accents, gumbo, and friendship

I woke up to a call in the morning from Rhonda (the local artist I'd met in NOLA). She called to say that the weather would be incredibly warm for this time of year and to take it easy and not to forget to wear sunscreen. I thought that was sweet for her to check on me and give me the heads up.  As soon as I stepped outside I saw how warm and humid it was. The air was very heavy and thick. I listened to my body and decided to take it easy. As it was, the arthritis in my knees were acting up and I was worried about being unable to keep up when my friend Jessie arrived later that evening. After a brief stroll that morning, I found myself back in the garden apartment, sipping ice water in the air conditioned space, writing postcards and watching local television.

Sounds strange to travel so many miles to sit inside watching TV and yet I found myself glued to  the screen. I was watching local TV and what captured me were the accents. The local New Orleans accents had me completely intrigued. Some people had a southern drawl and others sounded more creole. I watched a local rapper being interviewed on some public access station. His accent was thick, drawing me in and making me listen closely. I didn't fully understand everything he said but I got a kick out of listening to him. I also laughed as he used certain slang, slang that maybe the locals knew but that was foreign to me.

This whole idea of relaxing and going with the flow felt like something I am not used to. While I work for myself and keep unconventional hours, I still find myself most days with a long to-do list and an awareness of tasks to complete, my eye on the clock -- aware of deadlines and dates to keep track of. But here I was in a peasant shirt and jeans, sipping water and chilling out. Such a strange yet beautiful feeling.

My phone beeped with a few texts use before the sun went down. Jessie was at the airport.
Jessie was living proof that you can have downright incredible friendships with people whose presence you have never been in. We'd met more than 7 years ago through our blogs. Two artists who'd developed a friendship online as we both wrote about our creative lives, we'd gotten to know one another very well. It was a modern day version of a pen pal relationship, as I lived in SF and she in Minneapolis. After all of this time we decided to meet in New Orleans. She would join me for three days of the trip. I was finally coming face to face with a friend I'd known for years through writing, emails, and phone calls. Sounds strange doesn't it?

I sat outside on the steps in front of the house waiting with great excitement, nervousness and anticipation. Jessie and I hugged and laughed when the cab finally arrived. There she was smiling and jumping out of the cab to say hello. We hugged as the cab driver took her bag out of the trunk. Talking a mile a minute she settled in. We were like two little kids laughing and talking.

We decided to get out and go for dinner so there in the evening heat and humidity we began to walk down Bourbon Street. We hadn't established were we were going, only that we were hungry and needed to eat. We strolled, stopping often to take photos of all sorts of random things - architectural details, signs, people…  We wandered past  Lafitte's Blacksmith Shop,  a well known bar. It's actually deemed the oldest bar in the United States. At night the entire place is lit with candlelight (no overhead lighting) so naturally we noticed it as we walked past it. Suddenly we emerged upon the party - that non-stop party that takes place on Bourbon Street that is often seen in movies and on TV. Bright lights, loud music, dancing, people drinking, beads…  It was nothing like I expected. I saw groups of 40 something beer bellied guys stumbling around drunk while carrying oversized drinks. The smell of fresh vomit filled the air in certain spots.  I saw a few young hippy looking people who looked like homeless travelers playing guitars while sitting on the curb soliciting money from the crowd. Older women dressed in tacky clothes that were too young for their age laughed loudly and clinked their plastic glasses together. This scene was too much for me. I felt immediately overwhelmed. I'm not sure why I thought I'd like Bourbon Street, after all, I'm not much of a drinker and I don't have much tolerance for drunk people. Maybe I thought I'd really get into the excitement in the air or the people watching possibilities. I don't know. I just quickly realized that it was not the place for me. In a matter of seconds I said, "Oh hell no!". ( My friends who know me laugh at that remark because they know I must have felt really pushed and pressured to respond this way.) There we were in front of Madame Laveau's VooDoo shop. I'd snapped a few photos of the window display but my feet wouldn't allow me to go inside. I felt an urgency to get away from that scene so I suddenly raced to the corner, threw my hand up and hailed a cab. I called to Jessie and we jumped into the cab.

Moments later we sat across from each other eating jambalaya, seafood gumbo, crawfish étouffée, beans and rice and other goodness at The Gumbo Shop. This was a restaurant I'd read about, one of the many on my list of places I wanted to try.The gumbo with it's dark deep rich roux reminded me of childhood and the food our family friend made. Uncle Eugene was a cook from Louisiana and his house was a welcome place. His family "adopted" my mom and siblings when I was 3 years old. My entire life had been spent experiencing glimpses of New Orleans cooking through Eugene's gumbo, link sausage, beans and rice and all of his other incredible dishes. When he died a few years ago, I never thought I'd taste anything like his food again and yet here I was, eyes closed tasting the past. I had my first taste of crawfish which was delicious, salty and fishier than what I'd imagined. There was such comfort at that table as we talked to the family sitting next to us. The four of them ordered bog bowls of seafood gumbo and since their food arrived just as we sat down, we could anticipate what we were in for. The waiter was really nice, a white man in his late 40's with a crazy hairstyle that reminded me of Flock of Seagulls, a band from the 80's. He seemed pleased when Jessie and I complimented him on his hair and he went into telling us the story behind how it all started. Jessie had never had any of the food we ate that night but I liked how delighted she looked as she ate and how she shared the stories of her trip to Morocco that she was reminded up due to the comfort of this meal.

