Arrival

New Orleans is saturated with history at every corner. The initial impression stepping into the train station terminal were the large mural paintings, covering wall to wall. People of every walk of life were displayed, from Carnival dancers, masked with jarring expressions, to soldiers of the War of 1812 in battle, with embroidered shoulder pads on their distinguished navy blue uniforms.

The city was on a calmer rhythm than I expected. The people as a whole had a vibe of relaxation and defined expression. Passion reeking from their mere existence. They utilize Carpe Diem, focusing on the eye of the artists, absorbing surroundings as inspiration. My goal for the trip. The downtown area was also very well kept. I expected to see garbage littering the streets, but it seems the residents respect their historical masterpiece of a city. The marble wall of the train station had a faint impression of an old, classic styled clock. It reminded me of the time passed, an amusing irony. Lasting imprints of ourselves are influential beyond our lives. 

Traveling to the hotel was easy enough, as I taught my classmates to use Uber app. Our driver picked us up in a black Honda Odyssey, as we requested an UberXL, to meet the needs of three students lugging four bags each. The driver made me hypervigilant about how driving in this city would be a terrifying adventure. Driving in cities is a race between pedestrians, streetcars, bicyclists, pedicabs, and the variety of automobiles. I am enormously relieved I do not have to drive anywhere personally. My car accident last March has affected my true desire to drive anywhere, with a sense of pessimism of other people that have a need for speed with a lead foot.

My first streetcar ride!

The streetcars were a luxurious crimson red with bronze-gold bordered windows. Entrance included the swipe of a "jazzy pass", stamping my first experience onto this alien transportation. In reality though- I was the alien, as the transportation has been in place long before I even existed. As I saw daylight transforming into a darkness, the time of the day had escaped me. The train ride distorted my perception and I realized it was already Wednesday evening. I was ready to eat from any given street vendor, as I was painfully hungry. I held out during the rapid snapshot walking orientation of the historic French Quarter district. Jackson Square was more alluring than my first love. I had walked into the 1840s, with brick and cement buildings, dressed with cast-iron galleries and balconies. The off-green jaded iron was a masterful elegance of aging; perfectly paired with gas-fueled-flickering-flamed streetlights. The Saint Louis Cathedral caught my eye from a mile away, with the tall pointed central tower, octagon and arched windows, and almost three hundred years of history in the French architecture looked back at me.

Next, dinner! On the walk to Pierre Maspero's, I was "holding up the group" as I recorded the many street performers, artichetural heaven, and diverse inhabitants. I did not feel the guilt, as I captured my first impressions of the city. Although I had a grumbling hunger within me and when we arrived at the restaurant I wanted to seat myself. Waiting was consoled with a specialty cocktail called the Gator Popper. Katie, the red-haired Louisiana native, had spectacular menu suggestions. She hinted that my vegetarian palette would enjoy an off-menu item- the fried tomato po-boy! Once I learned that Pierre Maspero was originally a place for slave trading, it did concern me; however, the history within the location and building, paired with the traditional New Orleans meal, formed a successful fusion of this aged city. New Orleans is often an elegantly deteriorated exterior with a shamefully interesting historical interior, at heart.

After full bellies and prominent food baby showing, we began to walk to our final activity of Day One, the ghost tour. The class grouped in Pirates Alley, awaiting Brittany, the New Orleans native. She was African American, with French Creole roots, a large smile, and a lengthy, slender build. Brittany spoke of her Nanny, her Great-Grandmother, raised Catholic, who lit candles at every church visit, in order to respect her lost ones; a spectacular image explained in passing, Brittany apologized for her personal interjection, but I appreciated its value and considered its meaning. The history of the tour guide native is simply as relevant as the history of New Orleans, as her life journey began in the city that I seek to learn about. The stories she told in each location were easily spotted as legends that were beefed into native beliefs, for tourist economy. Nevertheless, I appreciated her thoughtful and knowledgeable storytelling. The Jazz-axe Murderer was my favorite of the tales, an additional story told in the back alley of Fritzels, in order to accommodate our small bladders. Only murdering women and those who did not play jazz, this ghost had a vengeance against someone who stopped his musical aspirations. I pondered if the age-old ghost story is was began the slang term of a saxophone being called "the axe". 

