Wednesday, 13 August 2008

Do You Know What It Means To Miss New Orleans?

We left on Tuesday morning. Feda, Gianni and Bruna back to Venice via Philadelphia and myself back to Indianapolis via Atlanta. It's been an amazing seven state, 1,500 mile adventure and it doesn't seem to make sense that we only met properly ten days ago. Parting was sad - especially as Gianni insisted on repeatedly shouting 'Ciao Marco,' whilst waving a white handkerchief as I clumsily removed my belt, shoes and loose change to get through security.

N'Awlins is an incredible place and I feel a real desire to return to the deep South soon. I love the city's contradictions, its pride, its romantic underbelly. I can see a city in waiting - unsure still what was lost during Katrina and now salvaging its narrative and music rift. I'll miss sitting on my ornate cast iron balcony in the heat of the night, the music drifting up from Bourbon Street, I'll miss looking out to the spire of St.Louis. I'll miss the colourful cottages on St.Peter's, the rattling streetcars and and the huge ships pulling round the crescent of the Mississippi. I'll miss the black humour. Most of all I'll miss the ghosts. I feel at home with them.

I was exhausted and slept for both of the short flights hopping north back to Matt and Aida, but I woke in time to see the Brickyard laid out below as my plane circled once and brought me safely back to the mid-West.

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