Ruralite Cafe: Published 10/26/00

By Lisa Majors-Duff - News Editor

Heading back to the Big Easy with parents in tow

When Greg first announced he had to attend a conference in the Crescent City last November and that I could come along, I was excited and terrified all at the same time. The last time I went to New Orleans, at the age of 5, I witnessed a murder, or at least I thought I did. I remember holding my mother's hand as my father pushed my little sister in a stroller. My parents had been looking at antiques most of the morning at a leisurely pace. Going too fast was impossible on cobblestone foot paths under a relentless sun.

As we rounded a corner, I heard a loud pop and watched as a man fell face-first into the gutter out of what looked like a set of Old West swinging saloon doors. The next thing I remember was my parents hastily retreating, a daughter safely cradled in each of their arms.

Being that I was so young, I asked my parents recently if they had the same memory of New Orleans or if I had watched one too many Westerns on TV as a child. They both agreed that they'd seen a man fall into the street after they heard a shot. But whether he was actually hit by gunfire or if he was just drunk or if he'd not paid his bill and was tossed out of the place, none of us knew for sure.

My trip to the Big Easy with my husband last year was nothing like that first one more than 20 years ago. No one was murdered (at least not that I know of), and the city no longer had a dirty, run down feel to it. Everywhere you look there is beauty in New Orleans - in the architecture, in the people, in the music and even the river. Anything you want, and I mean anything, you can find it in this city. Directly in front of one of the most ornate Catholic churches in America, St. Louis Cathedral, you can have your palm read or share a cold beer with a trombone player. And the food...

While Greg was locked behind conference doors, I set out to see as much of the city as possible, all while hunting down as many unusual bargains as I could. I was slowed slightly by having to constantly refer to a map of the French Quarter to get my bearings and by the gaudy canvas bag I purchased to hold all my souvenirs - everything from Mardi Gras feather masks to a potholder with a recipe for okra gumbo printed on one side. I was your typical tourist, and the natives could spot me from a mile away.

While you're reading this, I am back in New Orleans, this time with my favorite shopping companion. The third member of our party - my dad - is along because he says he fears for our safety. The real reason is because he loves to travel to any town, corn field or body of water with ties to the Civil War. Mom and I plan to do our Christmas shopping; Dad plans to see New Orleans' museums.

I've been looking forward to this trip with my parents since we finally agreed on a date and managed to find a hotel in the French Quarter. While I'm the one with a young daughter this time, Niki won't be making this trip. It's not that I'm afraid she'll see a murder; she has school.

While some argument could be made for the educational value of a trip to New Orleans, especially by following Dad's agenda, she's not ready for Bourbon Street just yet. Come to think of it, I'm not sure Mom and Dad are ready for Bourbon Street either.

We'll see. And I'll report back.

Back to Archive: 10/26/00.