Day 4: Saying Good-bye to El Cocuy

It was two days before Christmas and no one back in El Cocuy town could give us an answer, via Susima’s radio, as to whether there would be a bus back to Bogotá on Christmas Eve. We had a wedding to go to in Medellín the day after Christmas which meant we had to be back in Bogotá to catch our flight the morning of the wedding day. We decided to come down the mountain a day early. Another hike to one of the lagunas would take us a whole day and we just couldn’t muster the strength to camp elsewhere, much less hike back to Susima all in one day. We painfully accepted the fact that it was the day to go back to town to try to catch the night time bus so that we’re back in the capital the next morning.

We started off on the right foot. It was a beautiful morning–the kind of weather we would have appreciated the day before–and the trout were enjoying the running water as much as we enjoyed watching them. El Cocuy marked our third big hike, and even though the Dr. and I get along when traveling, I can’t say that everything runs perfectly smooth all the time. On our way down, a pick-up truck gave us a ride up to the fork on the road where we had started just a few days ago. The rest of the way would be the opposite of the lechero ride two days before, but because we were on foot, we knew it was probably going to take us at least four hours to get back to town.

Our adventure began when we saw the German hikers from a distance being escorted by several guys in military uniforms. The Dr. wanted to shout and wave and get their attention. Maybe they’re being shown a short cut! That was a nice thought but my thinking was that we were in Colombia, a country with ripe history of drugs and violence and that we probably shouldn’t be attracting the attention of armed men while in the mountains. Not to be defeated, the Dr. insisted to take his own short cut a few miles later. I was familiar with the road after watching it on our way up a couple of days before and I didn’t feel confident cutting corners in an unfamiliar territory. I shouted after him when he insisted on going down a different route but to no avail; I ended up on my merry way alone. We did meet at some point again, but I was livid that he insisted on going his separate way. For the remainder of the hike–about three hours–we were on our own. I was on my own.

I tried to enjoy the quiet time and the experience of being on my own. I asked a group slaughtering a cow for the holidays permission to take photographs. I said hello to a few pigs, cows and horses, and even rabbits. I waved to farmers staring down from a hill while I lugged my backpack. Motorcyclists stopped and inquired if I was lost; a couple offered me a ride. I stuck to my guns and swore that I would finish the rest of the trek on foot. I would finish it on my own without the stubborn Dr.! (I do recognize the fact that I was being equally stubborn, but hey, I’m the one telling you the story here.) I stopped a few times to ask some locals in my poor Spanish if I was going the right way and it was with their confirmation that let me gather strength to keep going. When the town’s church building finally revealed itself from where I was walking, I sighed a breath of relief: a few more miles and I will be back at the bus station.

Back in the town center, I sat in the park and waited for the Dr. I was hating him then, but I also realized that he had our money and that we would need to make up if I wanted to go back to the city. (Note to self: keep some local currency to myself in case of emergencies or…stubborn situations.) A few minutes later, he rolled in the park behind some guy in a motorcycle. I found out later that he was asking locals all over the mountain if they’ve seen someone who looked like me, and because I stopped a few times to talk to them, he kept getting confirmation that I was still alive and going the right way. (I also found out later that the Germans were indeed being escorted by the military to a short cut.)

The twelve-hour bus ride was more miserable than ever because I sat next to him with a heavy heart. I was about to reach a new milestone the next day and I couldn’t believe we still had to fight after all we’ve gone through in El Cocuy. The hot shower in our Bogotá hotel at 5am after the long bus ride did more than just cleanse our bodies, it also warmed our cold, cold hearts. We started the new leg of the rest of our trip nicely after that. Sometimes, a trip like El Cocuy is necessary to sustain a relationship like ours.

Related post/s:
El Cocuy photos on Flickr when I hiked down alone
Day 3: Hiking Pulpito de Diablo, El Cocuy, Colombia

Day 3: Hiking Pulpito de Diablo, El Cocuy

It’s hard to find the perfect adjective to describe the feeling you get when you see a rocky mountain view interrupted only by thin sheets of fog the first time you step out of a tent, but that’s what sticks in my mind when I recall our mornings in El Cocuy.

