I recently took a trip to New Orleans for a chemistry conference. While I was there, I was able to meet up with friends, both old and new, learn new and familiar science, and explore a city that was fully new to me. With that being said, I went into the city with a certain amount of preconceived prejudice, hearing that New Orleans is “dirty” and “unkempt.” But I didn’t feel that way. I went out to both the Irish Channel and Bourbon Street on St. Patrick’s Day and found both experiences to be quite pleasant, and rich with culture.

I’m a bit of a hopeless romantic and found myself in the French Quarter my last morning before heading back to Houston. I arrived at Cafe du Monde around 9 AM, finding a table for myself, having prepped to arrive with cash and to pay European style. Of course, the beignets were incredible, and don’t even get me started on the coffee. I hadn’t even heard of chicory prior to my New Orleans trip and now I want it in everything (see: Brandy Old Fashioned!) My favorite part of the experience, though, was the people. Myself and (what felt like) a million other tourists seated on the sidewalk of a 100-year-old cafe, eating French-inspired donuts, listening to jazz music from the locals, and being served by Vietnamese immigrants. Something about the moment felt so real, so human, and all I could focus on were the cracked vinyl upholstered chairs.

There was something so beautiful thinking about the people who had sat in those chairs before me. Why they were cracked. What weather they had been through. The musicians they had heard. The amount of powdered sugar that had been wiped off.

And yet, there I was, eating my $15 worth of breakfast (including tips for both servers and musicians), taking the moment in as my own. So now, as I sit back in my apartment in Houston, I can’t help but wonder who’s sitting in those chairs right now.