Three Distinct Neighborhoods in Forty-Five Minutes

While living in New Orleans has certainly given me a change of perception about the city, I have started to notice finer details about the definitions between areas within the city. Whether these definitions, or boundaries, are intentional or not, they present themselves rather clearly to me. The boundaries within New Orleans are not physical in the sense that there are fences and walls separating neighborhoods, but they exist in the symbolism of each. According to Greenbie in his article, Village Space: Fences and Neighborhoods, “There is a reason to believe that fences are just as important to neighbors, even though ‘fences’ are often conceptual or symbolic boundaries rather than physical walls or visible edges.” It’s the boundaries of symbols that separate the Bywater from the French Quarter, the French Quarter from Uptown, and Uptown from Bywater. These boundaries are important because they provide a sense of community, of security of place. While my mode of transportation remains bicycle, I am able to really get a sense of boundary while on my way to my friend, Gulu’s house. My ride usually takes about forty-five minutes from the Bywater, where I live, through the French Quarter, and on to Uptown, where Gulu lives. Throughout this journey, symbols present themselves blatantly in most cases, but other instances they are more subtle, making the journey about the layers of the symbols to create these boundaries.

My journey begins in Bywater, on the corner of Pauline and Royal. It’s a typical, humid afternoon, but evening is fast approaching, soon the humidity dissipate and a cool breeze will take over, making this ride much more enjoyable. Bywater is the kind of neighborhood you might find hard to locate in any other context than New Orleans. The ambience of the neighborhood is a part of the context of the city. It is a response to the history, the climate and the people of the city. According to the Bywater Neighborhood Association, the neighborhood began in the early nineteenth century as a Creole, downriver, suburb of the original city of New Orleans. It is approximately120 blocks, located to the east of the French Quarter. My ride takes me along Royal Street, where uneven and patched pavement takes my eye from the shotgun-line street for a moment. The shotgun is the typical Bywater house; it is about 67% of the housing stock here. Built as an accommodation for the small lot size, the shotgun has a narrow, linear set-up. Most shotguns are single, but can be found as double shotguns, like the one I live in, or even camelback shotguns. The density of the houses is evident in the façade of the street. The houses are packed tightly, leaving only a small, narrow alleyway between. The houses come in a variety of state. Some are worn with sun-damage and age, paint faded and peeling, while others are vibrant, colorful and newly refurbished. It seems to mimic the people of the Bywater, where no one demographic seems to represent itself over another. This neighborhood is so diverse, both physically in the buildings, but also in the people that live here. People are out on their stoops, talking and relaxing. The houses position right on the street allows for the interaction of the residents with the street itself. I give my usual smile and nod to the people I see as I cross over Esplanade Avenue.

The tree-lined Esplanade Avenue begins to reveal a different environment than Bywater. As I physically leave the 9th ward and enter the 7th ward, I noticed more than just a nominal change. This marks the beginning of the French Quarter. The pavement begins to even out and my ride becomes smoother. My perception is heightened as I maneuver between cars on the narrow street, feeling a tighter, more enclosed sense of the buildings as they stretch above me. The architecture is on a larger scale, Spanish in style, with ornate, wrought iron balconies. Royal Street, in particular, is home to many art galleries located on the first level and residential on the upper levels. People walk slowly on the sidewalks, looking intrigued, cameras in hand. I immediately assume they are tourists. Above the street level, people are on the balconies, watering plants and observing the people below. While the French Quarter is home to the tourists who visit each week, it is also home to the people whose families have been here for generations. The streets of the French Quarter are slightly more gray than those of Bywater, from heavy traffic and grim of the late night parties. I can hear music coming from one of the bars a block away, on Bourbon. Bourbon Street is the quintessential New Orleans experience for most tourists and even locals, who come looking for a good time. While I try to smile and nod, like I do my neighbors in Bywater, I tend to be ignored for the most part. I accept this because my perception of the role of people in the French Quarter is the one of tourist. That close, neighborly attitude is not present, but replaced with a distant, alien feeling of the unknown. I continue to move through the narrow streets, and I come to a stop at Canal Street.

