Something Old, Something New, Something Green, Something Blue
Swamp on the drive to Grand Isle
As we packed into the van at the MSY airport and began our long drive South to Grand Isle, I watched the world outside my window slowly empty of all colors but green and blue. Urban highways became swamps brimming with luscious cypress trees, which eventually gave way to marshes stretching toward the Gulf like fingers as we approached the bridge to Grand Isle. The air grew heavy and familiar - not unlike the warm humidity of my ancestral homeland, Guyana. The Louisiana bayou brought up familiar smells of the bright blue Caribbean sea water and Essequibo River black water I'd come to know, along with similar visions of crops growing on Guyanese rice plantations and bright green shrubbery reminiscent of the expansive South American rainforests. From the start, Grand Isle felt strangely familiar- like something old rediscovered, made anew.
Marsh near bridge to Grand Isle
That first impression stuck with me as we crossed the long bridge and entered the long-awaited Grand Isle. Something felt ancient but timeless in the water and wind, where the fishing docks sagging with the weight of countless hurricanes and the windswept grasses of endless summer days reminded me more of the Legend of Zelda video game I once played than of my real life. This place felt suspended in time, with a memory of its own. Seeing the various fishing boats pass by, I couldn’t help but think of Edna Pontellier stepping off the boat each summer to escape the social order of New Orleans for a more laid back living. As I grappled with what felt like a fever dream in my surroundings, I felt increasingly connected to Edna, who had lived out her own story in this very place. By the time I myself stepped out of the van and onto Grand Isle, I already felt less like a student pursuing her studies, and more like a traveler on the cusp of discovery.
Apart from the timelessness of this place, other aspects of the experience felt startlingly new. As we drove, small talk became vibrant conversation filled with humor and stories of shared and differing experiences. Our group of eight, who had only met once before, began to bond in anticipation of the coming month in shared company. Anxiety and fatigue from our air travel (some of us more tired than others- myself waking up at 3am) slowly dissipated as we succumbed to the awe of experiencing something so unusually fascinating and new. Getting out of the van for the first time, we pulled into Rouses Market where we stalked up the fridge for many collectively cooked family-style meals we would come to enjoy together. In short time, these new friends began to feel like old acquaintances I knew so well.
Beyond interacting with novel natural surroundings we also encountered customs that differed from our own, through experiences like trying venison and gator at the Starfish local restaurant, passing by tractors flying flags of differing political views from our own, or walking down a grocery store aisle dedicated to fishing nets, bait, and bug spray for the bayou climate- items you’d never find in LA. Just like Edna’s experience living between cultural codes- Catholic Creole and Presbyterian, artistic and domestic, complacent and nonconformist - we too found ourselves navigating between worlds: our familiar urban routines, and the slower seaside rhythms of Grand Isle living.
“The people walked in little groups toward the beach. They talked and laughed ; some of them sang… Most of them walked into the water as thought into a native element”
On our first morning waking up in Grand Isle, our group of weary travelers decided to head down to the beach to read and relax. Laying on my towel under the sun in 90 degree heat, I opened up “The Awakening” by Kate Chopin for the very first time. I felt like I was on vacation, much like the summer-getaway of the Pontelliers and fellow families. Between each page that I flipped, I could not help but to look up at my surroundings to try and identify what exactly was being described. Whether it be the “sensuous” touch of the water, the “soft and warm” breeze, or the sweet “odor of the blossoms” of yellow jessamine flowers being picked by Edna, I experienced a sense of place more vividly than ever before.
The calm and relaxation of Grand Isle even penetrated into our class seminar sessions as we gathered around the couch for the homeliest classroom discussions I have ever experienced. The maps projected onto our makeshift projector screen (the living room TV) truly came to life upon seeing boats whiz by in the gleaming water outside whilst families and children played in the calm waves. I again felt myself in Edna’s shoes- people watching, observing, and taking in my surroundings before taking on the ocean myself.
“But there was a breeze blowing, a choppy, stiff wind that whipped the water into froth.”
Looking deeper, the ocean began to change, revealing what was always there, just hidden beneath the surface. As the waves became more tumultuous, the water turned over hermit crabs hiding in the surf and dragged up seaweed from the depths, exposing action behind the calm. Much in the same way, Edna Pontellier’s carefully cultivated exterior (which she attempted to portray internal peace in conversations with the local doctor) masked a storm of turbulent emotions beneath. Her outward tranquility, like the sea’s glassy surface, disguised powerful currents of unrevealed doubt and desire.
My personal highlight of our stay in Grand Isle however came on our third day; we decided to take a post-dinner, spontaneous sunset swim. The dark clouds in the sky threatened a thunderstorm, the ocean waves initially too intimidating to sink into. After extensively photographing the peach and golden sky however, the gentle warmth in the air and the vibrant smiles of my newfound friends gave me the encouragement I needed to swim too. As I entered the water, I pictured the very waves that Edna learned to swim in- a journey from discovery to demise.
To me the ocean washed away the stress of the past semester and my discomforts of travel. To Edna, it washed away the weight of societal expectations and the more burdensome elements of her identity as a mother, wife, friend and simply as a woman in a time that restricted her freedom. For us both, our first swim in this Gulf water was a fresh start and a newfound freedom. Submerging in the water was my final step in breaking down the intimidation of this new experience, now immersed and empowered to make the most of it. For Edna, the water represented more than an escape: it was her newfound autonomy and claim to selfhood, her final act of defiance, and ultimately surrender.
I left Grand Isle with the ocean breeze still tangled in my hair and the words of Kate Chopin lingering in my mind. This immersive literary and exploratory experience taught me that bookpacking isn’t just about reading about a place you visit, but rather letting its geography shape your understanding of text and deepen your sensation of place. For me, bookpacking in Grand Isle was a convergence of the blue water, the green marshes, the ancient air, and the fresh experiences coming together so thoughtfully through my reading:
Something Old - the memory of such a historic place, withstanding natural disasters and overcoming negative associations
Something New - building friendships from scratch and discovering this place together
Something Green - the strong resilience of this natural landscape, evergrowing and inspiring my growth within it
Something Blue - the sea full of mystery yet calm that once called for Edna and for this brief moment, me too
