A wander through the French Quarter

…opens my eyes to the heart of old New Orleans. I cross Bourbon Street, where drunken men stagger past in loud clumps at noontime, and I continue along Iberville until a street calls out to me– Royal. From a line of antique shops, it morphs into the unabashed artisan’s row, a cornicopia of color and form, gallery after gallery of delights. The street is full of music, with buskers set down mid-Avenue, and barricades set up to define their space, the complicit approval of the police who man them. Horse-drawn surreys slip past. Behind intricate wrought iron fences and gates hide inner courtyards with grand brick homes, a city within the city.

On this avenue of delights, I uncover special treasures. Alley-like ships lead to inner courtyards filled with colorful local art. There is a concerted pastiche of water meter covers in fabric, clay, and glass. In one welcoming cottage, The Great Artists Collective, the manager points out the paintings of “Paxton,” scenes of strong women on the streets of New Orleans…and reveals that the artist is none other than one of my favorite authors, Nevada Barr, she of Anna Pigeon and mysteries set in the National Parks.  See them in her online gallery.