After a delicious dinner we walked a few blocks and came upon Rouses Market,  a local grocery store. We went inside and bought some groceries so that we'd have stuff for breakfast and a few snacks. Our hands full of bags we hailed a cab. The driver must have thought we'd been drinking, like so many of  the people partying in the area as we excitedly stumbled into the cab with our arms full, talking to one another a mile a minute. He must have thought we'd not notice when he doubled around the block three times. I knew we were being scammed when I called him on it. While I didn't know the area, I  realized that the scenery was repeating itself and that we weren't super far away from where we were staying. Now the crazy and annoying part about this was that most cab rides in New Orleans  were less than five dollars since we were in the French Quarter and didn't need to go far. Having lived in San Francisco my whole life I found this inexpensive fare to be laughable, so much so that I often gave the cab drivers great tips and still found myself spending far less than I would in San Francisco. There was no need to scam someone for a bigger fare, but this guy simply did not realize this fact.

Back at the house we settled in, talking into the wee hours of the night. The cool part of this studio apartment is that there was a bed in the bedroom area and a full sized futon in the living room area. Since Jessie normally slept on a futon she felt right a home in the living room space. When we'd talked to the point of yawns taking over, we went to sleep - stomachs full, all laughed out.

San Francisco girl in the south

Travel is necessary. Let me say it again -- travel is necessary.

While books are great at expanding ones imagination and movies offer the visuals, there is nothing like going someplace new and experiencing it through the  filter of your own life, thoughts, and perceptions.

Here I was, this black woman from San Francisco, California in the south. Here I was, this woman who'd grown up with a variety of friends from all races and backgrounds, here in the South. It's only been in the last ten years that I have come to realize and recognize some of my San Francisco west coast ways.  While I can't fully describe that, here are a few words for you to chew on -- clean eating, recycling, compost conscious, interracial accepting, liberal, dreamer, feminist, live and let live… (I hate labels.)

So here I am, a black girl in Louisiana. Hmmm… Some of the things I noticed make me teary-eyed. It's uncomfortable but very necessary for me to share.

I don't know if white people ever think this way but as a black person there is an awareness of where I can and cannot go, an awareness that I may not be embraced in certain situations. I am aware that each setting has it's own set of unspoken rules and that I need to figure them out and adapt if I am going to make my way through this world. This country continually tries to ignore the fact that it was built on institutionalized racism. Especially now, with Obama in office so many people are quick to say that racism must no longer be a part of our consciousness. This makes me sarcastically laugh because if we weren't so color conscious and if we were so evolved, we wouldn't have to make a big deal about this one man of color finally making it into the White House. Oh but I digress… sort of.

Here I am, a black woman in the south. What does that mean? What am I trying to tell you?

It means that as a black woman from San Francisco, I interact with people of other nationalities all the time. I am simply myself and while I am aware of changes that need to be made based on social settings, most people will say I am always just me - my nature does not change. I feel like we are all just people in this world and that no one is greater than anyone else at the end of the day. This is why I tend to treat people the same, whether they are a janitor or a CEO. So of course I noticed how the sleeping car attendant on the train spoke to the white passengers - many of them over 60 and white. I noticed the way this 6 foot tall man lowered his head as he spoke and the way he said, "Yes Sir, Yes Ma'am." I noticed the drawl in his voice and the way in which he smiled super wide when people were rude or demanding to him. As a girl who grew up watching Shirley Temple movies I couldn't help but think of Bojangles. I noticed the way many of our exchanges were particularly awkward because he didn't know how to address me. He seemed baffled by my presence there in that sleeping car. 

Here I am, a black girl in New Orleans. I found myself throughout my trip wondering why the locals who had my skin color were usually service workers - bus boys, maids, dishwashers, trash collectors, cab drivers, delivery boys. And yes, I was in the touristy part of town. Yes, whether I wanted to be or not, I was a tourist of sorts. Yet I was also a girl who grew up being told and believing I could be anything I wanted to be and here I was witnessing people confined to boxes because their options had been limited. I don't know how to explain this and hopefully I can explain it in a way that someone will understand. I talked to lots of black locals while I was in New Orleans. Many of the people I spoke to were far more experienced, aware and competent than the jobs they performed. It was the little things that people said that made my heart weep. I remember asking the guy in the deli if he had a favorite sandwich. He looked at me with surprise on his face as he stopped slicing meat on the electric slicer. He stopped and walked over to the counter. His eyes locked with mine in a way that made me feel very vulnerable and a bit uncomfortable because his gaze was unyielding. He said, "Ma'am, I have been working here for over 13 years. I am absolutely sick of the food here. If only you knew how many sandwiches I've made." His eyes had a sadness in them. Feeling a bit foolish I ordered my food. At some point I said, "Thirteen years is a long time to be at one job." Looking in my eyes, he said, "I suppose I'll be here the rest of my life unless the place burns down."

I smiled as I got in a cab with a driver, a black man who wore a 49er t-shirt. He had the most beautiful eyes, and a calm demeanor that made me feel secure that he'd get me where I needed to go safely.We chatted during our ride and after asking were I was from, he spoke about his love for the San Francisco 49ers - a love that began when he was a teenager and how he endured the taunting of his friends who were diehard Saints fans. At one point I remarked at how charming and amazing New Orleans was and he began to tell me about his Hurricane Katrina experiences. He was matter of fact as he spoke of losing everything and living with relative until he could get back on his feet. He was college educated but driving a cab after feeling like he was "running into a brick wall" seeking employment in his field. I also met a social worker driving a cab. I remember him because he was also selling bottled water and cookies in his cab for customers who were in need of refreshment. 

