|A Mardi Gras Indian, Super Sunday, 2011.|
When I moved to Boston, I had cracked the local code after two or three weeks. I understood the city, and I moved about it naturally.
I was recently in Washington, DC, and when I stepped off the train, I felt like I was in a city again. The landscape felt natural and the rhythms of pedestrians and buses and cars and trucks made sense. Walking for blocks between multi-story, antique, brick apartment buildings, hemmed in but busy gaping around at the stores on the ground floor and all the people on the street, was nice. So was having a subway that was quicker than walking, and discovering the beauty of its convenience and fare schedule. But then it became too much of the same. I could have been in Boston. I definitely was not in New Orleans.
A year later, I still don't get New Orleans. I love it, and not a day goes by that I don't say to myself , apropos of nothing, "I love it here." I still haven't figured it out. Every day is an adventure that brings unexpected surprises. Every day I learn more about my new city, and about myself as I adapt. It is a very nice place to be.