The mixed emotions that brewed within me over the course of Day One were confusing and tantalizing. I felt love for a city, like the love of first site of a stranger. The connection of passionate souls. Simultaneously, I experienced anxious racing thoughts, exhaustion of a long train ride, overwhelming fear of a new course running ahead of my abilities to master time, and a nostalgic sense that I was yet again an outcast. Always the student that is viewed as a know-it-all because I have a love for learning and I am a sponge of acquired information. I experience life on a deeper level than most and it affects my emotionality. I feel the vibrations and emotions of others, swarming around me like clouds of pure energy. Auras of emotion were not positive on the orientation walk. Grumpy and depleted souls morphed us each into snapdragons with a short fuse and their was a clash among wants and needs. A group of twenty is expected to have some lack of congruence, as personalities are unique and not invariably compatible. My anxiety spiraled out of control and into a mist of consistent annoyance. Bad jubies circled the entirety of our company. Ghost stories fencing us into tales of horrific partial truths, while we brewed a bitter taste of indignation, was less than ideal. Imagining Madame Delphine LaLaurie in a torture room, with slaves caged-in and wounded was not a picture that brightened already dampened spirits. As the tour wrapped up, myself and three friends were exhausted, feeling jet lag from a 17 hour train ride and weekday confusion. Our sore piggies from a few miles of walking tours caught up with the restlessness of train-ride-rest. A friend decided to Uber again and I hitched a ride. I was amused by the Uber Driver, Tammy, as she proudly invited us to a parade, meanwhile texting and driving and coincidentally getting us lost. My elation to cuddle up with pillows and visit dreamland finally came true. Thank you day one, as New Orleans requested betrothel to my heart and anxieties of travel encouraged my optimism and maturity.

Departure and Train Time

The Observation Car

The literal act of traveling may be the least enjoyed part of a trip, but there is a lot to gain from point A to point B. The departure began with an arrival to Illinois Terminal in Champaign. Introductions and bag checks from Sarah, the Amtrak staff member. Unsure of her title, I would call this sturdy and curly-box-dyed-red-hair attendant a sort of travel and boarding compendium. Her voice incongruent to her appearance, as her carroty-red lips spoke with confidence and eloquence. The vocals of overhead announcements contained a passion for her work and comprehensive knowledge of items to address. I perceived a fervor for travel within her words. The train was late by eleven minutes, with plenty of time in nearly three hours of train station gossip to introduce myself to classmates. As we lined up to take our seats, the humming roar of the train was heard prior to view of bright lights donning the train’s face. Conductors guided us by the wave of a gloved hand, wearing classic hat and uniform of navy blue. A unique automatic door folded open into two halves, as we breached the paved platform. People shuffled and paired off, finding seats where they were available. In mere minutes, the train sought motion. Images of the countryside flew passed the metal borders of the panels of windows. I was able to snag a seat next to a slim woman in her 30s, with plain blonde hair that touched down to the small of her back. She was pleasant and crafted small talk well enough to help me feel at ease.

Selfie Paradise

Our class was seated in Car 34114. My eyes paced, as I noted the green strip lights that pathed the floors, resembling a landing strip to guide air travel. Diverse individuals on route, with the majority already curled up in attempt to sleep. Relaxing on a train is a cruel joke, as the rickety turbulence bounces and jives to its own avail, as if it is joyed by our unrest. Visiting the observation car for a night cap with classmates was luckily a quick decision, as the beverage items would be closed for evening in six minutes. Windows from seat level scanned all the way up and curved part of the ceiling on either side, across both walls of the double length train car. Seats sat at an angle in pairs, with swiveling centers that jostled patrons at every rough turn. A black framed poster hanged on the wall, showing a silhouette of a man trumpeting in the moonlight. Louis Armstrong comes to mind as the words “The CITY of NEW ORLEANS” printed across the top are read. Seated behind our group was a stoic Amish man wearing a traditionally long, grayed beard and a large black hat. Surprisingly, he had found the car with similar intentions, as he pulled a metal flask out of a holster on his belt.

