The Great Journey
It was a year ago on this day that we set out on our road trip to New Orleans for Halloween. About this time we were over halfway through the state of Illinois I think.
I remember the night before I was barely able to sleep with excitement of the impending journey. I was up at 4 AM but not exhausted. I was thrilled with what lay ahead. I had no concerns of being tired. No worries about the day ahead (well, maybe slight worries about my truck surviving the 936 miles). It was a pitch black Wednesday morning when I pulled away from my apartment and hours driving before the sun even became visible.
It was a long drive and I know I've only just written about it recently. And though it seems inconsequential as most vacations it was a great achievement in my life. To drive the distance to the mystical city of New Orleans that had upon my first visit cast a spell on my heart and forever taken up residence there.
It was wholly surreal for me to be driving on the streets of the French Quarter when we arrived some 14 hours later. I never imagined myself in my truck winding through those tight corridors. Pulling up to the Place d'Arms hotel with its gas lamps burning outside, casting ghostly shadows on the bricks and wrought iron porch supports. Boston ferns above rustling in the wind. Voices echoing off the walls of the buildings along St Ann. The beginning of adventure.
I had never before been in New Orleans in the fall. In fact, my entire experience with the city revolved around the winter and Mardi Gras. And there was a definite energy on this trip I had never felt in the city before.
For as long as I can recall I have loved the fall and Halloween. Something about the season seems at once comforting and mysterious. I think back years and decades when I have wandered the streets of Chicago on cool, autumn nights with the leaves crunching under foot looking at yards with styrofoam tombstones and lone jack-o-lanterns in darkened windows and found complete wonder in the experience. Listening to the instrumental sounds of horror movies on my headphones. Engulfing myself in the fleeting experience. Because, truly the season seems to end as quickly as it arrives.
And there in New Orleans, the energy of that city in autumn was completely electric. There was no need to wander in search of it. It oozed from every dark corner and peered down on you from every balcony. I felt I was in the birthplace of mystery itself. There was no question if any person on the street enjoyed the season as much as I. It could be felt by every passing soul. And certainly in the air, by hundreds of years of people before I that set foot there.
To combine the city I love with the season I love was such an obvious thing to do. Yet, I remember thinking of it off and on for several years and being afraid in some silly way. Afraid of breaking the "norm". Of not participating in whatever traditions I felt I had at home. But, being down there showed me how wrong I was. It made me see how it's just another day in Chicago for most people. They don't get into the magic of it. Hell, it is an effort for most people to even put thought into dressing up let alone genuine effort.
Down there I felt the kindred spirits. I saw the joy in the eyes of all those people. And even as it rained briefly on Halloween night it did not damper the festivities or the crazy people. Some of whom were still parading in the streets in spite of the downpour.
I thought leaving Chicago I would be left feeling I was missing out on something up here. Now the opposite is true. As I look down the grim tunnel of this week, just trying to fake effort at work for another two days. I am overcome with an aching in my heart not being in the Big Easy. This aching is as real as any hurt I've had from a break-up or sad interaction with an actual human being, which I find amusing. I love that city.
But, here I stay. The opportunity gone for this year. The talk about going next year seems so pointless knowing my financial situation. Who even knows what the world holds in that time.
For the moment though in my mind I am on those French Quarter streets. I feel the energy. The spirit of celebration. Peering into secret courtyards and seeing skeletons sitting at a table. The screams of merriment in every direction. And a bizarre feeling of being home.
I remember the night before I was barely able to sleep with excitement of the impending journey. I was up at 4 AM but not exhausted. I was thrilled with what lay ahead. I had no concerns of being tired. No worries about the day ahead (well, maybe slight worries about my truck surviving the 936 miles). It was a pitch black Wednesday morning when I pulled away from my apartment and hours driving before the sun even became visible.
It was a long drive and I know I've only just written about it recently. And though it seems inconsequential as most vacations it was a great achievement in my life. To drive the distance to the mystical city of New Orleans that had upon my first visit cast a spell on my heart and forever taken up residence there.
It was wholly surreal for me to be driving on the streets of the French Quarter when we arrived some 14 hours later. I never imagined myself in my truck winding through those tight corridors. Pulling up to the Place d'Arms hotel with its gas lamps burning outside, casting ghostly shadows on the bricks and wrought iron porch supports. Boston ferns above rustling in the wind. Voices echoing off the walls of the buildings along St Ann. The beginning of adventure.
I had never before been in New Orleans in the fall. In fact, my entire experience with the city revolved around the winter and Mardi Gras. And there was a definite energy on this trip I had never felt in the city before.
For as long as I can recall I have loved the fall and Halloween. Something about the season seems at once comforting and mysterious. I think back years and decades when I have wandered the streets of Chicago on cool, autumn nights with the leaves crunching under foot looking at yards with styrofoam tombstones and lone jack-o-lanterns in darkened windows and found complete wonder in the experience. Listening to the instrumental sounds of horror movies on my headphones. Engulfing myself in the fleeting experience. Because, truly the season seems to end as quickly as it arrives.
And there in New Orleans, the energy of that city in autumn was completely electric. There was no need to wander in search of it. It oozed from every dark corner and peered down on you from every balcony. I felt I was in the birthplace of mystery itself. There was no question if any person on the street enjoyed the season as much as I. It could be felt by every passing soul. And certainly in the air, by hundreds of years of people before I that set foot there.
To combine the city I love with the season I love was such an obvious thing to do. Yet, I remember thinking of it off and on for several years and being afraid in some silly way. Afraid of breaking the "norm". Of not participating in whatever traditions I felt I had at home. But, being down there showed me how wrong I was. It made me see how it's just another day in Chicago for most people. They don't get into the magic of it. Hell, it is an effort for most people to even put thought into dressing up let alone genuine effort.
Down there I felt the kindred spirits. I saw the joy in the eyes of all those people. And even as it rained briefly on Halloween night it did not damper the festivities or the crazy people. Some of whom were still parading in the streets in spite of the downpour.
I thought leaving Chicago I would be left feeling I was missing out on something up here. Now the opposite is true. As I look down the grim tunnel of this week, just trying to fake effort at work for another two days. I am overcome with an aching in my heart not being in the Big Easy. This aching is as real as any hurt I've had from a break-up or sad interaction with an actual human being, which I find amusing. I love that city.
But, here I stay. The opportunity gone for this year. The talk about going next year seems so pointless knowing my financial situation. Who even knows what the world holds in that time.
For the moment though in my mind I am on those French Quarter streets. I feel the energy. The spirit of celebration. Peering into secret courtyards and seeing skeletons sitting at a table. The screams of merriment in every direction. And a bizarre feeling of being home.