In more than one place I noticed that black people weren't even waiters or waitresses, they were bus boys and dishwashers who often floated along the perimeter but never were allowed to interact with the patrons. Most people may have not noticed this or even had a sensitivity to it but I noticed. And while the air was festive and people both white and black have a joyfulness about them, the divide is this unspoken, unacknowledged thing that is simply there. Later in the week I'd make small talk with a busboy, a man probably in his sixties. My friend Jessie and I made small talk with his when he brought us glasses of water. He was such a sweet man as he stood there in his long white apron, his dark shiny skin and his shoulders bowed. We talked to him openly but I sensed that he probably didn't speak to patrons regularly. Something about him made me want to weep.

I found myself confronted with assumptions made about me based on the color of my skin. For while I am aware of certain invisible boundaries and double standards that I face as a black woman in America, in California -- these were different. I felt like I was "freer" than these people. Now some may read this and get into conversation along the lines of "You are as free as you envision yourself to be. You can do anything you set your mind to." I am not speaking from a place of "poor me" or blame. I am simply acknowledging that there are inequalities and that America is steeped in racism whether we acknowledge it or not. I couldn't get away from seeing it, nor could I ignore it on this trip. The inequality was a part of my consciousness.

what it means to be present in the moment...

There's something about being in a city you don't really know, waking up in a bed that's not your own, and being alone that feels refreshing. I have never had this feeling so I decided to relish in it. I woke up and laid in bed for a while. I made coffee after a long shower. I sat outside in the garden briefly. This moment didn't last as long as I wanted thanks to the humidity and that immediate sweaty feeling that took over when I stepped outside. And yet I liked the garden, looking around at all of the lush greenery hanging above as the sun shined through the banana trees. The struggle to breathe forced me to slow down and relax -- to take things easy in a way that I don't often do. 

I got out in the morning and took a walk to a little pharmacy down the street in search of a few toiletries and some postcards. Royal Pharmacy was this great old school drugstore. It felt like I'd stepped into another time when I walked through the doors with its tin ceiling, old fashioned soda fountain, vintage signs and old aisles. The two old men behind the counter looked shocked as I gathered postcards from their little metal display rack. I bought 50 cards! They laughed and joked with me about it. "When will you have time to see the city?" they asked, shaking their heads. One guy said, " I guess the next time you go on a trip you won't tell anyone you are leaving" and they laughed. They were engaging men and when I made a remark about how cool their lunch counter was, they told me about the history behind it and a few stories about the place. I was glad I went into this place. I'd decided to send a postcard to everyone who supported my Kickstarter campaign so I knew I had some writing to do later!

Today I'd meet Rhonda, a local artist whom I'd met online. It would be wild to finally meet her face to face since the most we'd done was speak on the phone a few times, share a few emails and look at one another's websites. Rhonda Corley is a painter and the subject of her work is dresses and shoes. She creates commissioned paintings based on people's actual clothing. For instance, she has painted quite a few wedding dresses  as a way of offering people a chance to reflect and enjoy the memories of their special day even if their actual wedding dress is packed up and in storage. She's also painted clothing from people's special days - shoes worn by children on their first day of school, a man's first suit, an outfit worn  the day a woman was proposed to…

Photos from Callan Contemporary -- 

Paintings by Rhonda Corley --

Rhonda took me to see a handful of high end galleries. I smiled when we walked into the first gallery - Callan Contemporary. I'd checked it out online and thought it was a place I'd want to share my work if given the chance. It turns out that it was her favorite gallery. We wandered among beautiful artwork and talked about our dreams and ideas. I really liked Rhonda's ambition and the way we could easily talk about what we love about making art. Her desire to expand her audience is as big as mine so when we met it was fun to hear her talk about how she intends to go about sharing her work with new audiences. The funny thing is based on her call to me that morning, I never would have expected that we'd have such great conversation. We'd agreed to meet for an hour yet once we met and started talking, we spent half the day together - checking out galleries, having lunch and talking non-stop. I call conversations like we had "pow-wows". They make me think of these powerhouse moments when two people come together and build one another up. We talked fast and passionately about marketing and our audiences and things like how we decide to be in an exhibit. I loved how we both offered advice to one another and walked away with fresh perspectives.

Later, in the early evening I met with Amy Bryan, another local New Orleans artist. Amy paints and does print making. She also teaches on a college level as well as leads a handful of workshops for children. She asked me to meet her at Cafe DuMonde, where I had my first beignet and chicory coffee. We sat outside on this balmy late afternoon talking for hours. I didn't know if we'd hit it off in such a way but as we begin to talk, I realized that we both had so much to share. We ended up talking about being black, female and an artist. We talked about how few women make ways in the art world, especially black women. We also got into this big discussion about how much time and dedication it takes to pursue a dream and the difficulties of maintaining a relationship at the same time. Gosh - the conversation was packed with so much goodness and insight. It was another pow-wow that left me feeling happy, inspired and very secure in my decision to live as an artist. Hopped up on coffee, sugar and inspiration we walked  around. I checked out a few little touristy shops and we chatted non-stop.