Silhouette Louis

The next few hours were grueling, with tight quarters in a seat next to a stranger. I self-administered a sleep aid and this allowed me to manage an uncomfortable four hours of “R & R”. I positioned myself in a backwards slant and unlatched the plastic tray, to utilize as an ottoman. Draped in my flower print Very Bradley throw and leaning into a downy pillow brought from home was not enough to create a complete illusion of my own bed. Tossing and turning has been a common dismay for myself, even with the comforts of home, so hopes of adequate slumber were dismal at best. I came prepared with ear plugs, pink skull candy headphones, and a black eye mask. Dimming the sounds and lights to a dull and unclear rumble, my eyes grew tired and I imagined I appeared to onlookers as a double-blinded pirate with steampunk headgear. As I finally dosed, it seemed that moments later I was jolted awake. A swipe of my phone was enough to learn that we were in Memphis, Tennessee. I stood, gathered some toiletries and swayed back and forth on my venture to the downstairs washroom. The soap and water felt refreshing on greasy skin. Toothbrush grinding away the taste of yesterday’s midnight snacks.

Hometel roomates

My anxiety had lessened, as the final preparations before travel had me frazzled. Stressors of leaving my companion for a week were oddly paired with excitement for ventures of a new city. Random thoughts of possibilities for the next week entered and exited my mind, as exhaustion and lack of sleep took its toll on my once clear mind. I ran through the mental checklist again, as I had completed my final tasks before leaving town. Medications, check, bank for cash, check, toothbrush, check. Fluttering anxieties, swathing my clarity. The trip to the train station was a poignant goodbye with a generous boyfriend who offered to drive me and decrease my concerns about leaving poor Wanda, my 2015 plasma purple Mitsubishi Mirage, in a foreign lot for a week’s time.

Waiting for the train to arrive to the station, began a worry that people on the trip would group off. As I looked around the terminal waiting area, students were seated three or four together and chatting only to one another. Worries of feeling left out were quickly replaced by thoughts of excitement of what the trip could be. I learned to be optimistic and choose to have a good time, regardless of how others behaved or treated me.

Roomates and cocktail hour

Anxiety was a theme of the beginning of the train ride, as the conductors failed to seat our group together. I was sat next to a complete stranger, after I had planned out the entire train ride with a friend, as far and sleeping arrangements, eating, and comradery. It is a stinging feeling of unease to be pushed out of a prepared comfort and into uncertainty. I noticed that the students who had gotten their way and sat where they had planned did not seem to feel any empathy for those who were put out. I began to wonder if selfishness of a few would take over the rest of our opinions. I hate to feel disbarred from the group, as I have always been an outsider. I connect with the raconteurs, the beatniks, and the subterraneans; I do not conform; I refuse to mold the mores of society or individuals that pressure others to see the world from their “superior” view.

The journey did educate me on the value of appreciating the moment. People get so caught up in the itinerary that they forget to smell the roses. To me, learning is more easily gathered by soaking in the culture, people watching, listening to the sounds of the night life, admiring the architecture, and capturing the moments. Photography is a passion of mine and I do not want to feel that I am burdening others by participating in a favorite hobby. I am learning to take deep breaths and brush off the surrounding emotions that seem to saturate my environment at times. 

Preparations and Expectations

Oh the joys of pre-travel laundry!

