Beignets

by Fiorella Lopresti (Chile)

I didn't expect to find USA

The flight to New Orleans from Santiago was long and tedious. At getting off the plane in the middle of the night in the capital of Peru I'm feeling hungry and sleepy. Hungry because being a vegetarian I don't get many meal options aboard planes, and sleepy 'cause planning the trip until the very last minute left me without a proper night of sleep. It's hot but I have a sore throat from the air conditioner, so I can't get my scarf off. That was the first of three flights and I'm waiting in line to get in plane number two. It's 6 hours between Lima and Miami, more than 2,600 miles, so I try to sleep through. The lights in the plane go almost off but I can't keep my eyes closed. Maybe due to the excitement of my first trip out of the country without my parents or maybe because I don't feel comfortable with the vulnerability of being a woman and sleeping next to a stranger. It's 6 AM in Miami. As I get off the plane and walk through the jetway I feel my clothes sticking to my body from the humidity of the air. I feel weirdly energized and prepared to go through border control. The queue seems endless. I'm thinking about the concept of waiting and its resemblance of what I think purgatory must be like. A police officer comes towards me and I freeze for a moment. He asks: "has anyone ever told you that you look like Velma from Scooby Doo?" I giggle. Policemen in Chile don't joke often and from recent events in my country I've learn not to trust them blindly. "Not really", I respond as I move forward in line. "No kidding? Ever? You look just like her!" I smile to him. He seems nice. After completing the airport formalities I get into plane number three. It's small but modern. I can see through the window that it's getting cloudy, which in my experience, means turbulence. I mentally prepare myself to suffer airsickness and ask the flight attendant for a coffee. Black, no sugar. In a couple of hours I finally get to my destination. New Orleans, Louisiana. It's Mardi Gras today and public transportation doesn't work like it's supposed to. I take a Lyft to Union Passenger Terminal where I plan to leave my luggage. The driver is a young woman of color with a strong southern accent. "Are you here for the carnival?" She asks. "Yes, I am. I'll spend the day here and take the night bus to Austin where my friends are expecting me", I say. "You have to try the beignets while you're here. I promise you won't regret it". My stomach made a sound at the mention of the sweet pastries. "Back in Chile we make a very similar dough called "calzones rotos" which can be translated to something like "ripped underwear"". She breaks in laughter showing some golden teeth. From UPT I walk towards the French Quarter through Loyola Avenue. I smell a mix of scents as I get closer to the Louis Armstrong Park. Fried chicken, cheap booze and weed. There's some improvised parades happening in the streets, men showing off their vintage sports cars, people rapping, women twerking and children playing. There isn't many tourists or white people in sight. This is what I think must be the real heart of Mardi Gras. Going north I get to Saint Anne Street and I walk towards Jackson Square. In this area the picture is completely different. Everyone's wearing costumes or masks, have sophisticated drinks in their hands and you can find beads all over the place. Flags of the LGBTQI+ community are hanging from the balconies. Still hungry, I look for somewhere I can eat beignets. Every place is crowded and overpriced but I manage to find a tiny cafe away from the crowd. I order a portion of the treat and take a seat in a small table. The smell of sugar and frying oil reminds me of rainy days and my grandmother. It's been a long and exhausting day, but as she used to say, "guatita llena, corazón contento".