Falling in love with a new city
As a native New Yorker, I’ve never really considered living anywhere else besides New York. I love my hometown, and this isn’t an I (heart) New York type of love, but a true dedication and devotion to a place. The grit and grime of the subways, the buildings so tall that only a sliver of the sky is visible, the smell of greasy cheesy pizza wafting down the street, the taste of a fresh bagel, the lullaby of the sirens and car alarms that have sung me to sleep for most of my life – I love it all. But ever since landing in New Orleans just over three weeks ago, I have begun to fall in love with a city in a way I never imagined possible.
I have always wondered what it would be like to land in New York as a tourist from some far away place, and to see the city with fresh eyes. I have longed to understand how magnificent it must be to see the Empire State Building lit up for the first time, or to walk down the streets pointing a camera up in awe of all there is to see. On my first day here, after being in New Orleans for only 2 hours, I think I finally understood. While walking through the French Quarter with two of my new housemates, and one of their friends from Baton Rouge, I found myself exhilarated by the thrill of each new site. I pointed at the sign on Bourbon St, and couldn’t stop taking pictures of the amazing architecture. Beignets at Café Du Monde seemed to be out of this world, and I was in disbelief at the fact that one could get “to-go” cups of alcoholic drinks.
I have traveled through much of the world before (in my 22 years I’ve been to more countries than years I have lived), but I don’t remember being so constantly in awe of a new place. Perhaps it is because living here allows me to take the city in in small doses and savor each new experience in a way a tourist can never do. But I think there is something almost magical about this city that goes beyond its physical infrastructure.
One of the things that has most endeared me to my new home is the friendliness of the people. While sometimes I love the anonymity of the city that one experiences in New York – each person in their iPod-headphoned world – what I love about this city is that you can’t do that. When walking (or more often biking) down the street, someone always seems to say hello to me, or at least look me in the eye and smile, a rarity in my hometown. Personal barriers between private and public are torn down as the public space becomes truly a space for public interaction, not a space for each one of us to walk around in our private bubbles.
Nowhere was this erasure of public space more apparent to me was when we attended the Black Men of Labor Second Line, two weekends ago. Expecting a New York style parade, where one stands on the side and watches the music go by, I was stunned when we became part of the parade. Even more stunning, was the sheer diversity of people attending – black and white, rich and poor, young and old, gay and straight, people with and without disabilities – all dancing in the rain together for a celebration of pure joy. It was a moment that I have never experienced in my 22 years as a New Yorker, and it was perhaps the moment that I began to realize that I might be falling in love with another city.
Though I do have some gripes with New Orleans– the lack of public transportation, the mice and Palmetto bugs in our otherwise charming home, the cracked streets that have caused me to have not one, but two flat tires – for now, I’m definitely not giving up my New York pride, but I’m beginning to open my eyes to the possibility that there are other cities I might be able to consider my home.
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Meredith Leass said:
I had a grandfather named Jack Glicksman and my mother is Barbara Glicksman .. hmm any relation? meredithleass@yahoo.com
thanks!