(another) love letter to new orleans

It is the height of the intoxicated frenzy, madness, and FUN that is carnival season in those places that celebrate, but it is always just Mardi Gras in New Orleans. While the crowds mostly exhausted me, I loved the feeling in the air, the King Cakes that were edible works of art, and those marvellously and intricately decorated homes and cottages.

I retrieved this post from Facebook before I took a maybe permanent absence. (Talk about crowds exhausting me.) I wrote this in 2017.

I finally feel enough time has passed since my departure from New Orleans to try and begin to formulate what happened.

The past month or two, I've been feeling very nostalgic for New Orleans. Initially, I thought because it was approaching spring which was always my favourite time there. And then I thought it was because I'd found that the man who had made my life, in turns, deliriously happy and devastatingly unhappy, was in New Orleans. In Tremé. Going to all the places I’d taken him. (Yes. I still keep track of him, secretly. Very sad, I know, but there ya go.) The Bywater, Garden District, and of course the French Quarter. And with his female travel partner. Love partner? Maybe. Looking at their road trip photos, I felt a deep pang. But it wasn't for him. It was for New Orleans. That old, intoxicating, troubled, beautiful city. 

I longed to smell the jasmine that followed me down streets, I longed to see those huge and extroverted southern magnolias. To see the colours of the Caribbean on almost every house. I wanted to be called “Miss Trish” again. I wanted to walk through the quarter in the early morning while the tourists were still asleep and photograph the lovely shadowplay from the amazing grillwork and architectural details. I wanted my sweet tea. And red beans and rice on Mondays. I wanted to ride my bike to work and see the ladies of Forever New Orleans: Jen, Katherine, Yulene, Jennifer, Bri, Dawn, Lilah, Hillary, Virginia, Lisa.

The thing is, I fell I love with New Orleans but tried to make her into what I was comfortable with. I didn't (couldn't) simply accept her for who she was.

To be continued...

I am still processing my years there. At times the longing is so deep, I can’t breathe. I have to pull myself back to the reality of how difficult life was for me, overall. I have to remember that I have a job I love in a city I know and adore, even if the current winter is testing me severely. And I do this because it’s how I am. I have obligations and people counting on me, not to mention Henry Miller. Life might not be as colourful, but it does continue productively and satisfyingly and happily.

I think what I wrote to a dear friend in a text is true, as well: If I go back, I am afraid I would never leave. New Orleans is like a virus. Once she’s in your blood, she’s there for life. And for that I am grateful.

I do want to visit, more than anything. And I will, not this month, which was always my favourite month to visit, but I will be back to walk those impossible sidewalks on the streets with oddly pronounced names, breathe in that jasmine, visit Saint Louis cathedral were I found my god again, and share cocktails, oysters, and laughter with a handful of friends, all while powdered heavily and “glowing” profusely.

I miss you, my dear old grande dame. I think of you often, and I will always be grateful for what you showed me about yourself, myself, and life.

With warmest regards always,
Trish 

star magnolias at City Park
New Orleans
©Trish Korous | 2015