After getting back to the house and taking my second shower for the day, I realized that coffee and beignets could not be a substitute for dinner. I walked up the street, past people on Bourbon Street who were heading out for a night of partying. Did I mention, the only people wearing beads during this time of year were tourists? I walked into the store among a handful of people and headed to the deli counter deciding upon a BLT for dinner. Little did I know that about half an hour later  I'd still be at the deli counter hanging out. There I was listening to the guys at the counter play the dozens calling one another names because  someone turned off the power to the stove and fryers. Maybe at home I'd be really disgusted about everything taking so long but I'd realized that all service in New Orleans is slow. People talk and chit-chat. If you don't engage they think there is something wrong with you. I stood there sipping water, laughing at their jokes, watching on of the guys flirt with two women. He caught the eye of one and then I watched as her friend got jealous. Turns out the women were a couple and this woman didn't like the deli guy flirting with her girl. I watched as the delivery guy rushed in and was told the orders were backed up. I felt like I was in the middle of a live theatre production of sorts. There I was -- fully present, watching it all go down in front of me. 

Sandwich in hand, I walked back to the house yet was stopped by another attraction - a tour taking place on the street. I slowed down and ended up a few feet from a dozen people and a tour guide. I sat on the stoop of my place, listening as the tour guide pointed out houses on the block that are known to be haunted. She gave historical facts about the area and told ghost stories.  I listened from the steps of my place, holding my bag from the store, sipping water and people watching. I eventually made my way inside, ate dinner, and watched a movie while writing some postcards.

What a great day.

following the whispers of your heart...

It was time to see New Orleans! It seemed to take me forever to get myself together but when I walked out the house I realized there was no need to rush. The air immediately stopped me. The air was incredibly heavy and yet all of a sudden I realized how good it smelled. I'd never smelled air that smelled like this. The other thing I noticed is that it was quiet and slow. I walked down a totally silent street for a few minutes. What's going on I wondered. Then it occurred to me that maybe the middle of the day was a bad time to be out wandering as the sun beat down on me. It was edging towards noon. I didn't feel strange walking slowly because the pace is slow and steady. I'd planned to walk to the French Market but when I got to Royal Street I looked to my right and found myself watching two ladies sitting on someone's steps wiping sweat from their faces as they talked. I'd decided before I arrived that I'd follow my intuition on this trip and go where I felt led to go. In that moment I longed to sit just as those ladies did. I saw two chairs in front of a store. I decided I needed to sit down. I ended up sitting and wiping my face of all the sweat running down my forehead. I sipped some water and watched a few people slowly strolling down the street. I snapped a few photos. I eventually glanced up and realized I was in front of a place called "Off the Beaten Way". What was it? An art gallery! Of all the places to stumble upon! I felt like this was not a conscience. I walked in and talked to the lady behind the counter for a few minutes. The place was filled with colorful acrylic paintings of faces. It had a hodge podge of things -- jewelry, wooden sculptures of carved nudes, colorful vases. There were even hats and some tiny glass figurines at the counter. It made me think of some sort of collaborative gallery.

I wandered down the street and found Community Coffee. It makes me wonder if it's the New Orleans version of Starbucks by the feel of it. (By the way - there are no Starbucks in New Orleans from what I know…) This place was sort of corporate like Starbucks but it had a cozy coffee shop feel to it. Plus it had Wi-Fi so it was full of people on laptops. I ate my first food of the day - a spinach and feta cheese croissant. As I sat at a table alone in a strange place I have never been, I realized I felt good. I didn't feel self-conscious about eating alone. Free form jazz played in the background. The place had air conditioning so part of me felt like I could have stayed there all day. Looking out the window I noticed that even the garbage cans had fleur de lis on them! I was obviously surrounded by tourists in the French Quarter, but I liked catching a glimpse of a local here and there. They walk differently and they lack that wide eyed look of many who wander these streets. I noticed that most of the black men I saw were in the service industry - a cook, waiter, busboy, delivery man… I saw a few black women in maids uniforms. I saw a few tourists wandering over from Bourbon Street, big plastic drink cups filled with cocktails, wearing mardi gras beads and smiling, drunk in the middle of the day. At one point I saw a drunk man pushing a wheelchair. In the chair his friend sat wearing lots of beads, very drunk and holding a big plastic neon colored hurricane cocktail cup. They zig zagged along the street taking a bumpy ride on the cobblestones...

I didn't know where I was going exactly but I ended up wandering for several blocks down Royal Street. Turns out, there are lots of art galleries on Royal Street! I wandered from one gallery to another talking to people and looking at work by both local, national and international artists. I gave my business card to people at three galleries. I edged down the street slowly, sweating in the humidity, walking and pausing to sit whenever I saw a place with chairs. Lots of businesses set out one or two chairs in front of their store. You'd see people simply sitting and talking, usually with the shop owner. I'd pause to take pictures, people watch and drink water. I don't see how anyone can do anything quickly in this city with such thick humid air. I watched as horse drawn carriages full of people passed by. There were lots of carriage ride tours taking place. I felt badly for the horses suffering in the heat. I saw a sign for an apartment for rent. I smiled when I saw that the sign said "Not haunted". I laughed even harder when after taking 5 photos of the sign, none of them came out. I wandered until my knees begin to ache and then I turned and started to walk back to the apartment. When I got to Community coffee I went in and sat down for a few minutes just to cool off in the air conditioning. As I sat at a table wiping my face an email popped up on my phone. It was an email from ArtSpan saying that I'd been featured in Art Ltd. Magazine. I read the email and out of nowhere I just started to cry. I was overwhelmed with emotion and once the tears came it felt like somehow this cry had been building up -- this overwhelming feeling of gratitude. Such blessings! I sat alone at the cafe in this strange city wiping away tears. Then I gathered up my things and slowly walked back to the house, pausing to watch a bunch of elementary school kids lining up for their buses to go home.