Canal Street’s wide boulevard takes some time to cross, as I must move across several lanes of traffic where Royal now becomes St. Charles Avenue. I ride through Lee Circle and under the interstate and enter another new environment, Uptown. The street is wider and less enclosed than in the French Quarter and even in Bywater, for it accommodates a neutral ground and streetcar track. It is much busier, as cars ride past me at a constant rate. It’s hard to take my focus away from dodging small holes in the pavement and staying clear of the traffic. There are people also riding bikes along St. Charles in much with the same demeanor as myself. Trees are lining the street, giving me a feeling of an older, more established area. There are businesses along the street. They are spread far from each other, each with their own lot of space, unlike the dense, packed buildings of the French Quarter and Bywater. Soon, the series of buildings change from businesses to homes. They large, Southern mansions are elevated above and set back from the street, provided with their own lot and yard and large front porch. As the sun begins to set, I start to notice the gas lanterns on a number of porches between the big, white columns supporting the porch overhang. I don’t notice people like I did in the French Quarter or in Bywater. Despite the people in cars or on bikes, I don’t notice many people within the lots of the homes. It feels less about a community of people and more about an individual sense of privacy and ownership. My ride comes to a close as I turn off of St. Charles to Robert and then to Perrier. Away from St. Charles, the street is smaller and houses feel closer, creating a sense of neighborhood. Most people are out on their porches, conversing with one another, and I am reminded of Bywater and the relationships people have with one another. As I dismount my bike, I can’t help but feel like I have just traveled through so many different places, all on one stretch of road.

While these boundaries of street, building, and even people, may not be physical boundaries, they are present as symbols within each neighborhood. Through the experience of these symbols along my journey, I was able to notice them in layers, building my perception of each neighborhood and influencing it as I went. I think it was the subtle changes in the environment that may have had the most impact as criteria for the definition of a boundary. The symbols are present and known, but are unique to the areas they are found, creating the boundaries between each of the neighborhoods. The boundaries are important because they offer a sense of community and belonging whether you are a tourist or fifth-generation. Though Bywater, the French Quarter and Uptown are all located along a six-mile stretch, they are so different because of the symbolic elements within each area, making for a richer, more manifold city of New Orleans.

Preconception is Deceptive

My initial feelings for new Orleans as a resident of four weeks comes from my feelings and newfound devotion for my neighborhood in Bywater. I think of this city on a smaller scale than I did when I first arrived; in terms of people, coffee shops, bars and stores, instead of the French Quarter, Mardi Gras, and the flood. Occasionally, the sticky heat affects my feelings, but rarely now that I live here, do I associate New Orleans with water anymore. Why, when I am surrounded almost entirely by water, do I think about my position only when I am removed from the city context? Why did coming to live here push the association between water and New Orleans so easily out of my mind?

I think my answer lies in the fact that the attitude present here about water is so defensive. Levees, pumps and other defense systems are present, barricading New Orleans from the water it was made from.

I spent my summer this year in Rotterdam, Netherlands. Rotterdam, much like New Orleans, is below sea level, a major port, and surrounded by water. The Dutch are very aware of the water that surrounds them, but seem to have a completely different view of the water that threatens them. I think a lot of this awareness has to do with the development of their waterfront and it’s accessibility throughout the city. They have the similar defense systems in place, and take flooding very seriously, but they are able to work with the water instead of against it. They build with the water, using it to their advantage, rather than treating it as a disadvantage.

I think New Orleans can learn so many lessons from the Dutch, not only in defense technology, but in the interaction with the water. By changing attitudes about water from a negative standpoint to one that is positive, we can start to use water in a way that will be advantageous to the community of New Orleans. We can learn to incorporate water in the daily life of a new Orleanian rather than ignore it.

It’s funny how perceptions change so much with exposure. I had so many preconceived ideas about New Orleans and what New Orleans meant, like the flood and it’s obvious impact on the people here. My idea of what water means to people is obvious now that I live here and see first hand the attitude, both spoken and unspoken. But my question still remains as to how New Orleans can start to look at the water they so depend on and, with caution, embrace it.

Maybe as I spend more time here, I will gain a new perception of New Orleans that includes a different view of water. But for now, I understand water in the context of the city. I understand that even though water is present in the everyday life of a new Orleanian, you just may not be so aware of it. My challenge becomes how I make water more apparent to myself in my daily life in New Orleans.