Experiential Transition

The transition from one neighborhood to the next reveals a transformation of form, psychology, community, and accessibility, whether subtly or overwhelmingly. New Orleans contains many vibrant neighborhoods, each intensely unique and specific to certain demographics. Confronted with the choice to embark on an experiential route, I am curious to explore the neighborhoods I typically visit, not because I know them so well, but to analyze them in a new light and understand why my psyche interprets Bywater, Marigny, and the French Quarter as different entities. The journey I will make from Bywater to the French Quarter is a purely experiential testimony to how “physical environments influence and ultimately shape” human behavior, in this case my reaction to the conditions each present.
As I leave my Bywater home to make this journey down Burgundy Street, I immediately notice an ambience of dishevelment. Weeds exist where sidewalks should be; broken furniture is left in these areas of overgrowth and is never moved because no one uses these areas. The trees existing on the sidewalks are too low because of the lack of maintenance, and therefore a dialogue between the street and the built is not established. Some corners make an attempt at a streetscape with managed trees and semi-smooth sidewalks. The road conditions do not make the experience any better, as they are filled with cracks and potholes, leaving me somewhat numb. The houses have a rundown look as well, leaving me to deduce that people within this neighborhood have little regard for outward appearance. Some houses simply have peeling paint issues, whereas others are abandoned and create a negative energy, dividing the neighborhood at that point. Broken windows and rusted overhangs give Bywater an overall rundown aura. The architecture of the area is simply a repetition of shotgun style houses with simple ornamentation; bars covering the windows and doors are simply bars and nothing more. Fencing in this neighborhood is utilized as both security devices but also as a way to have private frontage. Residents want to experience community and therefore are constantly outside in these secure zones surrounded by a chain-link fence screen or lounging on the front porches. Despite a very poor visual setting, the sense of community is strong. Chairs of every variety are scattered throughout the area, implying that everyone is welcome to hang around for a while. Perhaps the disheveled appearance acts as form of eclectic release for the residents, where they have no real regard for superficial aesthetics and instead allow everyone to express themselves and the represent the community; underground culture triumphs superficial façade.
As I leave the Bywater neighborhood, I cross over Franklin Street into Marigny and instantly feel more secure in my surroundings. The shift between neighborhoods is very subtle at first, but is most noticeably visible in a vertical rise. The houses become two stories, and the level of maintenance increases dramatically. Street dialogue is actually considered in this neighborhood through wider less cracked sidewalks and manicured trees for shade purposes. Landscaping is embedded in the sidewalks and is very well maintained. The streetscape is inviting and provides multiple gathering points. Color is another aspect that underwent transformation; Bywater was somewhat drab, but Marigny is vibrant with both pristine house colors and eye-catching greenery. Storefronts are also more inviting; the simple choice of a vibrant blue awning and large windows makes one feel drawn to the establishment. There is even an attempt in this neighborhood to break from the traditional New Orleans architecture at the corner of Touro Street, where there is a semi-modern design of stucco, modern light fixtures, glass, and large doors. Everything in Marigny is more ornate. Even the bars in the windows are over designed, as is the trim, shutters, and porch columns. Everyone seems to the most deluxe house on the block. The feeling this neighborhood is definitely more inviting than Bywater, yet the streets are vacant. Porches are not as prevalent, and side courtyards are completely blocked off from the public. Shutter doors are more apparent here, emitting a repelling force due to their solid fortress-like appearance. Marigny has a safer, more aesthetically pleasing look, but the inhabitants are more reserved and stay in their own worlds, and the sense of community is never really established.
Lastly, I pedal into the infamous French Quarter. The first visual cue I notice is another rise in verticality, both in the built and the trees. This is a very established neighborhood, and its European origins are very apparent. The three level buildings are very narrow and densely packed. Decoration becomes even more ornate, especially in the balcony railings, perhaps in a more symbolic than competitive manner. Streetscape is also addressed here with overhanging balconies creating a narrower channel and trees creating a more intimate scale. This, however, is all for the public. The buildings themselves say very little on the first floor with simply an entrance condition. The second floor is where the French Quarter residents reside, removed from the public disarray securely but still able to observe and experience the community. Residents also escape the extreme public orientation of the neighborhood with well-blocked courtyards to regain intimacy. Safety is also a major issue here and is taken to the extreme with barbed wire and spikes, something not as common in the more treacherous Bywater due to the mythic sense of community that is lacking in the French Quarter. Even the architecture emits a medieval fortress vibe, keeping the public in its place with its massive scale.
Community in a psychological sense is vital to the stability and vitality of a neighborhood. As I traveled through each area, I discovered different cues, however subtle, made great differences in how I as a visitor felt within the neighborhood. Each had both perks and disinclining factors, and each was intensely unique despite my initial inclination that I would fail on my drive to discover these distinguishing architectural cues. I did indeed find and analyze these factors but was most fascinated that some improvement in these factors did not always mean an improvement in “community”. Overall, it’s the unique variety of neighborhoods that is most important, because not everyone wants to exist in the same type of community, which is the driving factor behind how these neighborhoods and their edges formed initially. Lyndon B. Johnson described community as a place where “each individual’s dignity and self-respect is strengthened by the respect and affection of his neighbors”. By this definition, out of the three neighborhoods I visited, Bywater was the most community oriented despite its outward appearance and security issues and therefore the most appealing place according to my wants for a neighborhood, although I felt more secure in aesthetically pleasing Marigny. A place that embraces individuality is a place that embraces community.

