Southern Hospitality

The rental owner, our gracious host, Barbara appears through the crack of one massive shutter, waiting for us. Short gray hair and lipstick, a commanding way of talking to you that makes you feel both welcomed and taken care of in the same instance. She tells us to ignore the chair swing sitting on the ground -- "Wouldn't you girls know, it just gave up last weekend, right in the middle of Mardi Gras, fell to the floor. I suppose having 4 adults, all drinking, and having fun had something to do with it! (she smiles mischievously) Oh, but it was fun! We laughed and laughed..."

We slip through the shuttered door behind her, into our huge new living room, old high ceiling felt as open as the sky itself, original worn fireplace, walls washed in white paint, Persian rugs, old photos on the walls and a shelf full of books. She shows us each intricasy, each light switch, each instance of potential confusion. Knowing we'd be arriving later in the day, they've already stocked the fridge for our arrival. Not 1 but 3 kinds of root beer, a case of coke, milk, English muffins, coffee (with chickory), a basket of fresh croissants and blueberry muffins, bananas, apples, oranges...tomato juice, apple juice, even prune juice! We gasp. Barbara is pleased.

At our fingertips are notebooks of the best restaurants on quaint little Frenchman Street (on their recommendation, we head to Alfondo's for a stunning dinner from the second floor of a rickety old saloon) and the New Orleans metropolis, activities, maps, streetcar timetables...and a business card with her and Tom's number in case we should need anything while we're out and about.

She shows us the rest of the house. Built around 1840, 2216 Royal Street is a "shotgun" house. A sort of old-fashioned duplex, where connected but individual living quarters exist in one house. Rooms fit together somewhat like two shotguns, our cab driver had mentioned. Barbara tells us that the idea was actually initially a tax break, when built, owners were taxed only on the front room.

We meet Tom, Barbara's husband, Stella (the diminuative but domineering chihuahua that Barbara calls "the crazy bitch"), the old cat with ears cut to stubs (a Katrina cat who found a new home with the Douglasses, cats were systematically collected/fixed/and ears lopped off to show their new status shortly after the hurricane), we wander through the old halls and open kitchen of Tom and Barbara's half, they show us the back patio with koi filled water garden, one wall of sweet smelling orchids, the other old wall is home to cemetary ferns (known for pushing their way through cemetary walls to grow) -- it's a beautiful, quiet garden we're invited to enjoy any chance we get. The Douglasses love to entertain.