Sharp boulders lay beneath Pulpito de Diablo, or the Devil’s Pulpit, but after a day’s acclimitization we felt ready for a challenging hike. Man, it looks angry, the Dr. said, describing the ribbons swirling around the mountain ahead of us. After a fortifying breakfast of Trader Joe’s corned beef and rice, we left our stuff in our tent and packed only the necessities for our upward hike towards the Pulpit.

And we kept going up for the next three hours.

We clawed our way up through rocks and pretended there was a path ahead of us. Every time I looked back, it seemed we weren’t making any headway; the Devil was still very, very far away. He threw another challenge our way when he decided that rain would make our trek more fun. The rocks turned slippery and shiny and we had to squint to see through the sleet of water pelting our faces. We couldn’t even see where we were going anymore but we kept on convincing ourselves the finish line was right in front of us.

When we got to the top, or to where we thought was the top, and ran into a father screaming for his son’s name, we decided to rest and wait for the rain to let up. The Dr. hiked ahead of me to gauge how far the Pulpit really was from where we were, but when it still didn’t materialize behind the fog, we painfully accepted that that was the end of our trek.

We started our way back down–wishing the father luck that he will be reunited with his son–and carefully tredged on wet boulders. We also ran into the Germans staying in Susima. They looked up at us questioningly and we nodded knowingly as they also turned to head back down. For the next three hours, I kept looking back up because maybe, just maybe, the Pulpit will reveal itself again and I can convince the Dr. to turn around. We made our way past the giant tank that diverted rain water down the valley and reached our tent without the gray haze dissepating.

My left knee was weak and my feet were completely taxed. We introduced ourselves to the two Aussies setting up next to our tent which only added to injury after hearing that they have one more hike to go to complete the entire circuit. We listened to their story while looking down at their worn Nike hi-tops.

After a couple of hours sleep back in our tents, we walked up the hill behind Susima to sit among the frailejónes and watched the sky turn from gray to purple then black. Pulpito de Diablo, we will meet again someday.

Related post/s:
Amazing Pulpito de Diablo El Cocuy photos on Flickr
Day 2: Hiking El Cocuy, to Laguna Pintada
The rocks and the fog were all too familiar

Day 2: Hiking El Cocuy, to Laguna Pintada

I don’t know how it ended up that we both don’t have a watch. Since none of our phones were working in El Cocuy, we had to leave the TV on while we slept to help us wake up at 5:30am in order to catch the lechero at 6am.

After a sleepless night, I woke up and checked the clock on the news channel that was on and immediately jumped off bed as soon as I saw that it was 5:45am. We hurriedly changed and packed our remaining items and tried to step out of La Posada Del Molino but the doors were all locked. We had no choice but to knock on every door to try and wake up the manager so he can let us out. He wearily stepped out of his room, checked his phone clock and grumbly told us that we were an hour early. He said we were probably watching the news from a different country. We embarrassingly and apologetically went back to our room and waited for the right time we can bother him again. One of us really needs to start wearing a watch.

Hikers in El Cocuy hitch a ride with the lechero, or the milk truck, up to the fork on the road and decide whether to go along the Rio Lagunillas to Pulpito de Diablo or trek up north via Güicán. At exactly 6am, we were in the center of town where we informed the lechero driver that we will need to hitch a ride from him. The town was just waking up. Deliveries were being made and store owners were opening up their shops. The driver wasn’t hard to find at all. Besides the fact that his truck is the only one filled with blue vats in the back, he usually looks out for hikers to give them a ride. When the 6:30am bus pulled in from Bogotá–the same bus we were on just the previous day–he greeted the exiting passengers carrying large backpacks.

Off we sat on the floor with the milk vats. The ride was bumpy but it was very cool to witness a slice of Colombian life like that. The driver made several stops along the way to pick up small pails of milk from local farmers. His assistant transfered them from pail to vat at each stop. At one point, a young boy joined us and took over the job. The view up the mountain was beautiful, too. We saw how green our surroundings were; the morning mist slowly moving out of the way to reveal small plots of vegetables and herbs.

