New Orleans? More like New Friends-eans...

I don't have many good friends.  My best friend for over a year willfully distanced herself from me, lying the whole way, and the best friend I ever had came back in and then left my life, and both happened around the same tame about a year and a half ago.  My best friend for years had drifted out of my life and recently moved out of state without saying goodbye, and still owes me quite a bit of money.  I deal with anxiety and have little in the form of a social life, and a lot of times I'm pretty sure that nobody really likes me, that they simply tolerate me, and will ditch me at the drop of a hat, or really at the drop of anything.  So, this trip was both a exciting, and a little bit intimidating, thinking that I may end up as a loner.  Luckily, this didn't happen.  I made multiple new friends on this trip, and became better friends with a handful of people.  I was included, and allowed myself to be.  One person in particular I became extra close to.  I knew of her, but we'd never met, let alone talked, and I can't recall if we'd even spoken on the trip until the night on Frenchman Street.  With so many people leaving early that night, she and I ended up pairing up and had a long conversation while listening to music.  After that night, with the ice clearly broken, we began talking regularly, and I invited her to go shopping with me the following day.  We didn't end up going, but instead ended up going out to Bourbon Street and having a blast.  I helped her back to the hotel and took care of her until I put her to bed.  We ended up together with other people or paired up most of the rest of our time away from Illinois, continuing to get to know each other better, and even ended up getting tarot readings done together on the last day.  On the bus home we argued and laughed like we'd known each other far longer than we have.  There's still fear that something will go wrong and this too will die, but I am very grateful for the opportunity to make new friends and build the relationships.  Honestly, this probably ended up being my favorite part of the trip for me, because I do appreciate my friends and to make memories with them, more than the surroundings and context of the memories.

Church of the poison mind

On our trip to the Whitney Plantation there were numerous sights and stories that could have (and did) wretch up significant emotion to the point of tears.  There was one in particular that stood out to me, and that was the sight of a large, metal crucifix attached to the inside of a holding cell where slaves were kept either out of punishment, but usually to wait to be bought.  So many things ran through my head seeing that crucifix; one being that this was the same symbol that was a source of hope and community for post-emancipation former slaves in a church that stood not far from this cage, yet there it was, affixed upon the bars of what held them like livestock.  In my agnostic mind I cannot help but see this contrast and look at that cross as just as essential a cage as the actual cage; a mental cage.  These people stripped not only of their freedom, much of their humanity, and their own spirituality and religion, baptized and told to worship a bearded, white lie, further undermining their sense of power and worth.  How can you tell a people they are less than you when the person you worship, and tell them to worship does not look like you, but more like them?  I'd imagine that would be pretty hard, but luckily for slave owners, visual interpretations of Jesus as a man of bronze skin and woolen hair were and are in short supply.

This brings me to the other major thought that went through my head upon witnessing the above visual, which has more to do with the slave owners, and those who were complicit in their inaction.  This cross, I imagine, was put there not by slaves, but by the owners, the same people who helped force their slaves' conversion to Catholicism.  I have to think that this cross was put there to offer some sort of comfort to those being held, and that despite their treatment of the slaves as subhuman, they offered up their religion, again, I assume in part to offer some sort of comfort (not to mention means of control).  So, on some level these people who owned or condoned had heart, compassion, sympathy, one might say humanity.  These people were not 100% bad, yet they participated in something that was so devoid of humanity in its stripping of it from others.  They treated humans like property and tools, working them ragged, beating them, possibly killing them, then went home and loved their family and hugged their friends, went to church.  These people weren't 100% bad, but they were deluded beyond belief.  To think of the amount of lies being told to self and others, and the staggering amount ignorance, all to keep up the charade of slavery as being okay, allowing these people to retain a modicum of humanity in order to function is just mind blowing.  Talk about opiate of the masses.

Looking back, I really have no definitive favorite place in the French Quarter.  Everything held some interest to me, save maybe the cheap t-shirt shops.  If pressed, though, I suppose I would go with Jackson Square and the immediate area surrounding it.  It is such a beautiful area, and acts as sort of the gateway to the French Quarter, and its quintessence.  There is beauty and ugliness, art and commerce, and fun.  There were paintings of all stripes, and people of all stripes, some who looked like paintings.  Myriad performers, both large and small scale.  There is voodoo and mysticism in the shadow of a revered Catholic structure.  Tourists and locals.  All of this with the center being a statue of a man who helped save the city, which carries its own debauched backstory, surrounded by a beautiful park.  The river on one side, the St. Louis Cathedral opposite it, and the first apartment buildings on flanking both sides, each built by a local legend.  You have to go there if you go to New Orleans.

