It is easy to see why so many people fall in love with the beautiful complexity of New Orleans.

Even if you do not call this city your home, it’s as if the city whispers in your ear to “make yourself at home” and tells you to help yourself to whatever experiences you’d like to have.

The day I rode the New Orleans Regional Transit Authority streetcar was special, for it entailed a rare junction of multifarious perspectives, cultures and complexions. It was the most beautiful day imaginable:  in the mid-70s, with the brightest of yellow suns that looked like a huge lucky star, and the partly cloudy sky looked like a magnificent 3D canvas painted by the hands of a god. The breeze felt like a gentle massage against my skin, and the bumpy, yet pleasant, ride reminded me of the historical and contextual value of the larger-than-life “STREETCAR”.

Starring out the window, I saw magnificent architecture, as well as landscapes of humbling, beautiful devastation. I saw people of every ethnic group I could have ever named and more, and a rainbow of personalities within each group. I saw infants and the elderly, with every age in between. I witnessed a melting pot.

As I comfortably bounced around in my seat, or stood awkwardly experiencing the centralized earthquake under my feet, I realized that the streetcar took on unique personalities with each group that got on and off.

There were the young women out for a girls’ weekend, looking, they said, “for trouble”; the family that was winding down after a long day of touring, trying to keep the kids awake and entertained; the Englishwoman who hadn’t seen the city in 30 years; and the people who use the streetcar not for entertainment, but for transportation.

At times the streetcar defined timidity, and at other times it was a boisterously confident “tool.” Sometimes it seemed to take on a quality of introspectiveness – yet it never ceased to be amazing and tirelessly interesting.

Everyone seemed to just enjoy the distant, yet intimate, interaction and experience of riding among strangers with a common goal, their spirits connected by the destiny guided by the tracks.

I closed my eyes from time to time and listened to the “clanks” and “booms” as well as the fearlessness in the drivers’ voices as they told people to “STEP ON THE CAR,” or to “WATCH THE DOOR” when getting on, and to “PUSH” when passengers tried to get off at their stop, having to push the door with every muscle to escape the clenches of the perplexingly witty streetcar.

Rarely have I seen so much variety and diversity, constantly changing, evolving and transforming.

I met people from places all over the country and abroad – Connecticut, Wisconsin, England, Kansas, North Carolina and of course “Nawlins” – all within a couple of hours. And everyone had an interesting story and perspective.

One seemingly wise passenger told me, “It’s a fun ride.”