A dirty bar bathroom in Ybor, beer-soaked streets the morning after First Friday in St. Petersburg, cheap, greasy hot dog stands on every corner downtown, the smell of red tide coming from Spa Beach – these things have nothing on New Orleans.
A recent journalism conference hosted by the Associated Collegiate Press brought five staff members of the Crow’s Nest to the heart of downtown New Orleans – the French Quarter. Just steps away from old streetcars that took travellers up and down Canal Street, and only three blocks from the infamous Bourbon Street, the staff saw, heard and smelled things that made us appreciate our home in cozy downtown St. Petersburg.
We spent our days in the decorated meeting rooms and banquet halls of the Marriott New Orleans, listening attentively to some of the big wigs in collegiate journalism. In the afternoons and evenings, we traipsed up and down Canal, Bourbon and Royal streets, occasionally walking onto Chartres or Decatur in search of famous Cajun cuisine and the best dive bar the Big Easy could offer.
The French Quarter, the Garden District, Treme, Metairie – the names of these areas make New Orleans sound like a beautiful French town, full of antique homes, pricey boutiques and cute outdoor cafes with patrons sipping idly on their café au laits and munching beignets.
Well, yes and no. New Orleans is beautiful, in its own way. Historic buildings and homes line the streets of the French Quarter, almost every home and office building has a wrap-around balcony with large windows to let in the breeze off the Mississippi. Horse and carriages can be seen and heard carrying around sightseers and live music plays on almost every corner every night of the week.
But New Orleans is also smelly. Because of its old streets and buildings, it reeks of forgotten trash, horse poop, sewage and the wonderful smell of the dirty Mississippi River. Its historic streets are also filled with homeless youngsters. They band together in groups of about three or four, carrying their musty instruments and leading their dogs around. I had to hold my breath on more than on occasion when passing by a group almost five strong.
Street sweepers wash the main streets in the French Quarter almost every night. It’s a necessity since every night of the week is party time when you’re bar hopping on Bourbon Street.
In downtown St. Petersburg, it seems there is road and building construction every week. The city is constantly filling potholes, renovating stores and building fronts, updating intersections and repaving uneven sidewalks and streets. In New Orleans, I did not see one place where street construction was taking place.
The roads are so uneven, even on the main streets and highways, I spent the hours walking around with my head down so I wouldn’t trip or twist an ankle. The bus ride on the interstate back to the airport made us all carsick. Possibly because of its historic significance, the city of New Orleans might not want to repave its uneven streets or tear down even a single building in the French Quarter.
Despite its flaws, New Orleans was a wonderful place. I sipped coffee in sidewalk cafes, took a ghost tour through the haunted streets of the French Quarter, gazed at local artwork in Jackson Square and shopped in the market on our last day. Just being in such a historic and famous place made the odd sights and smells worth it.
If anything, the four-day trip made us appreciate our not-so-smelly, flat-side walked St. Petersburg just a little more.