About an hour or so later, we were let off and we started our hike. I was very excited and distracted by the feeling of being in a new country again that I quickly forgot we were on high altitude. What should have taken less than two hours took us almost four because I was weakened by the shortage of oxygen. I felt like I could not lift my left leg up, and with a 30-pound pack on my back, walking was very challenging even with the help of two poles. I wasn’t dizzy per se, but my stomach definitely felt funny. The Dr. kept looking back to check up on me. He was very encouraging, but we both knew I wasn’t bringing my usual game. All those nights of swimming laps for naught. I was disappointed in myself and all I wanted was to get to camp and rest but the trail just kept going.

We stopped at the first cabin we saw which was the other Parque Nacional Natural office. We had already registered in El Cocuy, so we didn’t need to do anything there except to catch our breaths and confirm that we were going the right way. After a few more back-breaking minutes, we passed by Cabañas Herrera. We sat and watched other hikers prepare for their next move. We realized that if we had a few more days of hiking, we would have camped here too to acclimate before continuing on to Laguna Pintada. That is really the way to do it: split a few hours worth of day hike into two to get used to the high altitude.

I managed to look around us and take note of the river along the way. The brown trouts would swim away whenever we approached. Cows, sheep, goats and rabbits were omnipresent. The land looked healthy, but as soon as the trail turned sandy and almost volcanic, the animals and the shrubs disappeared and the frailejónes started to pepper the landscape. Resembling hooded friars, or frailes, the plants are native to Colombia and live in high altitude. Their trunks are thick and because their leaves are marcescent (when dead plant organs remain intact versus shedding), they are protected from the cold weather. It was a little eerie to be walking among so many of them, but relief was soon visible when we saw their yellow daisy-like flowers.

Up a small hill, we asked if it was Cabaña Sisuma. After we received confirmation from the three small children running around the cabin, we climbed down the foot of the hill and began to camp. Señora Marta soon joined to welcome us. We told her about our stove problem which she solved by telling us we could come up to her kitchen and cook whenever we needed to. Camping was US$2 a day if you use the cabin’s kitchen and bathroom, but it’s otherwise free since El Cocuy is one of Colombia’s national parks. It was only 10:30am–one of Señora Marta’s kids told us–but we were already famished since we have been up since 4:30! Using our camping pots, we boiled water in the cabin’s kitchen and cooked the first cans of Korean tuna and white rice we brought with us.

After we ate, we took a quick walk around Laguna Pintada, only to retire back to our tent and sleep for three hours. For the rest of the afternoon, we hanged out in the cabin writing in my journal or reading our books. It wasn’t any warmer in there than in our tent, but it kept us from going stir-crazy because we were at least surrounded by other people. I still don’t know how those three kids survive day to day without the distraction of a television or a phone. Other hikers came in, but most of them only stopped for a home-cooked meal and then kept going. A group of four Germans actually stayed for the night on the bunk beds upstairs.

Unlike the cabins we stayed in in the Pyrenees, Sisuma was bare-bones. One long table was shared among the overnighters and the campers but because they paid more than we did, we basically had to wait until the kitchen was free to cook our meals. For the next two nights, we hanged out by the stairs since there were no more chairs in the dining room to sit on. Weirdly enough, Señora Marta had a washing machine but no heater. She herself slept in a small room in the other wing, while her three children slept in a tent in the living room. I liked hanging out with her in the kitchen while she prepared meals for the overnighters. We communicated just fine with my crooked Spanish, and a few times during our stay, she offered us this sweet hot drink made from a block of cane sugar.

What sticks in my head when I think of our trip to Colombia is how the people were so hospitable and helpful. From the bus agents in El Cocuy who tried to help us book our bus ticket backs to Bogotá to Señora Marta treating us like we were paying her to keep us warm and fed, the Colombians we met were always trying to make us feel like we belonged there. So many places we’ve been where we had to explain why the likes of us were in their country, but the Colombians just spoke to us in Spanish as if we’ve been living there for as long as they have. We never felt threatened, nor was there ever a time in the mountains we felt like we were lost and without care.

