My excursion included viewing six mansions built in the 19th century. The owners had coordinated with the local historical society to open them to those of us willing to buy a $22 ticket. Five of the homes had been converted into condos, which meant walking directly into bedrooms that had previously been parlors.
After World War II, with housing at a premium, subdividing estates dawned on many as an obvious solution. Despite their high ceilings, these living spaces felt closed-in, dark and cramped. Over-decorated in ornate Napoleonic-era furniture, chandeliers and then — all of a sudden — an entirely misplaced bed in the living room. It disoriented me.
The exteriors of these enticed me, but once inside I wanted to run. There was something sad and make-do about the grandiose reduced to stuffed quarters.
There were three docents assigned to each house. Apparently members of some sort of antebellum cult dressed in off-the-shoulder hoop dresses, these Southern belles were a mix of the old and the young. All moist, pale and brimming with knowledge of their assigned manse, they welcomed those of us on the tours with beaming smiles and extra long vowels.
I admired one house beautifully renovated in shades of pastel green and peach, with period, yet not ostentatious, furniture. Behind the manor, a two-story former stable had been converted into a guesthouse. I could live there.
On my way back to the hotel my curiosity was further rewarded when I walked into three Realtors' open houses. These joints weren't cheap, with close-to-New York City prices. A one-bedroom condo in a converted house, with a tiny kitchen, a loft, a living room barely big enough for a sofa and television, and a small outdoor patio: $1.4 million.
Mind you, because Katrina flooding was not a problem in the French Quarter and Garden District, these buildings remained structurally sound. Wind, rain and the occasional tornado wreaked havoc, but these neighborhoods didn't sustain the water damage 80 percent of the city suffered.
However, the prospect of exorbitant insurance rates (if one could even receive coverage) coupled with a high mortgage struck me as a daunting proposition for anyone seeking a home in New Orleans. And then there are those ladies named Betsy, Katrina and Rita ready to sweep through a fragile, ill-repaired levee system and deteriorated wetlands. Real-estate investment in this city presents a challenge.
And yet, as I walked down narrow brick streets and looked up at bougainvillea-strewn balconies, my mind played with the idea of living in such a romantic, dramatic, decadent and delicious world. One could paint, write and compose great works of art submerged in the heady, steamy magic of New Orleans.
No comments:
Post a Comment