a tale of two cities

I just got back from New Orleans. I went as a tourist, plain and simple. I have one word to say after spending four nights and three days at a beautiful hotel in the French Quarter. GO!

The best thing you can do for New Orleans right now is go as a tourist. It is as safe- if not safer- as any another tropical tourist destination I've been to where you combine (a) white tourists with money and varying degrees of class consciousness with (b) the poor people who live there, and (c) heat and humidity. I was not asked for money once, which is not what I would say about Havana.

It brought home to me that two parts of a city can exist side-by-side, and the reality of the people who live there couldn’t be more disparate. That split existed in New Orleans before Katrina, but the gap is even wider and more apparent now. Aside from being shown on international television during "the storm", as they call it, almost two years later families are living in small FEMA trailers a few blocks outside of the French Quarter.

One whole section of the "projects" is shut down to protect the safety of the former residents, while identical projects on the other side of the freeway are occupied. The story, unconfirmed by me at this point, is that they want to put a golf course on the site of the public housing units that the tenants are fighting to save.

One story I read today said there they found burn marks, traces from bombs, on concrete sections of the levy that divers brought up.

This all couldn’t possibly be about a land grab to gentrify New Orleans? I had heard theories of this at the time, but even I couldn't go there. But seeing who has rebuilt and who hasn't makes it all so black and white, as they say. Why rebuild your house when it could happen again? The levees are not being improved, just patched.

On my way to the "swamp tour", I saw miles and miles of abandoned suburban, garden-style apartment complexes whose shells were basically intact. I saw blocks and blocks of wood-frame houses in an African-American neighborhood relatively close to the French Quarter that were boarded up, and what few houses were occupied had FEMA trailers parked in the front yard.

I am inspired to return as a vounteer, possibly with a project to rebuild green. But I say just go. Go shopping on Royal Street in the French Quarter and see those beautiful old trees and mansions in the Garden District and eat the best grits and fried oysters and oyster po' boys and crab meat cheesecake and the "you-name-it-it's good". And go hear jazz and support the musicians. They need us. For better or worse, tourism is their major industry. Who knows, you might even see a ghost. (hmmmmmm..i swear i tried to get that link to work about 12 times....that link just might be haunted)

the spirits like mid-century moderne

I am a third generation junker. My grandfather would go to church bazaars and buy up everything that was left over at the end. Boxes of bright red nail polish and dozens of short sleeved men’s shirts with those weird little diamond patterns. Today they would be sold on Valencia Street in a vintage store, but in 1966, we thought they were the squarest thing going.

One time he came home with two four-foot tall carved wooden African statues. We laughed about those things for years. After my father died two years ago and we were clearing out the house, I thought about those statues and how much they must be worth now. My cousin Robert still has them in his basement, and he said I could have them. Getting them out to California would be a challenge, but maybe the next time Antiques Road Show comes to town………

My girlfriend, on the other hand, is a first generation junker. She was teased by her family about going to flea markets and wearing “old clothes”. But she has a passion for junking that is hard to believe is not inherited. Imagine our delight at finding collectible ceramic candlesticks for 99 cents each.

In the past year, we have gone to Philly, my home town, twice. We discovered an antique store in the Italian Market area of South Philly, one block from the best cannoli in the world. The guy that owns it grew up “in the neighborhood” and sold fish out of that store for thirty years. Now he’s into “junque”. He talks loud and fast and loves a bargain.

Last week, when we were there, we found some pink Mikassa plates with a small peace sign on the bottom from the 60s. D loved them, and I teased her about being converted to my love for “mid-century”. She usually finds the straight lines of the mid-century moderne too cold and sterile compared to the lush, sensual décor of her house.

She bought the plates and I schlepped them home on the plane. The other day, I noticed two of them under plants on her altar. I screamed, “That’s not what those plates are for”, and she said it's OK, they could always be washed.

Last night we heard a crash, and one of the plants on a pink plate was on the floor. Today I told her that the spirits didn’t think the pink plates should be used for that either. She laughed. A little while ago, the other plant on a pink plate crashed to the floor as well. “I guess you’re right”, she said. “The spirits like those pink plates and don’t think they should be used for planters”. You know you’re right when the spirits throw their vote with yours.

casper, the friendly ghost

Do you believe in ghosts? I mean really believe in your head and in your gut that ghosts exist. Well, I am on the verge of having to say yes.

Of course, like every california baby boomer, I observed the various "spiritual movements", and would describe myself as being spiritually conscious. I believe in "higher power", and know that it comes in many forms, from the traditional GOD to an ancestor we talk to. I have even seen pictures of ghosts and basically believe it to be so. But REALLY believe? That's a leap of faith I have managed to resist until now.

My girlfriend is a witch, and her 100 year-old house is filled with "spirits"….the dead. We talk about them all the time, but in 12 years, she had never seen one. Her son started seeing them when he was practically a toddler.

I have lived places before that I "felt" were haunted, but I never saw anything. When I lived in Puerto Rico, I stayed in a rooming house, and I had the sensation that the room was haunted. A Cuban friend came over, and after I said that I thought the room was haunted, she said she had seen an old man sitting in the chair. The landlady confirmed that an old man had died in that room.

But actually SEE one!

Last summer, I helped d. clean her studio in the attic, where the spirits like to hang out. We worked for hours and threw away boxes and boxes of stuff. We scrubbed the table tops with chisels. We cleaned. At one point, we were near the closet, and we heard banging to a quite irregular beat. We looked at each other, and both knew what it was. There was just no other explanation.

Occasionally, this one friend of d's comes over and talks about which spirits she is seeing. I usually leave the room during this line of discussion, and my level of nervousness about getting up in the nite increases dramatically.

The other nite, d. came in and said she had just seen a ghost. I said, "Don't tell me about it", and she said she had to share what she had seen. She said it was like a white wisp that floated by into the front room. She said "it was like…it was like" and I said "like Casper". We laughed.

As they say, all stereotypes come from somewhere.

To be continued…………..