Tourist brochures flatten the French Quarter to Bourbon Street, but its core lives in the quieter blocks where balconies drip with ferns and locals slip through carriageways to shaded courtyards. Morning belongs to cafe noir and powdered sugar at a marble table, watching delivery trucks weave around mule-drawn carriages. Afternoon is antique shops on Royal, ironwork shadows on stucco, Preservation Hall's line forming under fading paint.
Night splits in two: neon hurricanes on Bourbon, or candlelight and jazz three blocks away. The Quarter rewards curiosity—step past the souvenir traps and find back-bar Sazeracs, muffulettas wrapped in paper, tarot readers outside St. Louis Cathedral, and silence in a hidden garden that smells like jasmine.
Stay alert on dim side streets, but do not rush; the old stones want you to walk slowly.