So I asked, “When will we ever go on a trip together?” My mother replied, “Where do you want to go?” Instantly my mind wandered to every corner of the world, the excitement of her words ringing in my ears. Where do I want to go? Choose wisely, because this may be my only chance to get her to agree to this! No destination would be out of the question because with my mom, anything is possible. As I lay awake that night, pondering the thought of the most memorable place we could take our first mother/daughter trip, my vision becomes clearer. New Orleans.
I know what your thinking, the seediness of Bourbon Street. The scantily clad women, obnoxious bars claiming to have the biggest, well - fill in the blank! But beyond that, my purpose was clear. My family. I longed to see where my aunt and cousins have lived most of their lives. Stories of my grandmother’s roots in Louisiana. As a little girl, a place I tried to envision when my aunt visited us and told stories of her life in this far off world.
"New Orleans, Mom." "Really?" She replied with excitement.
"Yep, I want to see my cousins and Aunt Dee." The rest of that day, my mother recalled all the pleasant trips she had visiting New Orleans. The places she saw, the food she ate, the love she shared with our family. The deal was cinched, the plan was made, this was really going to happen!
We landed in New Orleans on a bright, sunny day. The weather was hot. A welcomed surprise, as it was forecast to be rainy. We hurried ourselves to the hotel, unloaded our suitcases and immediately set our plan for the day. Now, as anyone can tell you about New Orleans, life is centered around food. We hopped the trolley and headed to St. Charles Street. As the warm Louisiana air wafted through the car, I couldn’t help but think that this was going to the beginning of a memorable trip. Colorful beads dangle from the trees lining the street, swaying in the breeze as if they were reenacting the excitement of Mardi Gras. Beautiful mansions of a bye-gone era of wealth and status stood proudly along the route. Our trolley’s destination, Lebanon’s Cafe. Of course, being of Lebanese heritage, this was the obvious choice. Kibbee, grapeleaves and fatoosh, the comfort foods I grew up eating in my grandmother’s kitchen, was the perfect beginning to our trip.
"I want you to see Bourbon Street." my mom said with great anticipation. Bourbon Street. Read about it, seen a few pictures, but the smell. It’s nothing like I ever imagined. Old, musty wood, stagnate water, beer, cigarettes and yes, at times even urine. My God, why? It’s easy. It’s that, "I don’t give a damn what you think, we’re here to have a good time" smell. It’s, "I’m not going to change, it’s worked for all these years" smell. It’s New Orleans - in all its glory, and I’m here - and I thank God, because I’m here with my mom.
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