I decided to go to the little corner market near the apartment. It's called Quarter Maker (aka Nellies Deli) and I'd read that they are known for their sandwiches. It was a little run down corner store but when I went in the back of the place they had a full selection of all kinds of food -- sandwiches, ribs, fried chicken, chicken fried steak. The had side dishes like coleslaw, potato salad, pasta salad, green beans, and collard greens. There was a sign that said, "today's special - smothered pork chops". I asked the guy behind the counter what he recommended and I ended up getting the roast beef sandwich. It was huge! I grabbed some Zapps BBQ potato chips (a New Orleans Brand) and headed to the apartment. It was a great dinner. The funniest part was that at the counter, the girl at the register - this chubby really pretty girl with a nose ring and lots of tattoos told me that the place is open 24 hours a day AND they deliver! They will even deliver liquor and cigarettes! How wild is that?!

the apartment

(mine is the pink one...)

I rented a place through AirBnB - a website in which people rent out their places for vacations. I found it to be less money than a hotel room plus the convenience of living in a neighborhood and having a kitchen and laundry to use while on the trip. This place was in the French Quarter. The apartment had French doors which opened out into a really lush, absolutely gorgeous courtyard with a table and chairs, a fountain and the most amazing plants. I loved seeing the wear and tear on houses - all of the old architectural details along with peeling paint and ferns growing out of cracks in the side of buildings. The door to the place has a doorknob up really high and then a handle below it. It was strange and different than I have ever seen. The apartment had really high ceilings and the french doors were the full length of the walls. One wall had exposed brick and I loved sitting and looking at all of the variation in the wall - some brick, some cement… There was also a marble fireplace. I don't know if it was a working fireplace but it was cool. While it was a studio apartment it felt very spacious - definitely not a San Francisco version of a studio apartment!

New Orleans at last!

I stepped off the train and immediately knew I was experiencing something I'd never felt before. The air alone took me by surprise. How can I describe the air? Have you ever taken a really hot shower - so hot that the mirrors in the bathroom fog up and the walls sweat and you feel like you can barely breath in the damp warm air? Well, this was my welcoming sensation as I stepped off the train. I immediately thought, "Wow, I see why people slow down here." Jerome, a big black man in a white t-shirt was my cab driver. He was a total gentleman and had a southern accent that was pleasant to listen to. I was leery about the cab situation because in San Francisco cab drivers often give people from out of town the run around, taking the longest route to make extra cash. Yet when Jerome explained why he'd made a particular turn, so that we wouldn't have to wait behind a line of cars, I knew I was in good hands. He got me across town quickly, livening things up with his talk about what New Orleans has to offer. He told me a story about a friend of his who said she did not like New Orleans. She claimed it was a city for party people. Yet he explained that is was so much more than Bourbon Street and drinking. He talked about the Louisiana Purchase and the World War II museum. He talked about architecture and food. Meanwhile I looked out the window and soaked in everything I could see before me, When I said I was from California he said, " I'd rather wade in the water than rock and roll!" I laughed pretty hard at that as he said he didn't think he had the nerves to bare an earthquake. "At least if a storm is coming you know it. There in California the ground rattles and you could just fall through at any time! he said, shaking his head. He went on to talk about how the levees were never properly built, hence Hurricane Katrina. He also talked about how he felt this had been a slow summer and that cab service had been slow with regard to garnering customers. He thought it had to do with so many people visiting from Atlanta and Dallas. "They are used to this air" he said. "They just walk wherever they want to go whereas people from other places are more likely to hail a cab." I found myself feeling bad for him - identifying with his need to hustle, to get as many fares as possible. I admired his drive and determination which came through in how he talked and the optimism he had. He seemed down to earth and genuine.

When we drove into the French Quarter I felt myself sigh. It was so sweet with its narrow streets and lacy ironwork. It was more charming than I'd ever imagined and there was a sweetness about it that I'd never felt. Jerome helped me get my bags to the doorway of the apartment I'd rented for the week. I wished him well and gave him a fat tip. He said something I'll never forget, "God be with you. I hope you find all you desire in New Orleans." He did not even realize how deep his remarks were to me.

texas and texas and more texas...

I slept late and almost missed breakfast. I woke up not knowing where I was at first, having been caught up in a strange dream of being on an oversized swing in a playground. I'm sure the rocking of the train influenced that dream! I quickly got ready and managed to make it to the last call for breakfast. I ended up sitting across from a German couple who spoke very broken English. The woman I'd eaten dinner with the night before told me that she'd sat with them before. She went on about how great of a conversation she'd had with them even though their English was choppy. I sat down and when they joined me a cheerfully said, "Good Morning". The wife gave her husband and odd glance and then they simply nodded at me. They sat down and begin to speak - only to each other and in German. Because I was tired and saw that they were not going to make an effort I decided not to even bother trying to have a conversation with them. When our food came the wife smiled and nodded tipping her glass of juice in a single handed toast and I smiled back and said "enjoy your meal". Besides their occasional remarks to one another in German, we ate in silence, looking out the window as the world passed before us. When we finished eating we sat for a few moments sipping the last of our coffee. When I got up to leave I said, "Have a nice day! auf wiedersehen!" which means goodbye in German. They looked at me with such surprised faces that I wanted to laugh out loud. Instead I just headed back to my sleeping car.