Packing- my least favorite part of the trip (other than getting back and subsequently unpacking.) First the mountains of laundry, separated between clean and unclean. Determining what to bring based on weather forecasts, travel itineraries, and preconceived New Orleans culture. Next, figuring out how to fit the things I want to bring into the luggage I feel ready to carry with me. Usually being forced to sit on top of the suitcase, in order to zip it shut. It always gets stuck about half way without the weight of my body on top of the belongings.

Then preparing for the joys of New Orleans eating, shopping, and indulging... money. The preparations began by picking up over time hours at the nursing home. Sixty hour work weeks on Christmas break are necessary when budgeting for Christmas and a New Orleans trip. I work as a certified nursing assistant and working over time hours in a skilled long-term care facility is grueling work. Lifting, transfering, dressing, toileting, and feeding an entire hall of residents. Being accountable for the activities of daily living of eighteen to twenty-four residents over the age of eighty. The work is hard on the body, but rewarding for the mind and soul. The next step was to request money from all family members, as Christmas gifts. One sister even bought me a gift card to Cafe Du Monde, an eatery in the French Quarter, to spend on the trip.

Christmas gifts= New Orleans spending cash

Research for the trip was temporarily halted by the unsatisfactory preparation of getting over this week-long-upper-respiratory-nuisance-of-a-cold. Although previous research involved googling the hotel, surrounding cafes, and listed itinerary course trips. One of the course assignments before the train departs is to create an E-Travel Guide about the population of New Orleans, and my research for this assignment has grown my knowledge of the city's roots and the diversity of its people. I even borrowed a book from the professor about New Orleans and have been reading it, along with texts in the course material, to better understand the mysterious and progressive city of NOLA prior to arrival. The travel guide is a group project, created by the people you will room with in the hotel on the trip. My group had a coffee lunch date at Panera in North Peoria, Illinois, prior to the Christmas holidays, in order to assure the travel guide was well under way. During this meeting, we also mentally prepared for the train ride and discussed amongst ourselves what types of clothing, items, and cash amount we planned to bring. It was decided everyone should probably bring a pillow, blanket, headphones, and Benadryl, in order to sleep for the majority of the fifteen-hour train ride down to our destination. Our research also discovered that we should pack a bathing suit, as the hotel does have a lovely hot tub to relax our sore piggies after miles of site-seeing each day. The continental breakfast is apparently full of fresh hot foods, and things you can bring to-go, and the hotel room contains a mini-fridge. I can already imagine myself leaving breakfast with arms full of bananas, yogurt, peanut-butter and jelly sandwiches, and bottled waters, to stock the fridge for lunch and snack time. Arrangements for life away from life were not terribly complicated, as my copious amounts of jobs are hours that I choose and plan around school. I think my boyfriend was more problematic, as he claims he will miss my face.

Details of our hotel :))))


A link to my group's E-Travel Guide

No one wants to travel sick, so medications to resolve the infection were taken seriously.

I have a concise feeling of hesitation that lags slightly behind my joyous excitement to wander another city. Hesitant to explore a city without family; hesitant to travel with a class of people that I only know through school, on a trip where each activity is planned. I can imagine the trip will be full of new experiences and it will be more organized than any other trip I have taken. I will accomplish more in this city in a week than I do in most cities in a month. I think a jam-packed day of site-seeing will be enthralling, but simultaneously stressful. I am not worried about the writing, as I think I will enjoy sharing my travel experiences with others, but staying with classmates and trying to make new friends could pose greater difficulties.

I am earning a minor in humanities and this travel course to New Orleans is the final course I need to complete it. I decided to travel instead of taking a typical college course, because I believe far more knowledge is gained from experience and reflection than it is from classroom lecture. Being immersed in the culture of New Orleans and witnessing it firsthand will teach me far more about the city than reading about it for years. Writing is also a lifelong passion of mine, and I could not imagine a more enjoyable course than one where my only homework combines traveling and writing. Once I realized it was a trip I could afford, I was all in. I hope to become exposed to New Orleans culture, to the point of vulnerability to the art and lifestyle of NOLA natives. I hope to be changed by the bustle of the city and history found. Looking forward to the music and obvious life of the streets, the art galleries, the food, and the possibility of new camaraderie. Through all of this, I desire to learn the most about myself. To learn about myself as a traveler, a writer, an artist.

