|
It’s perfectly safe to walk around during the day, but if you’re planning on returning at night, I wouldn’t recommend you do so on foot. Take a taxi, it’s the safest way.’ David, the portly, jovial co-owner of my bed-and-breakfast, the Sweet Olive, smiled as he offered me these words of advice, but I could tell that despite the throwaway nature of the remark, he was pretty serious. ‘Why?’ I asked, lugging my suitcase into my quaint little room and trying to avoid tripping over the smallest dachshund I had ever seen. I mean, dachshunds are tiny to begin with; this thing ended before it even began, and it was scurrying around like a bonsai rat, doing its best to send me sprawling. ‘Well, it isn’t unknown for people to get mugged, or worse, after dark in this neighbourhood’ he replied, in a perfectly level manner. It’s not often that the proprietor of an establishment, where you’re paying money to stay, tells you that his neighbourhood is liable to cause you bodily harm; I appreciated his candour, though, for what it was worth. I had read and heard that New Orleans, especially post-Katrina, could be a rough place if you weren’t careful, but I wasn’t expecting to be reminded of this as soon as I had unloaded my luggage. Perhaps David cottoned on to this, because he then added ‘But don’t let that hold you back; this is a fun town, so go out and have some!’ I certainly intended to, and the Faubourg Marigny area of town, where I was staying, seemed as good a place as any to start – but first I was going to wait for Joshua, who was driving in from Atlanta to join me in a little exploration of the Big Easy, as New Orleans is also known. I went and showered, which turned out to be a futile experience; it was so humid I was sweating buckets in a matter of minutes. NOLA (New Orleans, Louisiana) in the summer – not the ideal time to visit.
Joshua, meanwhile, thundered in driving a whopping great Dodge Charger that he had rented, a vehicle about thirty feet long. As if that wasn't dramatic enough, he climbed the kerb and dinged an alloy while screeching to a stop next to the B&B. ‘I know, I know’, he said apologetically as he got out of the car and spied my raised eyebrows, ‘they didn’t have any other car to give me.’ ‘Never mind, we’re in the bloody US of A, we may as well drive a blunderbuss around’, I commiserated. ‘Park the darn thing – on the road, mind – and let’s go see what this here town’s about.’
One thing was for certain – the Faubourg Marigny had seen better days. As we walked around in the sweltering heat, we couldn’t help but notice that for all its obvious prettiness, the area had a rather run-down air to it. For every charming, brightly coloured row of Creole-style houses, there was a hurricane-damaged building, boarded up and utterly forlorn-looking. For every group of locals laughing out loud at a sidewalk cafe, there were bunches of people sitting on doorsteps and on street corners, staring listlessly as the world seemed to bypass them completely. I wasn’t sure if this was how it had always been, or if it was part of the fallout of Katrina, but it was still a bit disturbing. Nevertheless, I decided that it was what it was; there was nothing I could do to change it, so I tried to put it out of my mind.
|
Most Popular
