I didn’t expect to find myself in New Orleans

by Farah Hassan (United Arab Emirates)

I didn't expect to find USA

I didn’t expect to find myself in New Orleans. Here I was, driving my silver blue Acura, hair flying around, vintage sunglasses on, going on a two woman road trip from Texas to Louisiana with my beautiful, tattooed rockstar friend Jasmine. We had nothing planned except the fact that we were staying at a hostel named Madame Isabelle. And so we drove. Through hay stacked, cattle scattered stretches of Texas land, to the dark green, catfish and alligator infested swamps of Louisiana. New Orleans was different. It’s colorful houses intricately decorated with iron laced balconies. All different yet similar, you can’t help but feel the French flare stained within. Our hostel was a two story yellow and pink house sitting in a tiny corner of the street. I loved everything about it. We walked the French quarter, jazz artists strumming their tunes. Music can be heard from every corner of the street. Hustlers, dancers, singers, musicians, and even random people wearing costumes were all around. Oh and the sugary snow covered beignets in Cafe Du Monde do not disappoint. Later that night, we met out hostel mates, drank ourselves to friendship and headed to the infamous Bourbon street. It’s a filthy, urine smelling street pumping with people and music. No one seems to mind it, though, so we figured we might as well not either. We stumbled into a candle lit piano bar, drunken fellows crammed around the pianist, signing along, spilling their drinks left and right. Our next stop, was a strobe lit, smoke filled club with people of all ages and all walks of life, their heads in the air, and their eyes closed. Moving their bodies, dancing with freedom in their soul. After we danced till our heart’s content, we walked around some more. We headed over to a street vendor with his giant smoker right in the middle of the street, selling fresh barbecue that falls of the bone and melts in your mouth. Bellies full, we walked back, giggling, struggling to find our hostel, hoping we don’t get murdered in the dark alleys of New Orleans. We managed to make it to our bunk beds and passed out, ignoring the fact that our head was spinning and our ears ringing. I don’t find myself living in New Orleans, but I found myself in New Orleans. I found myself in its history and art. In its flamboyant colors, intricate architecture and it’s hearty jazz music. I found myself in the signing and dancing. And in the street performer that was drumming on pots and pans. I found myself in the wandering souls I met at the hostel. The travelers who came from far away lands, searching for purpose. For life. The ones who traveled in search of adventure and in breaking out of the norm. I found myself in New Orleans. And it was a time I will never forget.