At lunch I found myself sitting across from a couple from Bonne, Louisiana. They were an older white couple in their late 60's. He was tall and slender with white hair and a silvery beard. While slender he looked sturdy like a man who might work in a factory or in some manual capacity. She had a rugged look as well. Something about her made me think of a waitress in a small town -- one of those sharp tongue, no nonsense waitresses that wanted you to be ready to order when they walked over to your table. Her hair was dyed blonde but you could see some of her roots -- a combination of salt and pepper two inches from her scalp. She wore her hair pulled back in a banana clip. In a red henley t-shirt and jeans she sat talking about the vertigo she felt from the motion of the train and how she'd promised herself she'd never take a long distance train again. I liked watching the simplicity of their relationship - the way she made sure he had mayo for his burger -- he way he knew what she'd want to drink, the way they commented about the potato chips. It was this man's first time having kettle style potato chips. They had a certain rhythm to their conversation and their way of being together that you sometimes see with couples who have been together a long time. I think the most amusing thing the woman said was, "I can tell by the sky that a storms a brewin'!" Her southern ways amused me. Plus when I gave it some thought, I realized that I rarely look to the sky in this way to predict the weather. Sure, I watch the fog roll in or burn away but here we were looking out at open plains and watching dark clouds dancing across one side of the horizon while the other side was clear and blue. It was a different way of seeing things.

The Sunset Limited train route basically takes you through the southern part of the United States. Crossing through Texas felt the most tedious to me. Texas is a HUGE state. While I knew this in my head, physically crossing it was another thing. We got to Texas in the middle of the day yesterday. When I went to bed we were in Texas. I woke up in Texas. Where are we right now? Still in Texas! Although I must say, I got a kick out of Beaumont, Texas. I saw the backyards of many homes. It's always interesting to peek into people's lives in such an unusual way. I saw lots of doughboy pools (those round pools that are above ground). The backyards were really big and expansive -- to the point that the owners had big riding lawnmowers. I watched a man on his lawn mower. He was wearing a bright orange t-shirt with the sleeves cut off, a baseball hat and shorts.

When we rolled into Louisiana I got really excited because I was tired of Texas and also because it meant we were one step closer to New Orleans. Little towns like Lake Charles and Lafayette, Louisiana captivated me as I looked at the houses and the rural aspects of it. When we got to New Iberia I was surprised. We rolled up to a station that looked like an old shack with an Amtrak sign on it. Out front stood a very country looking black family. It felt like I was looking at a Norman Rockwell painting, only the people were black. There was a woman in a cotton floral dress, a man in overalls, a boy in shorts and a t-shirt and a little girl in a dress. They all wore flip flops and stood squinting looking up at the train as if they were waiting for someone to arrive. As we rode on I saw other things that I viewed as very southern. I found myself almost giddy because everything was new, everything was a new experience - something I've never seen! Know how small markets and corner stores will paint what they carry on the side of their buildings? For instance, a small market might have a sign that says "ice, wine, beer". I passed a place called P.J.'s Market. Their hand painted sign said - ice, beer, cracklins! I'd never seen anything like it!

I could feel the excitement bubbling within as I got closer and closer to New Orleans. I watched out the window. Although it was nighttime I could see all of the businesses around. When we crossed over the Huey P. Long bridge (a bridge at the west bank of the Mississippi) I knew we were in the final stretch. I was nervous about this trip and worried that I'd feel alone and scared and yet instead I felt surrounded by love. Maybe it was all of the texts or the friends following my journey on Facebook. Maybe it was the great people I met on the train. Whatever it was, I felt great -- brave, hopeful and ready to see what New Orleans had to offer.

crossing the country...

When I woke up this morning we were in Maricopa, Arizona. Say Maricopa a few times. Say it with a raspy voice. Last night while talking on the phone to a friend I said it with a rasp, imagining an old leathery cowboy telling his crew where they were headed next. I imagined tumbleweeds and cactus. I thought of the Pace Picante commercial (even though that brand is from Texas). It's funny how many of my references are from TV and movies. Maricopa was close to what I'd imagined, except without tumbleweeds. Does it sound crazy to admit that I can't wait to see a tumbleweed?

I was eating breakfast when we arrived in Tucson Arizona. I saw two cool murals on the sides of buildings and a few bronze sculptures from the train window. Breakfast was great - a spinach omelette, a croissant and fresh fruit served up hot. I ended up sitting with two people that were from Vancouver Canada! We chatted throughout the meal. Husband and wife, they were both retired teachers and bought one of those thirty day passes for Amtrak travel. They told me how they'd spent a day in Los Angeles and were heading to New Orleans, Memphis, Chicago and New York before returning home. We had a nice meal together. I ended up giving them postcards of my work and we shared what we planned to do in NOLA. Later today the same woman came to my car and gave me a list of dancers from movies from the 40s whom she thought of. She thought if I created dresses inspired by the dancing of these woman that it would be great.

Most of my day has been spent looking out the window, texting photos to Facebook or simply taking photos out the window with my camera. I've found myself fascinated by all of the wide open spaces. having lived all of my life in a small congested city like San Francisco, I'd almost forgotten that there are spaces that are simply natural, and open, and left alone. For miles though Arizona and New Mexico all I saw was open space - lots of short green shrubs, cactus and a big sky filled with clouds. When we'd get to inhabited areas I noticed the poverty. Crumbled decaying houses, factories, trailer parks, abandoned cars. I gasped as we got near Texas because I saw the Border Patrol! There they were - two big vehicles driving fast near the border. As we pulled into El Paso Texas there was a moment where you could see Mexico on one side of the train and Texas on the other. How wild is that?

