I returned Wednesday evening from a five-day trip to New Orleans, where I had a swell time wandering around, taking photos, visiting museums, eating in fine restaurants, drinking in fine (and not so fine) bars, listening to jazz and soaking up the local color, which was present in abundance.
This was my first visit to the Crescent City, and before I went my friends warned me about the horrible heat and humidity I would encounter. As it turned out, there was nothing at all horrible about the New Orleans weather in early May. In fact I considered it just about perfect -- sunny (except for a couple of thunderstorms that brought torrential, but brief, rain) with highs in the mid-80s. The humidity was noticeable, but not (to me) oppressive. I thought it actually made the air feel pleasantly soft -- unlike Bend's cold and bone-dry air, which rasps at your skin and sinuses like sandpaper.
Did I sweat? Yes, a little. But so what? Sweat is not fatal. It's not even all that uncomfortable, at least to me. You sweat, you take a shower, you're not sweaty anymore. It's no big deal.
But to many people in Bend, sweating is a really big deal. They dread it as much as catching the Ebola virus.
The first day of my stay in New Orleans I posted on Facebook that the weather there was 83 degrees and humid, but that I'd take those conditions any day over 40 degrees and snowing, which was the situation in Bend when we left.
"You'll get over that quickly," one of my Bend friends responded.
"Get over what?" I asked. "Not liking snow and 40 degrees in May? Nope, don't think so."
"Vs. heat, humidity and mosquitoes?" the friend said.
"Yes," I said.
To which I will now add: "Fuck yes."
*A word I made up based on sudor, the Latin noun for sweat.