We hopped back on the highway towards New Orleans and started talking to pass the miles. I don't watch the news because I feel it presents a skewed and sensationalist view of events. I'd rather speak to people who experienced something firsthand. Dave, on the other hand, reads the news regularly online. He started to recount to me the horrors of Hurricane Katrina, which hit New Orleans in 2005. He started to recount to me the stories of police brutality and human cruelty and I found tears welling up in my eyes.
It is a very, very different experience to read these things in the newspaper than it is to be seeing them firsthand. The papers coldly recount numbers and figures and you remain safely distanced from the emotion of the thing, from the pain and the struggle. Now that we are heading directly to the city where so many awful things happened, it strikes home hard.
Who am I to be the tourist? How can I be close to so much suffering and not help? I feel that by being aware of the pain of others and not being spurred to help in some way, we are doing exactly that. My whole life has been a priviledged, selfish endeavour, lived entirely based on my own pleasures and whims.
I said once before that travel changes you, and often not in a way you'd expect. Sometimes it is not in a way you would like. It is uncomfortable. Growth often is. When I set out on this trip I had a vague hope that I'd discover what I'd like to do with my life, and that is beginning to become a reality. It's not in the way that I had imagined though. For now I will see this journey through and try and embrace what it can bring me, try and embrace my growing pains and see the world with open eyes.
These thoughts hung heavy on my mind as we pulled into New Orleans. Looking at the city from an outside perspective, you would never know anything had happened. Little hints give it away when you begin to look though; all the buildings have fresh paint, faded waterlines on some of the signs, heavy floodgates against the water. I try to shake off the dark mood and enjoy it.
It is Saturday and the tourist streets are crowded. There are street musicians and buskers on every corner. Three adorable little boys tap dance for cash, and I throw them a couple singles. They beam up and say "Thank you, pretty lady! Hundred dolla bill!". We quickly tire of wandering through stands hocking knockoff sunglasses, dried alligator heads, and fake silver jewelry. They stretch on for miles here. We find a cajun cafe called Desire and duck inside for a meal.
My mood is not stellar to begin with and the throngs of fat, white tourists wearing beads and slurping down 40 oz daquiris has not improved it. It does not feel authentic or real, simply a facade for people to gawk at and pass. Another example of American tourists treating the world as their own personal dive bar.
 |
| And then there's these guys... |
A couple stiff Mint Juleps begin to lighten my stormy outlook, and we set to work on some delicious Cajun food. We started with gumbo and drinks, then I moved on to an oyster Rockefeller Po Boy. Dave had a mixed platter of deep fried shrimp, oysters, hush puppies and crab cakes. We left entirely stuffed and waddled back to the van to move on.
We both mumbled remarks about staying outside the city and coming back the next day, but neither of us had our hearts in it.
Later that night we crossed the Mississippi state line and slept at the Welcome Center. It's the nicest we've seen, with designated RV spots separate from the trucks, large grassy areas, clean bathrooms, WIFI, and free coffee. Here we learned that due to an unexpected cold front sweeping the nation, temperatures will be dropping to below 20 degrees at night. We plan to get on the highway and hopefully make Florida by tonight.
Man the food looks delicious. I went to New Orleans before Katrina hit and the one thing I remember is the best onion rings ever at a tiny little restaurant on the water.
ReplyDeleteI hope things are moving smoothly -- it sounds like it's warmer here than it is there :P I miss you!