The Unofficial State Bird
If New Orleans had an honest tourism campaign, it would include an asterisk. Come for the music, the food, the culture — and bring bug spray, because the mosquitos here are not pests. They are an institution. They have been dining on the residents of this swampy crescent since long before the French showed up, and they have no intention of leaving. If anything, they consider us the guests.
Louisiana mosquitos are not like mosquitos in other places. They are bigger, bolder, and more persistent. They do not politely hover near a porch light waiting for an opportunity. They come at you with purpose, in clouds, like tiny vampires who skipped the part about being subtle. Stand outside at dusk in the summer without protection and you will understand, on a cellular level, why the early settlers considered this place uninhabitable.
Swamp Life, City Life
The geography is the problem. New Orleans sits in a subtropical river delta surrounded by swamps, marshes, bayous, and Lake Pontchartrain. It is, from a mosquito's perspective, paradise. Standing water is everywhere — in the gutters, in the potholes, in the abandoned swimming pool three blocks over, in the upturned lid of the trash can you forgot to flip. Every puddle is a nursery. Every rain shower is a maternity ward.
The city has fought mosquitos with everything it has. The Mosquito Control Board sends trucks through neighborhoods spraying insecticide in clouds that drift through the evening air like fog machines at a concert nobody asked for. They drop larvicide in catch basins and standing water. They release mosquitofish into ponds. They do everything short of declaring war, which they essentially have, and the mosquitos keep winning.
The Evening Curfew
Every New Orleanian knows the schedule. You can be outside during the day with relative safety. But as the sun drops and the air cools — which in summer means it goes from unbearable to merely oppressive — the mosquitos clock in for their shift. Backyard barbecues become speed-eating competitions. Porch sitting, that most sacred of New Orleans traditions, requires a defensive perimeter of citronella candles, oscillating fans, and whatever chemical warfare you are comfortable applying to your skin.
The locals have their strategies. Some swear by certain brands of repellent. Others burn particular incense. A surprising number of people claim that eating enough garlic keeps them away, which has never been scientifically proven but does explain a lot about New Orleans cuisine. The truth is that nothing works completely. The mosquitos always find a way in. They are small, they are patient, and there are billions of them.
Living with the Swarm
You do not defeat New Orleans mosquitos. You coexist with them, grudgingly, the way you coexist with humidity and potholes and all the other things that come with choosing to live in a city built on a swamp. They are the price of admission for the sunsets over the lake and the live oaks dripping with moss and the evenings that smell like jasmine and night-blooming flowers. You slap, you scratch, you curse, and you go back outside, because this is New Orleans and the alternative is staying indoors, and nobody moved here to stay indoors.
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