Personal Narrative: New Orleans

I flew back to New Orleans and it was just the way I remembered it. The temperature was 98 degrees and the humidity was so high that reapplying deodorant is necessary down here. The French/Spanish architecture gives it a romantic and mysterious appeal. The air was not as fresh as I had wished it was but at least I could still breathe. The air smelled of urine that had been there for years. The streets looked as if a tornado had swept litter back and forth through the town. Residents, not only tourists, walked past it as if trash belonged on the ground.

My grandmother picked me up from the airport and we drove back to her house. We graciously embraced each other for what seemed like an hour. I knew it had been a long while since she had seen me.

Riding in the backseat of my grandmother's old beat-up, but still useful car gave me the chance to watch the happenings on the street. Grown men were standing on street corners dealing drugs waiting for addicts to come to get their fix for the day and teenage children were fighting in the parking lot of someone else's house. The one thing I do enjoy about New Orleans is the tranquil, serene elders sitting on their porches and stoops glancing back at me. This city looked as if it had been frozen in time. To tell the absolute truth, I swear those same people I saw were in the same place
It is the one place where I know I can relax. It has that small cottage feel to it. There are not only huge oak trees and rose bushes surrounding it, but she also has a small garden waterfall, which complements it nicely. The moment I walked inside the house, a feeling of calmness came over me. The worries of going to work and paying bills that would not ever be paid off vanished from my mind. This place is my absolute haven away from the rat race of the inner city and when I tire of crowds of people around me. This is one place where southerners with true southern hospitality