If today had a color palette it would be olive green, dark leafy green, tan, dark brown rust, white and pale blue.

sleeping cars and koala bears

I boarded the Sunset Limited at 10 pm and headed to my sleeper car. If you have not been on a long distance Amtrak trip, let me say, a sleeper car is cool. Don't expect space though. It's tiny! I found myself shocked when I saw my space. There are literally twelve inches from the bed to the little door that closes you into the space. It is a coffin of sorts. There are windows facing outdoors on one side and a windowed door to the inside train aisle on the other side. With the curtains closed on each side it feels like a tiny closet. I called it a coffin. I called it a shoebox. So there I was freaking out a little because for some reason I thought I'd have room to turn around, or at the very least, change into pajamas. I wondered if I could manage. I considered sleeping in my clothes.

After a few moments I adjusted and rational thought told me that sleeping in jeans would not be restful. How could I make this work? As I looked around I realized that this space was like sleeping on a tour bus. Something about that idea seemed fun. I lightened up. As I closed the curtains I imagined those forts we used to make as kids. Suddenly I was back in adventure mode! I managed to change clothes while sitting on this bed. Like everything else on this trip, it took me a moment. I found that I needed to slow down and focus on what I was doing. I found nooks and crannies to store my stuff so I could have more leg room on the bed. I wanted to take off my earrings but did not want to lose them so I attached them to a brochure and placed the brochure back in it's little pocket on the wall. I started to get excited about my ability to make the most of this situation.

The converted bed was actually very comfortable. Everyone talked about how I'd be lulled asleep by the sweet swaying on the train. Yeah right! As soon as everyone settled in, the train started going at its highest speed. Sweet swaying was more like wild rocking and there were moments where I was jarred awake and found myself clutching the bed like a baby koala bear. I was so sleepy I felt dizzy and coupled with the rocking, at times I felt like the room was whirling in a cool way. It was like being in the middle of a wild hallucination but at the same time it was kind of cool. And yes, I got a restorative sleep.

Union Station -- Los Angeles, CA

This station blew me away with it's old art deco decor! It is huge - a massive terminal full of activity. There were two convenience stores inside as well as a Subway, a Starbucks, Ben & Jerry's ice cream, and a soft pretzel place. There was a hodge podge of people- some travelers and some who were just hustlers. For instance, a guy approached me with a handful of gold jewelry in a paper napkin. He asked if I was interested in something sparkly.

I was surprised at how amused I was by simply sitting and watching people. The only downfall to being in the station that long is that there was no air conditioning and California is in the middle of a heat wave this week.  Initially I was worried about this part of the trip. I wondered how I'd manage with the three hour layover. I don't know Los Angeles nor do I have any close friends there so I decided not to leave the station. Instead I sat in a leather chair and stared at the tile work. I ease dropped on four 20something girls talking about Megan's party in Los Vegas. You see, Julie was not sure if she should go because he ex-boyfriend would be there but at the last minute she's decided to go. She argued with her friends because they feared she'd be hurt if she went, plus her ex was dating someone new. Julie reassured them that she would be ok. "I am SO over him" she said again and again.

I saw the woman from the train who had 7 kids. I began to wonder about her. What was her story? She had only one suitcase - a jumbo one the size of mine. One suitcase for 8 people? I began to wonder if she was homeless. At one point we passed each other and I managed to make small talk. She said she was moving back to New Orleans because California was way too expensive. Yet still I felt a bit troubled by her situation. I sat thinking about it wondering if there was anything I could do. I wondered if she could afford to feed her kids on the train the next two days. It didn't look like she was carrying snacks or food with her. These thoughts made me weary.

By the time I got on the train, I felt like a boiled sausage. My hands, feet and legs were swollen and I was completely sweaty. Because it was 10 pm when we boarded the train, I was ready for a good night's rest.

When you haven't traveled much, everything is interesting!

2:15 pm 

We just rode through what people sometimes call "the armpit of California" - Fresno! All I see are factories and fields. I just saw a group of factory workers leaving a plant. Most of them were still wearing shower caps and hair nets.

We just passed a big parcel of land covered in solar panels! Dang, I've never seen this many in one place!

There's a single mom with seven very loud and incredibly talkative kids - all but one under ten years old! I heard she is going to New Orleans too. We shall see how that goes. Just a few minutes ago she yelled at them to shut up and listen. I feel for her.

An Asian girl across from me looks like she is wearing a wig. There is humor in this. Her hair looks like a cheap weave. At the same time she looks like an Asian girl you might see working at a black beauty supply store (her style of dress and everything looks like girls who work in these stores…) Usually black girls wish they had straight hair like the people who work in these stores and yet this woman looks like she's wearing synthetic hair that people end up purchasing. Strange…

A big tall Latin man with a unibrow keeps staring at me. Whenever I look in his direction he is staring back. Creepy.

2:43 pm -  Hanford, California

One thing I love about trains is you often get to see into the backyards of people's houses. I just saw a guy cleaning his pool. Two doors down a kid jumped on a trampoline.

3:07 pm - Corcoran, California

I never heard of it before today. I just looked on my map and I see that it is east of Kettleman City. Remember the movie Erin Brocovich? She was investigating in Kettleman City. It was a case she had after the big case that was the plot of the movie. I was blown away looking at the ponds for mining. I saw lots of ponds for mining and many orchards. I also heard there's a big prison there.

