Watery Ways

It's pouring and I've lost the bridges. They've disappeared into fog that's shrouding the roiling river. Just the previous evening, we leaned on the bluff's rail, mesmerized by the murky liquid below and charmed by the lighted spans that connect two Southern states.



A tooth needs mending and an unknown dentist is being consulted. Carol is the willing supplicant who'll seek a permanent solution back home in New York. There's luscious food waiting to be consumed and she doesn't want to miss a morsel. We admire her tenacity and after a few more errands, leave my native city. Departing is always accompanied by angst. So much of me lives in this special place. So many whom I cherish still cling to its historic spaces.

Awash with fresh memories, we follow the raindrops to the freeway. I think about "Finian's Rainbow" and the magical location depicted in its story. I'm ruminating about the perfection of the last few days and acknowledging that the serendipitous events, peopled by an eclectic mixture of relations, are unlikely to occur ever again. I'll be feeding on these moments eternally.

New Orleans with its nuanced cuisine and abiding music beckons. Cool weather, unwelcome wind, and scant humidity greet us.



Powdered sugar permeates clothing, attaches itself to noses. Beignets plop into tummies and smiles alight faces. Cafe du Monde is magnetic. We send a cell phone photo to Caitlin, languishing in Portland, beignet-less. Her response is one cryptic word, "Mean." If we could stuff the deliciousness into the phone and transmit it, we would. Instead, every crumb is savored.

As we walk across the street towards the Pontalba Apartments and Jackson Square, an alto clarinetist begins to share his story. We've listened to the extraordinary pick-up band, jamming adjacent to the restaurant. He relates, in a distinguished British accent, that while watching the royal wedding a few days earlier, his wife told him they'd be in New Orleans in 24 hours. Happy 71st birthday! Sitting serenely in a nearby folding chair is that generous woman. She's smiling as she watches her husband's musical dream unfold.

Shops line the pathway and I can't resist one labeled "Jackie." I inquire about the origin of the name, thinking it might belong to the shopkeeper. Almost. It seems the owners had a bulldog named 'Jack' and thought he deserved his own store. Unique jewelry teases me and I try to imagine various earrings being worn in constant wetness. With some shopgirl assistance, I select delicate dangly leaves. Maybe too plain for my own girl.

Streetcars rumble across ancient streets and parlay the city's romantic past. Walking a few blocks from our hotel on Tchoupitoulas (impossible to pronounce or spell), we climb aboard the St. Charles line. Our destination is the storied Garden District with its sumptuous homes, universities, and awesome Audubon Park and Zoo. Carol and Steve are enchanted. We're familiar with this ride, but no less charmed.


With my hometown's name stretched across the boat's side, we're drawn to a liquid ride. Though considered a touristy activity, this languid voyage offers historical insight into the great river and its environs. A voice permeates the din and identifies huge ships carrying products both edible and utilitarian. We pass a gigantic sugar plant and marvel at the tonnage produced each day.

Lunch is Southern sumptuous, included in the admission price. Fried chicken rivals Mamie's memorable meals. I chat with the Food and Beverage Director. He tells a haunting tale of being the last person to leave famous Brennan's restaurant just a few hours before Katrina swept through town. He carefully placed a note on the door saying they'd be closed for a few days. Seventeen months later he was able to return to the town he loved and whose near destruction he still mourns.

Back to the dock too soon, we're captivated by a colorful scene. It is, after all, New Orleans.



Our days in town are wedged in between the Jazz Festival celebration week-ends and we know that crowds will soon complicate the city. We sample Creole and Cajun food, visit the emotion-laden D-Day Museum, inhale unique flavors of the French Quarter, and assure ourselves that this grande dame of a city still thrives, despite the catastrophic chaos it's endured. More water lures us eastward.