The water in the French Quarter tastes like well water and piss.
So, I guess Bear Grylls would like it, but for those of us who grew up downing water made almost completely of the purest, coldest snowmelt in the country, it's a massive, painful step down. It's such a step down that it's like falling off a ladder. Into a vat of stagnant pond scum.
The funny thing about water in New Orleans is that it's not all like that. The water in Carrolton tastes sort of metallic, but otherwise okay. The water in the Warehouse District (which is also, weirdly, the Arts District) tastes fine. So does the water in shops along the Riverwalk.
New Orleans gets all its water from two sources: the Mississippi River, which, thanks to my second grade teacher, I always spell in my head with a sing-songy rhythm to make sure it has all the right letters, and the Gulf of Mexico. Both of these sources, especially since the BP spill last summer, are muddy, distressingly sordid wastes of chemicals and filth.
My apartment is in Uptown. I have no idea how the water there tastes. I didn't think to try it out before I bought the place, which is probably a good thing, because paying rent from afar is hard enough without having to think about how nasty the water is, even though the place is a gorgeous and a freaking palace.
Growing up in the mountains has spoiled me. I'm such a hipster when it comes to water, now. Tap water from anywhere but here is just too mainstream. (...I apologize. That was a bad one, even as puns go.)
Therefore, I'm going to need to either (A) drink bottled water all the time, or (B) obtain the most hardcore purifier I can possibly get my hands on. Like, the purifier God hooked up to the river in Eden for the unicorns, rest their poached-into-extinction souls, to drink from.
It makes me feel sorry for all the poor souls that live and drink water at sea level. They don't get to eat snow, or drink straight from a mountain stream, contract giardia, almost die, recover and be thankfully immune so they can drink from mountain streams safely for the rest of their lives.
I was kind of a stupid seven-year-old.
Peace, A.
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So tell me now, where was my fault, in loving you with my whole heart?