Bakersfield feels like an oven. The Amtrak bus is packed to the rim and I am uncomfortable. Thank God for air conditioning. I have never been to Bakersfield yet I know I would never want to live here. My impression is that it is a very blah suburban town. I just saw an old woman in a loud floral print polyester blouse jaywalking across the street in a walker. I saw two police officers casually leaning on their cars talking to one another. There's a big Jewish Temple across the street from the Amtrak station. A Christian church stands to the right of the Temple and a Best Western Motel is to the left.

4:34 pm 98 miles from Los Angeles…

Just passed a place called Mr. Watermelon. There are several stands selling watermelons around here.

Not sure what the final destination is for most people but we are heading to Union Station in Los Angeles...

the adventure begins now...

7:43 am
Travel requires being present. When my alarm went off at 6 am this morning I knew this would be a day like no other. My bags are heavy. My insistence upon being prepared makes me a bag lady (Cue Erykah Badu singing...)
I have a full backpack. This is my laptop's first trip too so I hope all will go well. I'm laughing at the number of electronics I have - a laptop, camera, phone, iPod...
I just did a body check - Do I have everything? How do I feel? Did I forget anything? At the moment, I know this much for sure - I forgot my toothpaste. I'm laughing at myself about this considering that I have a 4 pack of toilet paper in my bag... (Note to self - you are becoming like your mother.)

Current goal - get to Amtrak. Here I am in a cab as we wade through stop and go traffic. The driver is on the phone talking to a friend in mandarin (Chinese). I am watching people commuting to work. I just got my first glimpse of the new Bay Bridge. On the freeway I looked out the window at a bus full of people going to work. They are going to work - I am going to New Orleans, Louisiana.

8:15 am
I am over an hour early for my Amtrak bus that will take me across the bay. I prefer being early rather than stressing about making it here on time. A sense of peace feels better than stressing out on a crowded bus. Here I sit at the iconic San Francisco ferry building watching a variety of people - business men, joggers, homeless people, tourists.
A man walks up in a blue vest that says Amtrak courtesy host. He looks old enough to be retired and is incredibly chatty. He asks which commuter bus I am waiting for and looks exceptionally pleased to tell me that Arnold will be my driver when the bus comes.
There's a homeless woman on the bench across from me who looks sunbaked (and not in a good way). Her leathery orange-brown skin is cracked and wrinkled. Her clothes are dirty and soiled and yet she has 3 colorful beaded necklaces around her neck. Something about this makes me feel hope - hope for her, that things will get better -- or that, in the very least, she will continue to survive.

9:35 am
I'm on the Amtrak bus taking the train across the bay to Emeryville where I will board the actual train. When the bus driver saw my final destination he said, "Oh -- take me with you!" in a wishful way. The two of us laughed and he told me to have a great trip.
I just passed a big expensive high rise apartment  building where a few of my art patrons live. I am reminded of them and all of the people who are with me on this trip in spirit. I feel like I have a cloud of well wishers around me -- praying, hoping, watching.

10 am
A really chatty Jehovah's Witness just walked up to me. This black woman with really big hair and frosty orange lipstick just offered me some reading material for my ride -- "The Watchtower", a Jehovah's Witness call to salvation booklet. On the front of it I saw the words, "The End is Near". In my mind I heard, " Girl you better seize the day!" This woman smiled offering my this booklet. I politely said, "No, thank you." Maybe it was because I was polite and not rude or abrupt that she continued to talk. She asked me about my lipstick and chatted about her love for Mary Kay cosmetics. After a brief chat we parted ways and I wished her well. The train arrived on time and I managed to get one of my favorite seats onboard. I struggled a bit with my oversized suitcase but got it on the luggage rack in the storage area of the train. I then paused and helped an older woman with her bag. In my seat at last, I'll take in a new set of scenery. I've never been on this route before. So many times I have watched people boarding the train to Bakersfield. Now I am one of  them...

I am on the San Joaquin train. The Amtrak brochure says, "This scenic route traverses the state's top agricultural region, often called, 'The Nation's Salad Bowl' for the diversity of fruits and vegetables grown in its fertile soils." There are miles and miles of fruit and nut orchards as well as vineyards. Needless to say, I see lots of green leafy goodness as far as the eye can see!

I just had breakfast - a chicken salad sandwich, salt & vinegar chips and a bottle of water. This is not what most consider breakfast food but I am enjoying it. The chicken salad has celery, dried cranberries, and chopped walnuts in it. It is satisfying. There is so much to see as I eat with an ever changing view unfolding before me.

I have also seen
- egrets in clusters on the water
- a woman with a dot tattooed on her cheek the size of a nickel
- 30 people in white t-shirts and big straw hats picking vegetables in a field near Stockton
- a line of 50 or 60 cows all sitting around. They were in clusters like groups of people on a lunch break. Makes me think of kids in the courtyard in high school during lunch. I wonder what those cows are talking about...
- rows and rows of order -- things planted in a grid like pattern
- a mother and daughter embracing after the mom got of the train in Modesto
- a man and woman kissing each other as the woman gathers her bags to get on the train
- a neighborhood made up of manufactured homes
- a kid on the train singing the ABC song over and over again is making me happy that I brought my iPod...

"Traveling; It leaves you speechless, then turns you into a storyteller.”