We're not in Kansas anymore
We arrive at LaGuardia 3 hours before the flight to New Orleans. I left my house to pick Miho up at 6:35 a.m. for a 10:30 a.m. flight. I'm happy to report that the security check wait is not nearly as long as we had anticipated, and we probably could have arrived at 9 a.m. instead.
My new M.O. for reducing flying anxiety is to sleep through as much of the flight as possible. Actually, I can't really help it, my body just shuts down entirely as soon as I board the plane and take my seat. My secret -- a window seat to lean up against, an eye mask and a pair of earplugs.
I wake up as we're descending into New Orleans. Miho and I ooh and ahh as we fly alongside huge vertical cotton puff clouds suspended in midair. The circle of tall puffs pour gray shadows over a lush green clearing surrounded by trees. As the plane makes its descent towards the runway, we fly over bloomy green and puce muck, out of which spindly trees poke up like dark stubble.
God's Country
We're picked up at the airport by Billy from Rykodisc and our driver, Hotel Al, a white-haired man with a fantastic round drawl and enough joie de vivre to fuel all the dacquiri machines on Bourbon Street. He's worked for the Monteleone Hotel for 47 years. His apartment is in the French Quarter, just around the corner from hotel.
GANDA: Are these the suburbs?
HOTEL AL: Yes ma'am. This here's Metairie, Louisiana. Oh, they love it out here [except it sounds more like Aw, dey love id out heah. --Ed.] They call it God's country. [Pause.] 'Cept I bet people say that about New York too.
BILLY: Uh, no.
****
HOTEL AL: See that yellow line over there on the wall? That's how high the water was. I brought my mother-in-law out here nine times, and she just kept comin' back, I couldn't believe it. [Pause. Then guilty laughter from the passengers.] I'm just kiddin'. [HOTEL AL Laughs gleefully.]
****
HOTEL AL: These are the famous above ground cemeteries of New Orleans. Everybody dies in alphabetical order. It's true, I check the paper every day. [Turns to Billy.] Let me tell you, a guy like you, last name starts with "F", you gotta wait til about 11:00. If you pass 11:00, you alright.
****
HOTEL AL: See this Winn-Dixie? They ripped the lock and cleared the whole store in about two hours. Over here's where they were sniping at the police. Four people killed every night, they say crime is down. Yeah, it's downtown.
****
GANDA: Hey Al, I heard you have a sister who used to be your brother.
HOTEL AL: [laughing] Who told you to say that? Raul told you to say that? It's true, I got a sister used to be my brother, I got an aunt used to be my uncle.
****
HOTEL AL: This here is the French Quarter, where the women are women and the men are too. [As we cross the intersection at Bourbon Street, with a fine New Orleans drawl to a touristy-looking passerby.] Excuse me, do you know where Bourbon Street is?
TOURIST: [shrugs earnestly] Sorry.
[Everyone in the van breaks into peals of giggles.]
HOTEL AL: [To another passerby a few feet down.] Excuse me, do you know where Bourbon Street is?
LOCAL: [without skipping a beat] Yeah, you got 20 bucks?
Part 1 of several -- it's probably going to take me a few days to put together my thoughts on New Orleans. In the meantime, you can go look at my Flickr pics.
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