i love my beloved detroit for reasons my friends here in new york city can’t fathom. my second favorite u.s. city has always been new orleans, especially after my father, who had visited the city on numerous business trips, warned that danger lurked just under the surface, even in the pretty french quarter. “when’s the next flight down?” i’d ask.
the first time i went to new orleans, i was a poor 23-year-old on her first adult vacation. i hit the usual spots: bourbon street, the cemeteries, marie laveau’s home, etc. i also walked from the quarter, through louis armstrong park and past the projects to meet a friend at one of the cemeteries. by myself. not the smartest move but i survived. i stayed at the youth hostel, which was on carondelet. at the time, it was in a sketchy area. gunshots could often be heard from the abandoned houses on the other side of the street and one of the german tourists at the hostel was mugged at gunpoint while entering it.
on that trip, i met the alleged boyfriend of ylenia carrisi. carrisi was a 23-year-old italian television host and granddaughter of matinee idol tyrone power. she had traveled to new orleans in december of the previous year to research a book. she left her hotel one morning, was caught on video at waldenbooks buying a tome and was never seen again. according to her boyfriend, the local police, fbi and italian mob (her father was connected to them somehow) all tried to discover her whereabouts, to no avail. seems the city’s underbelly wouldn’t cooperate, no matter the threat. some say she was drugged, raped and when of no more use to her kidnappers, discarded into the mississippi. her body has never been found.
stories like that didn’t lessen my love for the crescent city, even if i took to looking over my shoulder when walking alone. i’ve traveled to many places by myself, but this was the first such trip and i hadn’t really considered that a woman traveling alone might be at risk.
it took me many years to return but i vowed i would. on my recent work-related visit, i noticed that the city had changed. what were once sketchy areas were now gentrified. carondelet is safe to walk through, the abandoned houses demolished to make way for office structures and businesses. the faubourg marigny, situated on the other side of the quarter, is the lower east side of new orleans. katrina forced many of the poor inhabitants to abandon their homes. and those who thought they were lucky enough to return? they faced large rent increases due to flood insurance hikes and were forced into other neighborhoods. now, it’s hipster central (i swear i can’t get away from them).
it’s a city divided—rich vs. poor. the neighborhoods straddle each other. walk five blocks the wrong way and you’re not in kansas anymore. driving past the lower ninth ward is a solemn occasion, one that some members of our large party didn’t appreciate fully. giggling or screaming excitedly is not the right reaction when viewing such destruction. it reminded me quite a bit of my kashmir experience.
the food hadn’t changed. i still prefer creole to cajun, although i wish pork stock or flour wasn’t in so much of it, as i don’t eat either. eat at cochon, emeril’s delmonico and 5 fifty 5. enjoy brunch at marigny brasserie and check out the free jazz at blue nile, the spotted cat or the maison. unlike new york, there’s no cover, no velvet ropes and no jostling for space. everyone is having a ball. and if you’re lucky enough to be there on new year’s, eschew the prix fixe dinner reservations for a po boy truck and live jazz on the street. pure happiness…