Urban Expectations

A City Street

City life is exhilarating- a bustling crowd, on a faster pace and seemingly following an entirely different clock. In the city, everything is now. Availability of most necessities and desires are found around any and every corner. As the clock ticks faster, the people rush by, hardly noting the discrepancies within the crowd. The people are different, as diversity is common and minds are widened to the point that they hardly notice; the high-fashioned businesswoman too distracted by her cellphone call and five minutes behind schedule-does not look up to see the homeless man she passes on the corner of Sixth and Western. The buildings are taller and usually older, with an occasional massive new edition, and the streets wider, with three lanes and an intersection with six streets, instead of the usual two. Transportation is expected to come quickly, whether by personal car, bus, taxi, or bike. The sounds of the traffic never die down, like you expect in your small hometown by ten at night. People loudly buzzing at a similar pace, at all hours of the night. Advertisements and storefronts at each glance.

City life quickly contrasts and integrates the rich and the poor

I imagine New Orleans is similar to this rapid lifestyle of any city, but that the sounds are even more diverse. Music fills the streets and people dance outside of bars. I think the people of NOLA may be more friendly and welcoming than that of an average city, brought together by their common interests of music and night life, or of the fine and spicy dining of Cajun cuisine. The art of New Orleans and historic buildings are likely of a unique brand, as city streets were created and lived in by a diverse group of people from the very beginning. The city was formed by a group of outliers that thrived on art and deviance, and the city itself speaks volumes to this. The passion of people may seem to outflow from all street corners of graffiti mixed with historical structure and each store front of diverse items for sale.

Color and soul of New Orleans streets, from graffiti to street performers.

My city experiences are mostly developed from my extensive amount of time spent in Chicago. I have done the tourist kind of Chicago things- eat foot long hot dogs, visit the bean in Millennium Park, and ride on the Ferris wheel of Navy Pier, but I have also seen the night life. The jazz music beaming from the Heart of Blues and the beggar with a cardboard sign on an adjacent street corner. I enjoy photography, as I can remember through pictures and show others my point of view. A prime example being the pigeon featured below. I was fascinated by the fat pigeons found everywhere in Chicago and I recall feeling amused by their portly meandering through the streets.

A photo I took of "the Bean" in Chicago, showing off the city skyline.

Why did the pigeon cross the road? The world may never know.

Thoughts of how a city can bustle and jive in the moment are true experiences, but also expectations and hopes of a city that I have not yet visited. I have heard stories and seen pictures and videos of New Orleans from my sister Melissa and my parents, who have both traveled here. The bodies dancing in the street to musicians posted on a city corner are reflections of a video my sister had sent me of herself dancing with people considered strangers mere minutes before. I imagine the city to be a friendlier version due to my sister's ability to travel there alone and create new friends at every stop.

I realize my assumptions can only be as accurate as the lens of a camera, from picture or video- that is through another's point of view. I am nervously awaiting to either confirm or deny my assumptions of city people that are surprisingly friendly and artistic passion that explodes my senses. I have read about New Orleans enough to understand the foundation of the city, but not necessarily its current state of being. I also correlate New Orleans to the scenes and pictures of a Mardi Gras, with bright colors and crowds of intoxicated people in masks and costumes, dancing to the beat of street orchestras. All I can say is I hope the passion I envision this city to withhold does not disappoint. My excitement of traveling to a new place is paired with the moderate anxieties of leaving the comforts of home. I think my assumptions of this city will be a vast understatement of the true experience, and I look forward to the places I will see and people I will meet along the way.

New Orleans Mardi Gras Street Festival, cheesy costumes and all.