More often than I would like to admit, I find that
my embellishment of a place clouds the authenticity of my memories. New Orleans
is the kind of place where sentimentality causes you to turn a blind eye to the
pungent odors and ubiquitous refuse that encumber the streets. The duplicitous
intentions of the unscrupulous characters you encounter when exploring the city
would shock the conscience if encountered in any other place than the city of
New Orleans. The culture sucks you in with all the extravagance and excess you
would expect from a place that is infamous for Mardi Gras and Lagniappe. It is
in the food, the music, the architecture, and perhaps even the language that
New Orleans ingratiates itself on a visceral level and undergoes a
metamorphosis within your memories to become what you want it to be rather than
what actually was.
Mark
Twain described it as "a word worth traveling to New Orleans to get.”
Lagniappe is a word that has entered into the English language from the French
Creole and Spanish traditions of the area. It literally means "something
given or obtained gratuitously or by way of good measure.” I have been lucky
enough to be the beneficiary of this guiding principle of creole life on
several different occasions. This is perhaps why I am so eager to forgive those
shortcomings that have become so readily apparent during this latest escapade.
Even now with the clarity of recency, I am beginning to romanticize my latest
trip despite the numerous debacles that plagued me throughout. I suppose that
it is OK to remember a place for its influence rather than its verity; After
all, reality is a surreptitious thing and maybe it is best to remember some
things as how they could have been rather than as they were!