Related post/s:
Laguna Pintada and Rio Lagunillas El Cocuy photos on Flickr
Day 1: Getting from Bogotá to El Cocuy, Colombia

Day 1: Getting from Bogotá to El Cocuy, Colombia

Our connecting flight in Fort Lauderdale was delayed a couple of hours because of a snowstorm in the northeast, but we managed to get in Bogotá, Colombia before sunset. Señor Samuel was holding up a piece of paper with our names on it as soon as we exited the El Dorado Airport Customs. He was hired by my friend Evelyn’s aunt to pick us up from the airport and drive us around because we had a few errands to run before catching the 6:30pm bus to El Cocuy. He had planned our routes accordingly to put us back on schedule. Minus the part when he locked us all out of the car by leaving his keys in the ignition, he was a really good driver and guide. [Insert nervous laugh here.]

Our first stop was the bus terminal where Evelyn’s aunt arranged for our bus tickets to El Cocuy. Señor Samuel knew we still had errands to run but because we were pressed for time, he talked to the bus conductor to see where the next stop would be so we could meet the bus there instead of boarding from the main terminal. We tried to ignore that the conductor was holding a bottle of rum and only had one working eye; we wanted him to allow us to be picked up from another stop so we were in our best behavior when the two men reached an agreement and exchanged phone numbers.

Our next stop was at 104 Art Suites Hotel in Bogotá. We weren’t scheduled to check-in until four days later, but I had arranged to drop off our non-hiking luggage in the hotel for safekeeping until we were done with our trek. Then we stopped by the hiking store in the neighborhood. Because gas tanks are not allowed on any flights, I found the closest camping store to make sure they had the tank that would match our stoves. Everything seemed like a match online when I was researching in New York, but unfortunately, the thing that had to connect to the other thing wouldn’t, so we had to leave the store without any camping gas.

We didn’t have the time to try another store or buy a whole new expensive stove system we may never use again, so we decided to just go for it and try to survive with cold food for the next three days. The Dr. had no idea that he was participating in a very Filipino attitude of Bahala Na at the time. We just didn’t have the time to sulk about one mishap.

For the next thirty minutes, Señor Samuel zig-zagged through traffic to meet our bus at the next stop. He dropped us off at a mall so we can buy food to eat in the bus–Go Frisby!–and then walked us to the street where the bus was to stop. As soon as the clock hit 7:30pm, the bus pulled up with two empty seats in front. You’re the guys from the terminal? the driver asked us in Spanish. We said yes and he loaded our backpacks under the bus and led us to our seats. We paid Señor Samuel his fee and thanked him profusely for helping us with everything we had to do in the span of three hours before we boarded the bus, so we were a little touched when he suddenly showed up standing in our aisle: he quickly got on the bus just to make sure we were comfortable in our seats. He wanted to say good-bye one more time and he wanted to let us know that the driver will let us off in El Cocuy twelve hours later.

We left our New York City apartment at 2am that day and almost eighteen hours later, we were on our way to El Cocuy, Colombia, our home away from home for the next three days. The bus ride was uneventful but much more comfortable than our economy seats on the plane from the United States. It made a few stops for the driver to take a break and for the passengers to pee, and only one of them involved gun-toting camouflaged soldiers ordering all the men to get off for inspection. It was only when a rooster that had been sitting in a box on the seat in front of us crowed that we knew we had made it. The sun was starting to rise and it was time to get off.

We were disoriented when we got off the bus. We slept some, but no sleep on a bus can beat sleep on your firm mattress at home. There was some action in the center of town and it was obvious that people had just started their mornings. I opened my Lonely Planet Guide and picked out the editor’s favorite hostel in town. We walked about three blocks uphill and knocked at La Posada Del Molino. A guy let us in after we inquired for vacancy. He pointed to the stage and sound system set up outside the hostel and warned us that it gets loud at night because of the holiday festivities, but we were in no mood to find another hostel. We just wanted to put down our backpacks and catch up on real sleep.

