One would expect the state capital do be a bustling metropolis, a center of culture, and perhaps even slightly progressive. Most often, people assume that New Orleans, the heart of Louisiana culture, cuisine, art, living, is the capital of Louisiana. It would make sense. Nestled in the delta of the mighty Mississippi, the decadent, determined city rebuilds it’s crazy chaotic lifestyle. But there are no Senators gathering for dsicussions over cocktails after a long day in session. The governor’s mansion cannot be found here. You won’t find the steps where Huey P. Long was murdered.
Sixtynine miles up the Mississippi river lies the capital, the city of Baton Rouge, French for “red stick”. It is every bit “authentic Louisiana” but so much different from New Orleans. Baton Rouge is a buttoned up, more mannered version of Louisiana. Tourism in Baton Rouge is centered mostly around food and shopping. Mardi Gras consists of a handful of parades, most being family oriented events. People that don’t know you smile and say hi on the street. People that know you stop to have a twenty minute conversation to ask how your momma’s doing.
Everyday, I grow to love and hate this city more. It is a city of contradictions. Affluent neighborhoods reside right up against areas of incredible poverty. Chemical plants line the beautiful river, making for an interesting, albeit disturbing view. Home to Louisiana’s largest state university, Baton Rouge harbors some of the most forward thinkers in the state and also to some of the most progress-resistant people ever born. Change is not tolerated well here. Capital City residents like their city the way it is. They don’t mind progress, just as long as it isn’t happening in their back yard. Infrastructure changes? New housing developments? Centers for culture, entertainment and the arts? Ummm… Can’t we just go to New Orleans to “visit” the arts? But even in the between the hand-painted signs decrying developers as if they were the first phase in the coming of Satan, you find quirky little neighborhoods like Mid-city. Mid-city holds most of Baton Rouge’s art galleries and a host of locally owned and operated shops and restaurants. It hosts events such as the White Light Night, an art hop that combines music, art and food into a wonderful evening wandering through the Mid-City Merchant District. The vibe in the neighborhood is fun and funky, the people are a mix of older hippies and young go-getters.
Baton Rouge is a great place to raise a family. Despite the disturbing post-Katrina surge in crime, it’s a fairly safe place to live. Private schools are abundant- of course, they are pretty much the only schools you really want to send your kid to (unless your child is exceptionally bright or you are aetheist, then I would reccommend a magnet school, perhaps). There are great suburban neighborhoods within the city limits, convenient to all the necessities of family life- grocery stores, schools, parks, daycares, swimming lessons, you name it. This is wonderful, if you are like the majority of the people who grow up here, go to school, get married and start making babies by your mid to late twenties, settling here for good.
However, I was not meant to be one of those people. I always knew I wanted to see the world. See how people other places really lived. I wanted to ride a subway to work. To catch a movie after 11 pm. To need an elevator to get to my apartment. I wanted snow in the winter and changing leaves in the fall. But somehow, I never made my escape. After LSU, I had three options: move to New Orleans and live with my dad, move to Texas and live with my boyfriend, or find a job anywhere but here and see where the road led me. I had majored in Psychology and wasn’t interested in grad school. That quickly dissolved option three as no one wants to hire an entry level candidate with no real skill set and a vague major, especially if she has to relocate for the position. I never did make it to Texas, and the boyfriend and I eventually broke up (a story for another day). Even moving to New Orleans, I found myself tethered to this Red Stick. My first job out of college ended up being in Baton Rouge. I commuted for a year before I gave in and moved back. Defeated. So every morning, as I make my less-than-ten-minute drive to the office, I curse the green trees, the Cajun inspired restaurants, the low rows of shopping malls and the traffic lights that are timed just so that I have to stop at every single intersection in the two-mile route.
