Like I said, success in blending comes when somebody asks you for directions.
I began writing a response to a message I'd received roughly a year ago from a friend. Then, realizing the absurdity of email, called him. When he discovered I was in New Orleans he must have jumped out of his seat, judging from his fire engine tone.
YouHAVEtogotoCafeDuMonde!!" he cried without breathing. This place is, apparently, one of his favourite places in the city. And on earth.
His fervor convinced me; I vowed not to leave New Orleans until I found it. Sunday morning was our last day in town and I determined for two things: church and the cafe.
With only my feet for transportation, I searched for something close and decided on St. Louis, the old cathedral in the French Quarter. Granted, I am not Catholic, but all I needed was people who love Jesus. I laughed at myself a lot during Mass, failing to make the sign of the cross at the right time, once simply making the wrong one (having forgotten there are two versions). But for sitting, standing and kneeling I was able to follow everyone else's lead.
Ironically, the last sermon at my home church had been about Mary, and my pastor, raised Catholic, stressed the point that she was a ordinary girl who said yes to God. These are the thoughts that went through my head as I glanced over the icons and statues of Our Lady of New Orleans.
The people in the church were genuine and friendly and the music was beautiful. It was good just to be in a house of worship on Sunday.
After church I wandered the River Walk in search of this legendary cafe and was surprised when I finally found it. When I think of a cafe, I picture something out of Seattle: a large roo
m dominated by an espresso machine, a huge selection of breakfast foods and some very pronounced attempts at coziness. What I found in Du
was a single counter, out in the open of the River Walk. The menu offered maybe four items, including black coffee and coffee with milk. And there was only one thing to eat: beignets.
Ah, beignets. These are small, square donuts, super light and fluffy, dusted with powdered sugar. I am not a donut fan, but for these I could certainly make an exception. And I did.
Cafe au lait and beignets in hand, I sat down. It was then that I understood what was so great about this unimposing cafe: the dining area. "Dining area" is much too formal a title for what it was, but the high ceilings capped an open area in the middle of the walkway crowded with small tables and high backed chairs. Mirrors lined the walls on two sides with floor to ceiling windows dominating the third. These windows opened directly on to a wooden walkway and the mighty Mississippi River.
Watching boats meander down the murky waters of the wide river and people sauntering past, it was easy to feel like time had stopped. In the warm, humid air of Louisiana, gazing at the river, chewing on biegnets, life was simple and slow. This cafe certainly wasn't even trying, but it beat any Seattle cafe I've been to yet.
The celebratory atmosphere of night life in the French Quarter is lively and entertaining, but given a choice between the two I think I prefer a quiet morning on the Mississippi.
Wandering back through the Quarter, I wondered if the morning could possibly be any more complete. And then, a truck slowed nearby and the driver poked his head out...to ask for directions.
Ah, sweet and savory success.
I began writing a response to a message I'd received roughly a year ago from a friend. Then, realizing the absurdity of email, called him. When he discovered I was in New Orleans he must have jumped out of his seat, judging from his fire engine tone.
YouHAVEtogotoCafeDuMonde!!" he cried without breathing. This place is, apparently, one of his favourite places in the city. And on earth.
His fervor convinced me; I vowed not to leave New Orleans until I found it. Sunday morning was our last day in town and I determined for two things: church and the cafe.
With only my feet for transportation, I searched for something close and decided on St. Louis, the old cathedral in the French Quarter. Granted, I am not Catholic, but all I needed was people who love Jesus. I laughed at myself a lot during Mass, failing to make the sign of the cross at the right time, once simply making the wrong one (having forgotten there are two versions). But for sitting, standing and kneeling I was able to follow everyone else's lead.
Ironically, the last sermon at my home church had been about Mary, and my pastor, raised Catholic, stressed the point that she was a ordinary girl who said yes to God. These are the thoughts that went through my head as I glanced over the icons and statues of Our Lady of New Orleans.
The people in the church were genuine and friendly and the music was beautiful. It was good just to be in a house of worship on Sunday.
After church I wandered the River Walk in search of this legendary cafe and was surprised when I finally found it. When I think of a cafe, I picture something out of Seattle: a large roo
m dominated by an espresso machine, a huge selection of breakfast foods and some very pronounced attempts at coziness. What I found in Duwas a single counter, out in the open of the River Walk. The menu offered maybe four items, including black coffee and coffee with milk. And there was only one thing to eat: beignets.
Ah, beignets. These are small, square donuts, super light and fluffy, dusted with powdered sugar. I am not a donut fan, but for these I could certainly make an exception. And I did.
Cafe au lait and beignets in hand, I sat down. It was then that I understood what was so great about this unimposing cafe: the dining area. "Dining area" is much too formal a title for what it was, but the high ceilings capped an open area in the middle of the walkway crowded with small tables and high backed chairs. Mirrors lined the walls on two sides with floor to ceiling windows dominating the third. These windows opened directly on to a wooden walkway and the mighty Mississippi River.
Watching boats meander down the murky waters of the wide river and people sauntering past, it was easy to feel like time had stopped. In the warm, humid air of Louisiana, gazing at the river, chewing on biegnets, life was simple and slow. This cafe certainly wasn't even trying, but it beat any Seattle cafe I've been to yet.
The celebratory atmosphere of night life in the French Quarter is lively and entertaining, but given a choice between the two I think I prefer a quiet morning on the Mississippi.
Wandering back through the Quarter, I wondered if the morning could possibly be any more complete. And then, a truck slowed nearby and the driver poked his head out...to ask for directions.
Ah, sweet and savory success.