Six hours later, we changed and sat in the courtyard to order some lunch. We were quite disappointed that there was no hot water in the shower as advertised, but we were in no position to complain as we would have to live without showering for the next three days anyway. We were famished and we easily devoured the vegetable soup and the beef plate that came with salad, corn and rice that was served to us by the kitchen staff. It was about sixty degrees, warmer than the temperature in New York City, but there was still a chill in the air. We have been in Colombia for less than 24 hours and we were already up 9,000 feet.

After lunch, we decided to walk around town and take care of the remaining logistics for our hike. We stopped by the Parque Nacional Natural (PNN) El Cocuy Headquarters on Calle 8 No 4-74 to check-in, finalize our route and pick-up a map. We also went to the offices of the two bus companies that run the Bogotá-El Cocuy route, Libertador and Concorde, to check if their buses were running on Christmas Eve and Christmas Day. The clerks in both offices couldn’t answer our question, so we put a deposit for a temporarily scheduled December 24th departure and planned to hike down the morning of.

With most of our tasks taken care off–there were no camping stores in El Cocuy so we were still sans stove–we walked around town to check out the scene. We visualized our hiking route using the diorama in the park. We paid our respects and visited the town church and we spent a few quiet minutes in the cemetery. We bought a kebab and an arepa-like patty filled with ham and cheese from two street vendors and we drank our first Colombian beer. Most of the locals were wearing the ubiquitous wool shawl; the men completed their looks with fedoras. Time was slower in El Cocuy and we were still trying to pace ourselves down and absorb our new surroundings.

Related post/s:
El Cocuy town photos on Flickr
El Cocuy, Colombia hiking map

Self-Guided Walking Tour of the French Quarter

Many thanks go to Frommers.com for publishing their walking tours of New Orleans on their Web site. The following are photos I took while doing their self-guided walking tour of the French Quarter. I’ve edited the copy slightly to match what I saw. Feel free to email me if I made a mistake on something.

The guide estimated the walk to take about an hour and a half but it took me about three hours because I was taking a lot of pictures. The guide also recommends that you do this walk very early in the morning before the revelers start drinking on Bourbon Street. I did this during the Saints-Giants match in the middle of a Sunday and the streets were eerily empty because everyone was indoors watching football. I finished as soon as the Saints destroyed my New York team and quickly ran back to my room at the Omni Royal Hotel to avoid the celebratory scene.

Click here for the map of this tour. Begin at the intersection of Royal and Bienville streets.

1. 343 Royal Street, Rillieux-Waldhorn House

Established in 1881, this house is also known as the Waldhorn & Adler Antique store. The building was built between 1795 and 1800 for Vincent Rillieux, the great-grandfather of the French Impressionist artist Edgar Degas. The wrought-iron balcony is a good example of excellent Spanish colonial workmanship.

2. 334 Royal Street, The Bank of Louisiana

Across the street from Waldhorn & Adler, this old bank was erected in 1826 by Philip Hamblet and Tobias Bickle after the designs of Benjamin Fox. Its Greek Revival edifice was erected in the early 1860s after it suffered its second of third fires. It has also served as the Louisiana State Capitol, an auction exchange, a criminal court, a juvenile court and a social hall for the American Legion. It now houses the police station for the Vieux Carré.

3. Cross Conti Street to 403 Royal Street, Louisiana State Bank

Benjamin H. B. Latrobe died of yellow fever shortly after completing designs for this 1821 building. He had already designed the Bank of Pennsylvania in Philadelphia and contributed to the design of the U.S. Capitol at the time of his death. You can see the monogram “LSB” on the Creole-style iron balcony railing.

4. 417 Royal Street, Brennan’s Restaurant

The structure was erected in 1855 after the fire of 1794 destroyed more than 200 of the original buildings along this street. The world-famous chess champion Paul Charles Morphy moved here as a child in 1841. The parents of Edgar Degas also lived here.

5. 437 Royal Street, home of the “cocktail”

Owner and druggist Antoine A. Peychaud served after-meeting drinks of bitters and cognac to lodge members in small egg cups, whose French name, coquetier, was Americanized to “cocktail.”