I think Jackson Square may have been the the site that put the cap on my favorite part of the trip, which was going through this new, fun, and exciting learning experience with friends, including those I made on the trip.  On our final day, in front of St. Louis Cathedral, I, along with my best friends on the trip (including my instructor, who I know will call my "Soul Sister") all had tarot readings and our palms read, learning more about each other than we had previously known, and sharing this fun and interesting experience with one another.  It was such a great way to end the trip, as it sparked conversation and was just the type of thing you don't readily find where we're from.  From a pure learning perspective, my favorite part was the walking history tour.  Our guide was fantastic, and it was just so interesting and informative.  I would recommend it to anybody who can walk, hear, and see.

It would be easy to say that I learned that the people of New Orleans are resilient, or artistic, or open, or lively, or whatever, but I think that all that is part of a larger whole.  What I learned about the people of New Orleans is that you cannot thrive here without true spirit and soul that makes itself known.  This is not a city for the banal.  You don't have to be a "weirdo", but you have to have...oh, I don't know...how about to keep with the defiantly French culture, I say you have to have a certain je ne sais quoi?  Do I have that je ne sais quoi?  I'd like to think so, but one cannot truly be the judge of that.  What I did learn, is that I, more than ever, know that I am not where I need to be, and I mean that in so many ways.

Today we made our way to two museums; the Presbytere & Cabildo.  The Presbytere was first, and was certainly the most affecting.  The bottom floor is dedicated to Hurricane Katrina; its causes and effects, and the stories that came from it.  The top floor is dedicated to Mardi Gras and its history.  The Katrina portion was painful for a lot, if not all, the members of our group.  The midpoint of the museum in particular was very emotional.  There were relics from hospitals, the Superdome, among other parts of the city, including a journal written on the walls of an apartment building, but what got most people were the video and audio recordings at various stations, telling the story of the storm and its aftermath from the people who lived it.  The infuriating lack of coordination and communication, running people around, even ending with police firing on citizens, was wretched to hear about, even more than it was when I heard about it at the time, because this wasn't someone telling me the news, these were the people who WERE the news.  A rescue worker having a baby shoved in her arms from the second story of a building by a desperate mother, while dangling from a helicopter was heart wrenching, and made even more real by the tears you could hear building up and cracking her voice.  The squalor of the Superdome was unbelievable, sounding similar to a pig pen on some mega farm.  One girl from our group had to leave this room before the rest of us, because it all was just too much for her, and it's understandable.  It wasn't all bad, though.  There were stories of heroes, like doctors and nurses, boat operators, and an ordinary citizen delivering a baby on a tiny boat.  All the stories I heard sure made it seem like some in the media really played up the negative aspects of the citizen's response, overstating the looting and violence, focusing on the sensationalism and offering up fodder to feed the confirmation bias of bigoted and uncaring viewers, rather than pointing the lens and delving further into why this happened, and what conditions might cause what negative behavior that did occur.  Overall the Katrina portion left me and others a little emotionally drained.

I have to be honest, given what I had just witnessed in the Katrina portion of the Presbytere, I was not really into the Mardi Gras portion, and others, I believe, felt similarly.  Mostly I just wandered through and admired all the pretty things, without stopping and really reading about what I was looking at.  Our instructor made a good point when a few other people and I brought up that we were a bit spent coming into Mardi Gras, when she said that the museum's exhibits were what the city was really about.  New Orleans has tragedies, often massive, and yet they always bounce back.  The undeniable undercurrent of music, fun, and life that has always seemed to permeate the culture, still does, and those things are what lift, invigorate, and resurrect the soul of the city each time it is brought to its knees and left for dead.  It's a frustrating and inspiring binary which this city lives within.

Again, I have to be honest and say the Cabildo was unable to really grab and hold my attention after the emotional hurricane of the Katrina exhibit.  There was definitely some interesting stories and items in there, but I just couldn't focus.  Many agreed this tour would be more effective being guided, and maybe nearer the beginning of the trip.  This would allow our learning to begin broad and then focus.  Honestly, what I'll remember most from the Cabildo, unfortunately, is that Countess Pontalba's portrait looks like a guy we go to school with (or the love child of a Teletubby and Frida Kahlo).

I'll end with this; the Katrina exhibit made me think of a great song by one of my favorite artists, Mos Def.  In his song called "New World Water" he says "New world water make the tide rise high, come inland and make your house go bye!  Fools done upset the old man river.  Made him carry slave ships and fed him dead niggas.  Now his belly full and he about to flood something".  This is an area of death and spirits, and steeped in the history of the slave trade and the lingering effects it has on the citizenry, so, you just wonder.

