the dead...wait. Maybe this IS a good idea. What better way to honor the dead than to learn about them? ...why is death so taboo?
We couldn't possibly learn about everyone in this cemetery. Even if we had the time, it would be nearly impossible since most of the tombstones have succumbed to "sugaring". In other words, the marble has deteriorated so that little, if any, of the carving is apparent.
We learned about a man who designed parts of New Orleans. His wife's grave warrants a second look. The inscription catches my eye because my task in one of my courses has been to attempt to define virtue. A task which I have failed miserably.
We walk away. Marie Laveau's grave! Whoa. Now here's something I've never seen: a woman approaches the vault, taps thrice upon it, and begins to turn in circles. Why does she do this?
I do not know her personal motives; I did not ask her. However, here's what I do know (according to our tour guide and perhaps some prior knowledge): this grave is of spiritual importance to many people. She was Roman Catholic and voodoo priestess. Many believe that Marie (really, the dead in general) has the power to do things for a price. That is, many place offerings upon the site of her grave in hopes of pleasing her and receiving their wish.
I never thought much about the purpose of funerals and graves. Sure, we wish to remember our dead. But how often do we return there? Personally, I have never been to the same gravesite twice. Why should I? It's just sad and awkward and...well what's the point?
At least, that's what I used to think. After today, I must say that I no longer feel fearful of cemeteries. The thought of going to one is exciting. Who all is buried there? In St. Louis Cemetery No.1, there's the architect, Bernard Marigny, Marie Laveau, young victims of the yellow fever...there is so much history here.
Unfortunately, the cemetery closes at noon on Sundays so we left quite abruptly. We walked across the way to some welcome center in order to take a break. After all, we had been walking for over an hour.
We soon made our way toward Louis Armstrong Park. This is the place I most wanted to go. This is the site of the famous Congo Square, where slaves were allowed to gather on Sundays to dance, sing, and play an array of drums and a stringed instrument much like the banjo.
There is a large oak tree on one side of the square, opposite the view of the cathedral. Many consider this tree to be of great spiritual importance. Like Marie Laveau's grave site, people are drawn to this tree to communicate with the spirits. Since this tree is the oldest on the square, some people believe it is the site where spirits gather.
After we took some pictures, we began walking back down the street where Marie used to live. It is now mostly apartments with some businesses mixed in. The site where Marie's house was now has apartments on them--really, it looks more like a cottage to me.
Anyway, by this point our tour was pretty much over so we began walking toward a restaurant for lunch. When we got there, however, it turned out to be a bar so we had to leave. We went to the French Market instead.
This lunch was an extremely important moment in my life. It was my first bowl of gumbo. I've dreamed of this moment for years. I always knew it would be the best food I've ever tasted. I was right. If there had been a pot of it on the table, you can bet I would've eaten everyone's fill. Ok, probably not. But I definitely would have eaten more than my fair share.
After lunch we were going to walk around for awhile, but I got tired so some of us went back to the room where I took my first nap in recent memory. It was refreshing. Well, I'm sure it would have been refreshing if not for my headache.
Dinnertime.
In what place is it acceptable to eat lunch, do absolutely nothing, and be starving for dinner? This place.
And how good it was! I got some fried chicken, my all-time favorite food. What's better is they surprised me with corn on the cob! My very first food obsession. I began eating it with the arrival of my first two teeth.
Anyways, dinner was delightful, but I was exhausted.
And that is how I came to be in my first cab ride. It was everything I thought it would be. Y'know, a car. A driver. An ever-rising meter. Speeding through town to the hotel.
...Did we really walk that far?
- T.B., Multicultural Ambassador