6. 400 Royal Street, New Orleans Court Building

Built in 1909, this courthouse covers the length of the block across from Brennan’s. The baroque edifice is made of Georgia marble and many Spanish-era structures were demolished to make way for it. It is now the home of the Louisiana Supreme Court and the Fourth Circuit Court of Appeals.

7. Cross St. Louis Street to 520 Royal Street, the Brulatour Court

This structure was built in 1816 as a home for François Seignouret, a furniture maker and wine importer from Bordeaux. His furniture all had an “S” carved into them and you can see the same on the fan-shaped guard screen, or garde de frise, on the third floor balcony.

8. 533 Royal Street, the Merieult House

Built for the merchant Jean François Merieult in 1792, this house was the only building in the area left standing after the fire of 1794. Legend has it that Napoleon repeatedly offered Madame Merieult a lot of money in exchange for her hair to present a wig to a Turkish sultan. Nowadays, it’s home to the Historic New Orleans Collection-Museum/Research Center.

9. Cross Toulouse Street to 613 Royal Street, the Court of Two Sisters

This was built in 1832 for a local bank president on the site of the 18th-century home of a French governor. The two sisters were Emma and Bertha Camors and their father owned the building. From 1886 to 1906, they ran a curio store.

10. 627 Royal Street, Adelina Patti’s Court

This 1777 building, the former home of the Old Town Praline Shop, is where opera singer Adelina Patti became a local heroine in 1860. The 17-year-old girl’s popularity as a last-minute stand-in lead soprano saved the local opera company from financial ruin.

11. 640 Royal Street, Le Monnier Mansion

This structure was the city’s first “skyscraper” and was all of three stories high when it was built in 1811. A fourth story was added in 1876. George W. Cable, the celebrated author of Old Creole Days, chose this building as the residence of his fictional hero, Sieur George.

12. Cross St. Peter Street to 700 Royal Street, the LaBranche House

This building is probably the most photographed building in the French Quarter for its lacy cast-iron grillwork and oak leaf and acorn design. There are actually eleven LaBranche buildings in the city: eight face St. Peter Street, one faces Royal and two face Pirates Alley.

13. Turn left at St. Peter Street and continue to 714 St. Peter Street, Antoine’s Restaurant

Built in 1829 by a prominent physician, this was a boardinghouse run by Antoine Alciatore for several years during the 1860s. His cooking became so popular with the locals that he eventually gave up catering to open the famous Antoine’s Restaurant, still operated today by his descendants.

14. 718 St. Peter Street, Pat O’Brien’s

One of the city’s most famous spot for Hurricane drinks, the building was completed in 1790 for a wealthy planter and was known as the Maison de Flechier. Later, Louis Tabary put on popular plays here. It’s said that the first grand opera in America was performed within these walls.

15. 726 St. Peter Street, Preservation Hall

Erle Stanley Gardner, Perry Mason’s creator, lived in an apartment above the Hall where people still go to hear New Orleans jazz.

16. 730 St. Peter Street, Plique-LaBranche House

This house was built in 1825, sold to Giraud M. Plique in 1827, and sold to Jean Baptiste LaBranche in 1829. The wrought-iron balcony dates from the 1820s. This is believed to be the site of New Orleans’s first theater but is the subject of some debate.

Continue up St. Peter Street until you reach Bourbon Street. Turn left onto Bourbon Street.

17. 623 Bourbon Street

Tennessee Williams and Truman Capote lived in this house–not together, mind you. It’s owned by Lindy Boggs, a much-beloved local politician (and mother of NPR and ABC commentator Cokie Roberts), who took over her husband’s Congressional seat after his death. At last, a building with names attached to it I recognize!

Turn around and head the other way down Bourbon Street. At the corner of Bourbon and Orleans streets, look down Orleans Street, toward the river, at:

18. 717 Orleans Street, Bourbon Orleans Hotel

This building was the site of the famous quadroon balls, where wealthy white men would acquire free women of color as mistresses. Funnily enough, it later became a convent, home to the Sisters of the Holy Family, the second-oldest order of black nuns in the country.