A River City?

There's water in New Orleans. Really. There is. No, I'm not talking about what comes out of the faucet, but rather entities of water and their effect on this city. I came here with the preconceived notion that this was a water city due to the fact that its surrounded by water. There is Lake Ponchartrain to the north and the mighty Mississippi hugging the remainder. So its not that the water doesnt exist. Its that the city doesnt embrace it. The waterfront is addressed, but through shoreline strip parks that are poorly conceived and don't interact with the water. There is no major waterfront event space; Jackson Square doesn't count either. Its simply an enclosed plaza with a pretty staircase leading to a "riverview". Well done. Yes, I agree viewing the horizon lines of the Mississippi is an awe-inspiring sight, but the plan of the square, and essentially the entire city ignores the beauty and inspiring elements water can provide. In fact, the water is almost a scar upon the city, and every attempt possible to hide is made. For example, New Orleans is a city with a system of canals for flood regulation and economic purposes. But instead of exploiting the positive aspects a channel provides, the potential for waterside parks or interesting bridges, the canals are boxed up. Driving over the canal, you dont feel as if you've left solid ground, when in reality you are floating over a active flowing entity. Water is full of explosive energy, New Orleans simply chooses to repel this intriguing force. Waterfronts provide zones for many different activities and program. However, here you cannot find any real promenades, boardwalks of restaurants and shops, no replication of water abundance through fountains. And certainly the surface grid of the city doesn't respond; waterfronts should be fluid and viscious, but here it is stagnant and unstimulated. There is so much potential for water in this city; embracing its presence would simply allow for the vibrant spirit of New Orleans to flourish. Large open riverfront zones would certainly attract those tired of the stuffy French Quarter and would add a more attractive face to this city. The water certainly isnt going away. Embrace it. Knock down the barriers, chisel away at the city core, and allow for a new force to transform the city experience into an experience in an open, fluid water city, not a dense, dirty european-esque core.

Cut Loose

Sticker Shock. Honestly, that's the best way to describe my reaction to New Orleans. Leaving good ol' midwestern suburbia, where my sense of security was never challenged, yet my senses where never challenged, and coming to The “BIG” Easy, home of the notoriously raucous Mardi Gras, was a huge leap in culture and an entirely new experience. In this state I arrived, with images of Bourbon Street and Katrina's destruction in my mind. Every other person I talked to, when I mentioned my coming to New Orleans, warned me that I would be in great danger; I must learn self defense NOW, I must never go anywhere alone, even during the day, and don't forget to get a switchblade and pepperspray NOW. I admit I was very nervous coming to this city, not any old city, but a city recently receiving blows economically, psychologically, and physically, where crime is high, yet over-the-top spirit lives on. Running through my mind was a hyped image of New Orleans as a boozed crime fest, devastated to the point where a return to normalcy was impossible. Then I came to Bywater, my temporary home-sweet-home. At first glance, the place was not one to quiet the nerves. The first few days were rough, as I didn’t yet feel comfortable in the neighborhood, and the locals seems almost too friendly or too nosy. Blonde hair, blue eyes attracts a lot of attention. But then I started to discover the area, cruising on my bike and each day noticing unique shops, bars, people, and particularly restaurants. On the outside these places look miserable, perhaps to attest to the use and popularity over the years, or perhaps just to fit in, blending into the local scene. Once entering these places, you feel as if you’ve crossed a threshold into another more vibrant and festive world. You grasp a sense of community, and especially of people and the human touch. It is not just a place to grab a cup of java and run (starbucks, anyone?) but to meet, socialize, and belong. The people aren't arrogant; they want to know you, help you, introduce you to their hometown. In my first days here I participated in a drunken mardi gras parade that simply meandered from bar to bar, celebrating the city and life. Gathering together with people you’ve never met, simply to have a good time and celebrate unique traditions, is an instinct engrained in this city. Then I began to understand what my life had been missing: culture and unified spirit. In my suburban bubble, I would “go out” to the mall, grab some food at a chain restaurant, and then catch a movie. To me, this was all very mundane and not extraordinary or stimulating. In New Orleans I came upon a new philosophy that life is celebrated, and to truly live you must open yourself up to new experiences, try that strange, decrepit looking restaurant down the stree; it might surprise you. Thus far, I have learned to open myself up in order to get a little culture, and by venturing into experiences that pushed my security level I actually feel more secure. My favorite discovery in New Orleans is the local philosophy that you can’t let disaster, whether catastrophic and widespread, or personal, get you down, because there is much more to life, so many moments to experience; if you just care enough to get out and find your own special place, you will find home.