A city like New Orleans can offer the typical visitor all kinds of pleasant surprises.

The most pleasant for a temporary reporter in the Crescent City: People just really want to talk. On top of that, when they can’t get back to you by deadline, they let you know they’re sorry about it.

It seems simple, but take a minute to consider it from my point of view.

Working in Washington D.C., it can feel like even the unkempt man next to you on the metro has a media relations agent-and probably wants you to talk to his “people.” Prepared statements are the proverbial soup du jour for journalists in the nation’s capital, and it starts to taste instant-preheated-and it spoils fast.  

It’s refreshing to strike up conversations with area residents and just talk, like two associates, about something. Yes, a recorder might happen to catch the conversation or someone might get distracted by the gigantic badge that says “PRESS” dangling from our necks. But the beauty of interviews here is that they feel like genuine conversations instead of interrogations of the dismissive and press-savvy.

Born and raised in the Pacific Northwest, I’ve always said I couldn’t “do” journalism in the South. My stance on that weakened when two representatives from the same state agency called me back within hours of each other, apologizing profusely for not getting me quotes by my deadline.

Imagine that. It took a walk across campus and dinner to get over the shock of it.

“I just didn’t want you to think we were trying to shaft you,” one of the representatives said to me.

When’s the last time I heard that in D.C.? When is the last time I got the impression anyone cared in the slightest if they shafted…anyone?

Later in the week, photographer Mylan Cannon and I were exploring a neighborhood nearly recovered from Katrina.

While I was on the phone with my back turned, coordinating a ride back to Dillard, Mylan and an elderly woman had struck up a conversation on her doorstep about her neighborhood. Barefoot and in a nightgown, she welcomed me to the doorstep and the three of us talked about the neighborhood like Mylan and I lived there, too. 

Friday, I was fielding calls for another article and spoke to a man who stopped the interview to congratulate me for being selected to participate in the institute. He was a print-journalism major turned government worker and said he needed to let me know how important the profession was, despite the state of the industry.

The fast paced and indifferent culture of Washington did a lot to sour my image of public figures, government agencies and media relations departments I now consider to be the “black hole” of almost any agency.

It’s only fitting that the concept of Southern hospitality extends to the way people relate to media professionals here. I’m just surprised that when I’ve been trying to talk to people, they’re so enthusiastic about talking back and being listened to.

We’ve been told a few times that everyone in the city has a story to tell. I’m just happy people don’t mind taking a few minutes to tell me one.

I could really get used to this.