Turn left onto Orleans and follow it a block to Dauphine Street. On the corner is:

19. 716 Dauphine Street, Le Pretre Mansion

In 1839 Jean Baptiste Le Pretre bought this 1836 Greek Revival house and added the romantic cast-iron galleries. The house is the subject of a real-life horror story: in the 19th century, a Turk, supposedly the brother of a sultan, arrived in New Orleans and rented the Le Pretre house. One night, shrieks came from inside the house; the next morning, neighbors entered and found the tenant’s body lying in a pool of blood surrounded by the bodies of young girls believed to have been stolen from the sultan. Local ghost experts say you can hear exotic music and shrieks on the right night. Oooh.

Turn right on Dauphine Street and go two blocks to Dumaine Street and then turn right. You’ll find an interesting little cottage at:

20. 707 Dumaine Street

After the 1794 fire, all houses in the French Quarter were required by law to have flat tile roofs. Most have since been covered with conventional roofs, but this Spanish colonial cottage is still in compliance with the flat-roof rule.

21. 632 Dumaine Street, Madame John’s Legacy

This structure was once thought to be the oldest building on the Mississippi River. The house was originally erected in 1726, eight years after the founding of New Orleans. The present structure is a fine example of a French “raised cottage.”

Take a left at the corner of Dumaine and Chartres streets and follow Chartres to the next corner; make a left onto St. Philip Street and continue to the corner of St. Philip and Bourbon streets to:

22. 941 Bourbon Street, Lafitte’s Blacksmith Shop

Legend says that Jean Lafitte and his pirates posed as blacksmiths here while using it as headquarters for selling goods they’d plundered on the high seas. It has survived in its original condition, reflecting the architectural influence of French colonials who escaped St. Domingue in the late 1700s. Unfortunately, the exterior has been redone to replicate the original brick and plaster, which makes it look fake when it’s actually not.

Turn right onto Bourbon Street and follow it two blocks to Governor Nicholls Street. Turn right to:

23. 721 Governor Nicholls Street, The Thierry House

The structure was built in 1814 and announced the arrival of the Greek Revival style of architecture in New Orleans. It was designed in part by architect Henry S. Boneval Latrobe, son of Benjamin H. B. Latrobe, when he was 19 years old.

Cross Royal Street to:

24. 618-630 Governor Nicholls Street

Henry Clay’s brother, John, built a house for his wife here in 1828, and in 1871 a two-story building was added at the rear of its garden. In the rear building Frances Xavier Cabrini (now a Catholic saint) ran a school.

Backtrack to the corner of Royal and Governor Nicholls streets. Take a left onto Royal and look for:

25. 1140 Royal Street, the Lalaurie Home

Many people simply refer to this place as “the haunted house.” Madame Delphine Macarty de Lopez Blanque wed Dr. Louis Lalaurie as her third husband after being widowed twice before. The Lalauries moved into this residence in 1832, and they soon were impressing the city with extravagant parties. One night in 1834, however, fire broke out and neighbors crashed through a locked door to find seven chained starving slaves. The sight, combined with Delphine’s stories of past slaves having “committed suicide,” enraged her neighbors. Madame Lalaurie and her family escaped a mob’s wrath and fled to Paris. Through the years, stories have circulated of ghosts inhabiting the building, especially that of one young slave child who fell from the roof trying to escape Delphine’s cruelties.

26. 1132 Royal Street, Gallier House Museum

This house was built in 1857 by James Gallier, Jr., as his residence. Gallier and his father were two of the city’s leading architects. Anne Rice was thinking of this house when she described where Lestat and Louis lived in Interview with the Vampire.

Turn left onto Ursulines Street, toward the river. At the corner of Ursulines and Chartres streets is:

27. 1113 Chartres Street, Beauregard-Keyes House

This “raised cottage” was built as a residence in 1826 by Joseph Le Carpentier.

