Everyone asks me, so I know you’re also wondering: “What made you pick Louisiana?”
I guess I should have expected it. Everyone wants to know why anyone, much less some boy from the Arizona desert, would ever voluntarily move here.
“Well,” I say, “because I wanted to learn about the South and, of course, Mardi Gras.”
I like to joke and say Louisiana is practically a foreign country to me, so I consider this more of a study abroad than just a national exchange.
Some time last spring I decided to take a year and leave friends, family and good Mexican food behind me. I never had been to Baton Rouge, nor anywhere else in the South for that matter. Coming from Arizona, that mystic place out west past the reaches of the Mason-Dixon line, where the sun shines 360 days a year and the landscape is collage of canyons, mountains, deserts and forests, I couldn’t be more bewildered.
I found my apartment on the Internet, had my lease mailed to me and I sent it back signed and with my deposit. The description sounded cool. And with some help from Mapquest, I figured I would only be about half a mile from campus — easy biking distance.
Around noon August 15, I loaded my Nissan 4×4 and U-haul trailer, waved goodbye to my mom (who drove the 200 miles from Prescott to Tucson to bring me a microwave and give me a hug) and left the 112-degree heat for a new life waiting for me some 1,500 miles to the east.
I stayed a night with a friend in Las Cruces, New Mexico, then drove the entire next day and night, stopping only for overpriced, middle-of-nowhere gas and some quality Texas truck stop meals.
Just before dawn I approached the Mississippi River. The swamps were shrouded in mist and the sky glowed pink — quite a spectacular intro. In a few hours I was brutally introduced to the wicked combo of heat and humidity. I was a desert rat drowning in the swamps.
The past three months have gone by in a flash, and the experience here has been incredible.
First of all, I never have seen so much water in my life. We have a canal that brings water to Phoenix and Tucson across hundreds of miles of desert just to keep us alive (and the golf courses green). You can’t even dig a hole here without getting squirted in the eye. I think it’s rained more here since I’ve moved than it has for the past three years combined in Arizona.
The people here are friendly — and talkative. Making eye contact with someone at the gas pump is an open invitation to learn half of their family tree, what was for dinner last night and where the best seafood market is.
But, amidst the façade of friendliness, I have to admit society in general here is still much less accepting than what I’m used to. Dare I say it — racism — still has its hold on the South.
I was shocked when I read that only two weeks ago the East Baton Rouge Parish School Board voted to end segregated extracurricular activities, such as separate homecoming courts for black and white students. It’s hard for me to believe it has taken until 2002 to work out issues like this.
The alcoholism here seems a little out of control, too. Granted, every college campus has its alcohol culture, but here that culture isn’t restricted just to students. Seeing the campus on a Sunday morning after a game gives plenty of proof for that. I sometimes wonder if some of the oil refineries along the river really are breweries in disguise, supplying Southerners with their vital amber liquid.
But I don’t want to sound like I’m not enjoying myself here, or that I don’t like Louisiana. Every day has been an adventure. The sporadic rain storms, a quick after-class trip to The Chimes, random writings on the Quad and my towel that never dries out have all become part of my new charming Southern life.
The only thing I’m disappointed about is that I still haven’t been able to find an honest-to-goodness Southern belle to ask out on a date.