NOLA rocks, black, white, or purple
|Okay, so I am back in the USA for just over a week, and so far I’ve driven around 2,000 miles, in two long jaunts. Once from Vero Beach, where my folks live to Washington, DC and the second, from there to New Orleans. Call me crazy, or just a wanderer, but even after three straight months of daily adventures, I’m not about to stop the fun now.
I’m down here in New Orleans with my friend Yana, attending a wedding of one of her college buddies, which for her, is as much a celebration of that union as a full-blown college reunion. And with any get-together of old friends, there is a whole other level of intrigue going on as everyone jockeys to be sure that they are at least equal if not farther along in being a qualified success in each other’s eyes.
In Yana’s case, she has the wanderlust as much as I, so we’re both there to make sure that even if the old friend is now a doctor, or scientist, or whatever, and married with two smiling kids, they will look at her in awe of the places and people she’s seen and been seen with.
Before we went down, Yana had a little trepidation in inviting me along, for it was going to be a very local’s view of New Orleans, with me, myself and I being one of the very few ‘white’ people showing up. Even though there were all shades of ‘black’ there, many of which were actually lighter than my African-tanned self, as the little kid pointed out with a shout when I walked in with a ‘Dad, look!! It’s a white guy!’, I was defiantly seen in a very American black-white way.
Luckily for Yana and I, after three months in Africa, I laughed my way past the self-proclaimed ‘little revolutionary’ and, by the time the wedding was over, had him and everyone else wishing I could stay and play longer.
Longer to enjoy the New Orleans hospitality, which was very warm and inviting, even if the wedding was in a very Catholic church, so Catholic as to not have any Bibles in the pews, just hymn books. Now I can understand better how revolutionary and logical Martin Luther’s Reformation was back in the day.
Not that the scene still didn’t put Yana in a shock. Growing up Catholic, but trying to recover since then, she reverted back to Catholic school quite fast and against her will, even kneeling down to pray when asked.
I wasn’t even fazed, of course, and helped Yana recover through copious amounts of alcohol during the open bar reception. I kept reasonably sober, as I was driving, and to the astonishment of the guy standing next to me who caught it, needed to dodge the bachelor’s bouquet.
After the party started the very New Orleans tradition of Second Lining, we spilt to a very ghetto reggae club, where like in Africa, I was the only ‘white’ guy and to many styler’s amazement, could shake my ass with the best of them.
Now all Yana and I have to do is survive the 1,000 mile return drive to DC, which will prove to be a task as the navigator (who shall remain nameless) sent us on a several hour detour through Northern Alabama and then got herself a speeding ticket in Tennessee.