28. Old Ursuline Convent and the Archiepiscopal Residence

29. Turn left on to Chartres Street and continue walking until you get to Esplanade Avenue, one of the city’s most picturesque historic thoroughfares. Some of the grandest town houses built in the late 1800s grace this wide, tree-lined avenue.

Follow Esplanade toward the river and turn right at the corner of North Peters Street. Follow North Peters until it intersects with Decatur Street. You’ll see the Old French Market which now houses a flea market for souvenir items. I took a quick break here and bought a peach-banana smoothie.

When you leave the French Market, exit on the side away from the river onto:

30. Decatur Street

Not long ago, this section of Decatur — from Jackson Square all the way over to Esplanade — was a seedy, run-down area of wild bars and cheap rooming houses. Fortunately, few of either remain. Instead, this portion of the strip has fallen into step with the rest of the Quarter, sporting a number of restaurants and noisy bars. Among my favorites: Molly’s at the Market and d.b.a.

Decatur Street will take you to Jackson Square. Turn right onto St. Ann Street; the twin four-story, redbrick buildings here and on the St. Peter Street side of the square are:

31. The Pontalba Buildings

These buildings sport some of the most impressive cast-iron balcony railings in the French Quarter. They also represent one of the first eras of revitalization in the Quarter. In the mid-1800s, Baroness Micaela Almonester Pontalba inherited rows of buildings along both sides of the Place d’Armes from her father, Don Almonester, who had been responsible for rebuilding the St. Louis Cathedral. You can see her mark today in the entwined initials “A.P.” in the ironwork. The buildings were designed in a traditional Creole-European style.

32. Jackson Square

Baroness Pontalba is also responsible for the current design of Jackson Square, including the cast-iron fence and the equestrian statue of Andrew Jackson.

At the corner of St. Ann and Chartres Streets, turn left and continue around Jackson Square; you will see:

33. St. Louis Cathedral

The building standing here today is the third erected on this spot — the first was destroyed by a hurricane in 1722, the second by fire in 1788. The cathedral was rebuilt in 1794; the central tower was later designed by Henry S. Boneval Latrobe, and the building was remodeled and enlarged between 1845 and 1851.

On the other side of the cathedral, you’ll come to Pirates Alley. Go right down Pirates Alley to:

34. 624 Pirates Alley, Faulkner House Books

In 1925 William Faulkner lived here and worked on his first novels, Mosquitoes and Soldiers’ Pay. While here, he contributed to the Times-Picayune and to a literary magazine called the Double Dealer. I ended up buying the least classic book here recommended by a cab driver, French Desired Children, a funny anecdote on New Orleans street names.

To the left of the bookstore is a small alley that takes you to St. Peter Street, which is behind and parallel to Pirate’s Alley.

35. 632 Royal Street, Tennessee Williams House

The second-story wrought-iron balcony is where Tennessee Williams wrote A Streetcar Named Desire. How cool is that, Stellaaaaaaa?

Return to Jackson Square. On the left side of the cathedral on the corner of Chartres and St. Peter streets (with your back to the Mississippi River and Jackson Square) is:

36. The Cabildo

In the 1750s this was the site of a French police station and guardhouse. Part of that building was incorporated into the original Cabildo, statehouse of the Spanish governing body (the “Very Illustrious Cabildo”). The Cabildo was still under reconstruction when the transfer papers for the Louisiana Purchase were signed in a room on the second floor in 1803. Since then, it has served as New Orleans’s City Hall, the Louisiana State Supreme Court, and since 1911, a facility of the Louisiana State Museum.

The small Civil War cannons out front look ineffective by modern standards, but in 1921, it was loaded with powder, an iron ball was rammed down its muzzle and was fired in the dead of night as a prank. That missile traveled from the Cabildo’s portico across the wide expanse of the Mississippi and some 6 blocks inland before landing in a house in Algiers, narrowly missing its occupants.

Now go back across Jackson Square and Decatur Street to

37. 813 Decatur Street, Café du Monde

No trip to New Orleans is complete without a leisurely stop here for beignets and coffee.

Related post/s:
Buy your own copy Frommer’s New Orleans
A collection of New Orleans travel photos on Flickr