There’s come a time when, even though you don’t want to, you have to admit that you’ve done something stupid—maybe even incredibly stupid.
On a recent visit to New Orleans as a tag-along traveler to a business trip for my husband, I found myself left to my own creativity to spend the daylight hours. Since I knew that my husband was tied up with work from early morning until well into the dinner hour, I reached out to people on Facebook to see if anyone knew anyone that could spend some time with me while in the Big Easy and share their city with me. You see, I’ve only been here once before and that was about ten years ago, and I wasn’t quite as adventurous then.
And so my time in New Orleans has found me reaching outside of my comfort zone—and growing as a person. I’m not one to go to a restaurant to dine alone, and yet I had no choice but to find a cozy table in the sun at a small breakfast place and enjoy my own company. The French Quarter has taken on a slight change as i noticed I didn’t come across the voo-doo parlors that I remember from my last visit; rather there were more neon-lighted souvenir stores with masks, masks and more masks!
But this does not come close to the following day where my actions lead me into steps of stupidity. Many, many steps!
I made contact with the friend of a friend, first by Facebook chat and then by text. He had Sunday morning obligations with his church choir and wasn’t available until 2pm at which time we would meet up on Moss Street at the bayou. He wanted to see the Mardi Gras Indians that were coming out to entertain the crowds and, as he explained, it’s a special rarity. I was ‘in’ for this treat!
I checked my Google maps to find that the meeting place was only 2.6 miles away-an easy walk for me. I readied myself, grabbed my 6oz small bottle of water, my phone with the map and walking directions and headed out, not having a single idea of where the heck I was going. I walked back thru the French Quarter, made a left turn, right turn, left turn, following the voice streaming through my headphones and trusting, trusting.
Even though I was watching the traffic and trying to be courteous, I still got honked at and flipped off (there are no pedestrian walk/don’t walk signs that were working!!). As if that wasn’t unnerving enough, I found myself walking through neighborhoods that were, hmmm how should we say—scary!! Clearly, I wasn’t where I should have been. Sirens were screaming every few minutes…low riding dark-windowed vehicles were slowing driving down streets, glass on the broken sidewalks, boarded up homes….my comfort level was running in the negative. I remember thinking to myself ‘this is not good…this was a mistake’, but after an hour of walking, I couldn’t turn back. And calling a taxi would mean I would have to stay in one place and wait—I figured it was safer to just keep moving.
And so I did…I walked under freeway passings and more un-easy neighborhoods. Among the homes that needed some deep loving, there would be well-kept and even pretty homes. They offered a sigh of relief, for a few moments. 
Sunday afternoons welcomed some of the neighbors to be outside in their chairs watching the traffic and as I passed and smiled, the return was “how you doing, baby?”, but not the scummy ‘baby’; more like the welcoming southern ‘baby’. I enjoyed that.
As I approached the crossroads of where we were to meet, the waterway and Moss Street,
I felt accomplished, full of confidence—warmed by the sun and taken by the beauty of the bayou, with the homes of history staring back at me. I didn’t see any activity in the immediate area, so I continued walking towards the traffic up along the bayou. Turning the corner, I found the street car line stopped right in front of City Park. Yes, the same street car that travels from right in front of the hotel we are staying at and ends at City Park. A moment of frustration and self anger until I settled myself that I had no idea that we were meeting near City Park.
I waited over an hour and a half for my new friend to arrive after we made contact. During that time, I sat on a park bench in the park and watched a group of men in their senior years erect a volleyball net in the park…I watched dogs guiding their humans down the walkway…a woman asked if she and her dog could come sit with me and we chatted for a bit; she’s a foster mom for the dog and had no idea where she parked her car. Talking with her was a delight to my ears with her southern drawl and her fun speech.
When my new friend arrived, he found me in front of the museum where we agreed to meet. The first thing he said was that we missed the Indians…they had already preformed at an area many blocks from where we were. I told him I walked from Canal street and he said “Why’d you do that ‘baby’??…the street car could have brought you right here”!
We walked out of the park, back across the street where I had emerged from on my way in, down Esplanade to a cemetery. Not like any cemetery I’ve ever been in before. Because of the water level in this city, there is a unique way to bury family members.
Personally, I think this is very ecological in the thinking and it might be a great way for all cemeteries to consider.
After awhile being educated about this practice, we continued our walk down into the neighborhood that was lined in dogwood trees and graced with some amazing homes that were total eye-candy. We met up with my new friend’s partner who had his car. My legs were ready for the break in walking. We then had to pick up a long-time friend from church and get them to their next singing obligation in a revival tent. The conversation in the car was so amazing to hear between the two natives of New Orleans. Fun and refreshing.
I was given a ride back to my hotel…and I so welcomed it since my feet and legs were noticing the 25,000 steps that my fitbit tracked. A hot shower and a pain reliever and I was ready to enjoy dinner with my husband. As we walked to the French Quarter to grab a po’ boy, I shared my story….and how stupid turned into good.