Light Snow at the Opera House
I spent the coldest night of the year in one of the oldest buildings in the parish . . . and I loved it
Carriage House Suite at Duchamp Opera House
When I first saw the forecast saying it would get down into the low twenties, maybe even into the teens, I did consider postponing. We are simply not prepared for that kind of weather in southern Louisiana. Pipes burst, the roads ice over, and heaters struggle to keep up with the cold. Would the almost-two-hundred-year-old building be warm enough? On the other hand, the extreme weather seemed in keeping with the spirit of opera, and it was too much of an adventure to pass up. Besides, surely the old building had endured its fair share of extremes. I packed an extra blanket just in case.
Duchamp Opera House—front entrance
Built in the 1830s from bricks made on-site using clay from Bayou Teche, the Duchamp Opera House has been through many incarnations—a venue for opera, a tack-and-feed supply, the Bienvenu Brothers department store—but until January of this year, when Mike LeBlanc, its owner and operator, listed a suite in the historic building as a short-term rental property on Airbnb, it had never offered overnight accommodation.
Duchamp Opera House—Main and Port Street
Today, there is a gallery (balcony) along the front of the building, but in its heyday, the opera house had galleries along all four sides, with an alleyway separating it from the neighboring building. Carriages would transport people between Bayou Teche and the opera house, and the final segment of the route was this alleyway, or carriageway, which at some point was eventually enclosed. Standing on Main Street and facing the front façade of the opera house, you will notice a tall iron gate to the left of the main entrance. This is the Carriage House Suite.
The entryway to the suite
I arrived about an hour before nightfall and parallel parked on Main Street, right in front of the suite. I unpinned the latch and swung the iron gate open, and just as I was beginning to fully feel the drama of the entryway, the bells of St. Martin de Tours, as if on cue, began to ring out across the church square. Time travel is impossible, or so they say, but the lesson I learned, even before I opened the double French doors, is that staying in this part of town comes pretty close. I parted the floor-to-ceiling curtains, placed my bags on the brick parquet floor and checked the forecast on my phone. Thirty percent chance of snow.
Custom Murphy bed and cabinetry
Do you remember when buildings had character? The first thing I noticed when I walked through the doors was how the entire length of the suite is the old brick from the original exterior, elegantly worn and weathered in the way that only the passage of time can convincingly achieve. The suite is the width of the old alleyway, but it isn’t as narrow as you might imagine. It’s bigger than an average hotel room, and it’s certainly bigger than any studio I’ve ever lived in; however, it is uniquely shaped.
Original brickwork
The long space is arranged shotgun-style. In other words, the rooms are directly connected without hallways. Narrow enough to require a Murphy bed, but more than spacious enough to accommodate two comfortably. From the bedroom, a second set of French doors opens into the kitchenette and dining area, where a two-top, a sink, a Keurig coffee maker, a microwave and a large refrigerator are provided.
Dining area/kitchenette
It’s the best of both worlds, combining the ambience of the 19th century with the technology of the 21st. I have to say, the wi-fi was impeccable. I made a cup of green tea and did some videoconferencing at the table before settling in for the night. Admiring the custom cabinetry, I opened the Murphy bed onto the floor, and took another look at the weather on my phone before climbing under the sheets. I couldn’t believe it. One hundred percent chance of snow.
Kitchenette with refrigerator and microwave
I’d barely stepped into my boots when I swung the tall iron gates open. The heartbeat of city traffic had slowed to a faint pulse, and it was too cold for any pedestrians. And something else had shifted in the few hours since my arrival. You know how certain plants bloom only at night? The buildings seemed transformed in the dark and quiet stillness. Less shy, or more alive maybe.
All of the familiar buildings downtown seemed somehow strange and new. I’d seen the pharmacy a thousand times, but it was like I’d never seen it before. The old post office and Robert’s Lounge, too. And through the French windows accordioning along the front façade of the opera house itself, silhouetted below the staircase against the far back brick wall, an old-fashioned carriage seemed ready to spring into action. I would not have been surprised to see it start rolling of its own accord, up and down the alleyway, as though the spokes of its four red wheels still remembered the path of the well-traveled route.
First floor of opera house with carriage
Walking around the corner, I noticed how the exterior staircase on Port Street had also come alive in the dark. The stoplight at the intersection splashed its ruby-red color across it, and I saw it in a brand-new light. There are moments in Louisiana, but especially in St. Martin Parish, when the division between past and present is so thin you can step outside of time. Like when I saw my elongated shadow on that soon-to-be-slippery staircase and followed it all the way to the top. Something about that bird’s-eye view of the church green heightened the feeling of timelessness. The steeple of St. Martin de Tours, crisply illuminated. Evangeline, moody as ever. And streaks of freezing drizzle falling diagonally in the glow of the streetlight, fading in and out of flakes of noncommittal snow.
Exterior staircase on Port Street
The electricity did go out that night. As I said, in this weather, things can happen. Apparently a tree knocked down some power lines in St. Martinville, leaving all of downtown without power. But only for an hour. I didn’t mind. The building kept me warm, and I didn’t need the extra blanket after all. In fact, the darker it got, the easier it was to hear the echoes of those long-ago carriage wheels retracing the living seam between the old and the new.