urban bicycle journeys

I bicycle around New Orleans constantly. Except for streets First through Ninth in Uptown (which MUST be spelled out, never writing them like “2nd.”) there is mostly no system for the street names in New Orleans, many of which are exotic sounding, like LaFaye Street or Soraparu Street. An AI search says there about twelve hundred different names. Asking others at a pickle ball game; among five native lifelong New Orleanians, not one could tell me where Clinton Street was.

That’s too bad, because Clinton Street is a fascinating looking street, even if it’s only one block long, which it is. I am not particularly familiar with either London, England or the writings of Charles Dickens, but Clinton Street looks like my fantasy of a Dickensian narrow London street. It’s one-way and not particularly useful for access to anywhere, even though it sits in a prime part of town. Technically part of the French Quarter, Clinton Street’s buildings are nineteenth century commercial. Two blocks from the Mississippi River, Clinton Street goes parallel to Decatur, Chartres, and North Peters Streets, connecting Iberville and Bienville Streets. For some reason, early planners must have felt that this block needed to be cut in two. It was a commercially busy area back in the nineteenth century and maybe they just needed extra street front.

These two views are from the center, looking outward in each direction.

I did not see any current businesses that open onto Clinton Street. Above you can see that Clinton Street dead ends at the back of the huge circa 1848 U.S. Custom House which takes up an entire city block, fronting on Canal Street.

Here are some other random shots of Clinton Street. This first building needs renovation.

Other random shots on Clinton Street.

There are no po-boy restaurants on Clinton Street. Are these stencils just street art or is it someone’s rock and roll band?

Izzat is a restaurant fronting Iberville Street but on the corner of Clinton. Informal, it offers the greatest hits of the French genre, like steak frites and onion soup. I stepped inside just to look around. I should come back with Tootie and try it sometime. It’s clearly run by Asians, likely Vietnamese.

At the entrance they put photos of the dishes in a loose leaf notebook; the pages covered in plastic sleeves.

I cycled on.