Monday, March 3, 2014

Dimanche (Sunday)

            There comes a point when someone is awake for over 25 hours with barely any sleep and consciousness is anything but a mere figment of imagination; however, once I arrived in New Orleans approaching 30 hours of no sleep, I was too excited to remain unconscious. Granted, yes I was tired, but I had never been in Louisiana so I was eager to begin my journey. We arrived around 1:30 and were settled into Camp Hope within an hour. Being the food fanatic that I am, I was extremely animated to try Louisiana cuisine, and thankfully, my group decided to dine where I was destined to get a taste of New Orleans, iHop.
            After our enjoyable meal, my group decided to burn off some calories and play volleyball back at Camp Hope. Then it dawned on us, some of us have never seen the Mississippi River. The river itself was only a half hour walk away so we decided to make the journey. About twenty of us walked down Friscoville Avenue to see the river, but we were unaware that the journey would be just as appealing as the destination. On our way there we were greeted with an astounding diversity within the architecture of the local living residences. Some were modern, elegant, and decorated faithfully with beads while others remained true to their roots and withheld character from an earlier generation. The river was especially breathtaking. Everyone began taking pictures of the historic waterway and absorbing the atmosphere while watching enormous ships sail by gracefully.

            Although the day was tasteful with culture, sights, and pancakes, one thing about Sunday stood out to me greatly. While we were on our walk to the river, many locals who were outside greeted us as if we saw them at church on a weekly basis. Children especially enjoyed waiving at us as we walked by. They were kind people who asked where we were from and where in the world we were heading. Apparently not many people visit their street on a regular basis. After some time, it had occurred that these people, in a sense, might have known who we were and why we were there. It seemed as if these locals knew that we were there to help the community in any way that we possibly could, and for that they were grateful. These people were immensely touching and it became no wonder why people returned or stayed in the city after the hurricane. They loved their city and those who live within it, and after what I saw that Dimanche, I don’t blame them.

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