A year ago, I made my first visit to New Orleans. Instead of staying at the hotel where the conference I was attending and speaking at was taking place, my partner and I opted for an apartment clear across the French Quarter in the Treme. Walking the mile-and-a-half to and from the event each day was a treat. The mornings were a meditative time to explore the streets and take in the beauty of the architecture, but the evenings provided subtle visual and auditory magic on the way back to our abode away from home. The clatter of horse-drawn carriages, laughter and conversation tinged with varying degrees of intoxication, and music from indiscernible windows filled the air. And turning a quiet corner one night, we heard the gentle the whir and clanks of a bicyclist pedaling by.