I loved the city. The French Quarter. The Warehouse District. The Garden District. The Riverwalk. Each was a microcosm of something larger, a piece of a whole. One was full of bright lights, colorful beads, feathery boas sliding around necks. Another was decked out in the pink of newly blossomed magnolias and frangipani with green, lush borders surrounding buildings.

Drunken conversations blasted through the air. The ka-chink of money was heard as buyers bought and sellers sold. Heavy equipment worked on reestablishing an old neighborhood. Commuters laughed as they rode the trolley.

Music…music was everywhere. From the live sounds of a jazz band to the hip-hop of a self-styled dj to the piped-in muzak, music was everywhere. I even began to sing as I walked the streets. It was infectious.

I loved the city of New Orleans.

I didn’t realize, probably because of these rose-tinted glasses that I wear, that it’s also a dark city. It’s a dirty city. There is garbage everywhere. It’s a smelly city. The smells of garbage and sewers rose up in the evening air. People walked the streets in fear at night. When it rained, that dirty water met with the curbs of sidewalks and people fled indoors as if they were running from monsters. There was an under-current of anger below the infamous southern charm. It rippled out now and again, striking like a viper and withdrawing before too many people witnessed.

I liked the people at the far-end of the trolley ride much more than those who were servicing tourists all day long. They were real. They were kind and smiled and were polite. Dealing with tourists must be hard work. Rarely did they smile, say thank you, please come again, or I appreciate your business. They didn’t seem happy. They seemed angry.

I loved the city. I enjoyed my brief stay. If I go back again, however, I’ll stay in a different part of town, far away from the tourist hot spots. When I visit, I want to learn about the people. Not what the people expect me to want.