Bretty and the jets

I've been beat up and worn down on this trip.  I have bruises and sore shoulders from carrying bags, I have a sore ankle from not quite completing a "move" on a bench outside Chili's, almost everything below my knees hurt from so much walking, I have not gotten adequate sleep, and my back hurts from lifting a small person.  Because of this, I am so very thankful this hotel has a hot tub.  I hadn't been in a hot tub in a long time, and it took till our 3rd day, maybe, for me to finally take advantage.  We had been walking all day, and we were cold, and a friend and I (the previously mentioned "small person") decided we needed to hit the hot tub once we made it back to the hotel, and we did.  I brought my Bluetooth speaker down with us and we set ourselves at a low boil.  Two other members of the group joined us later, and we stayed down there till close at 11 pm.  Very sad to go.  Regardless, both that night and into the next day, both my friend and I felt so much better; so much more relaxed, which allowed us to head into the day's activities with renewed vigor, or at least renewed muscles and joints.  I swear, next trip the instructor needs to make periodic hot tub visits part of the class, because it will for sure eliminate SOME of the excess bitching and complaining.

Subculture

We're out at a bar tonight to see a drag show, and the lovely lady on the left ended up being from Decatur, Illinois.  Small world.  This is for fun, but I consider this exploration of subcultures.  There are all types of people here.

This is all much more normal here than back in Peoria, but looking at this scene begs the question "why do people have a problem with this?"  This is fun, and love, but many people see this and see red, and not just because of the Christmas decorations (though, the Santa here is donning pink, not red).  Okay, off the mini soapbox, and on to a good time...bitches! *snap*

Outside New Orleans for the first time since we came in on the train, leaving the ebullience of Nola.  Our first stop was the Hansen's disease museum in Carville.  What struck me most was the comprehensiveness of the community.  People with this disease were so stigmatized that out of a hospital grew a self-sustaining, insular community.  It's kind of inspiring to see what they made of it and their lives on the property, but still, I can't get past the people suffering from this disease being cast off from society, all because the disease they had was so misunderstood.  Staying at his location was partially for their own peace of mind; aside from receiving treatment, knowing they were going somewhere where they wouldn't be judged, and where the risk of violence against them was removed had to be a relief.  Still, that peace of mind is sought because much of society treated them so poorly.  Patients did their best to maintain their humanity in response to the lack of humanity shown by so many, and that sense of normalcy, and of community was tremendous in terms of coping with everything they were facing, whether internal or external.

From more of a medical/healthcare perspective, there was a lot to take in.  There was, of course, archaic ideas and treatments that show the ignorance of the time, both with Hansen's disease and medicine in general.  There were also the advancements.  The discovery of the first truly effective treatments with Promin, the adaptations to combat symptoms and physical deformities, and even the improved treatment and care of the neuropathy that comes with diabetes.  Those were all great things that came from a bad situation.

Sites like this are necessary, despite Hansen's disease being nowhere near as prevalent, damaging, or stigmatized now as it once was, because people always need to be reminded of how damaging ignorance and fear can be, and how stupid we're left looking.

Our next stop on our trip outside Nola was the Whitney Plantation, and if what I wrote about the Hansen's disease museum seems limited, it's largely because Whitney Plantation ended up overshadowing it in my mind.  The first thing I notice about Whitney is the beautiful land.  I pictured this gorgeous landscape being filled with slaves, and pain, brutality, heartbreak, and a degree of hopelessness; I couldn't reconcile the juxtaposition.  The memorials to the people who lived and died as property were moving, and makes some people's calls to move on from slavery, and let go, more laughable.

I teared up twice while at Whitney; when we were in the church, and again when I stepped up to and looked in the holding cells for slaves going to auction.  Inside the church it just hit me that this place and many places like it were refuges to so many post-slavery, physical and psychological wounds still new and raw.  The holding cells hit me when I looked in and saw a metal cross hanging in there.  The contrast between the cell and the church, but this similarity of the cross just hit me like a ton of bricks, and my eyes started welling up.

I kept trying to use my imagination to really picture what this place and life was like, to gain that empathy and to best understand the perspective of the people who once actually lived all of this history.  I feel like I have to push myself to really feel in order to make the lessons stick.  The lies being told, and the ignorance it took for people to treat other people like animals and property, and for that to become a cultural norm, yet keep enough humanity to live and care for friends and family is unbelievable.  People absolutely need to learn about this history up close and personal, because words and pictures don't do it justice.  Even being at this place, it all still feels so abstract, because it's just so hard to believe.