Drifting to Bay St. Louis
A second home for Baton Rouge's well-to-do welcomes all.
A generation ago, Baton Rouge families with money fled to the North Carolina mountains for the summer. The next group seems to have found a looser version of that tradition much closer to home.
What’s happening: Bay St. Louis has become a second-home spot for some Capital City professionals. But you do not need a second house, or much money at all, to understand the appeal of the Mississippi coastal town, once known to plenty of Baton Rouge Catholic school families as the place where unruly boys got shipped off to St. Stanislaus.
Why Bay St. Louis: Retired banker Danny Montelaro puts it plainly: It is close to Baton Rouge, close enough that he traded a vacation place in Florida for one nearer home. There are no HOA fees. The boat dock is in his backyard. His family spends about six nights a month there. “It’s my sanity check.”
The draw: The place feels relaxed in a way nearby cities often do not. Local lore holds that after Covid, officials looked the other way a bit to help the economy recover. Whether that was an actual strategy or just what happened, the effect is the same.
People cruise around in golf carts, drinks in hand, drifting from bars to restaurants with very little fuss. Open containers are legal in Mississippi, which removes one more layer of inhibition from the proceedings.
"It has got a lot to offer: small-town charm, good restaurants and bars, views of the bay and Gulf, and very friendly people," says Jay Noland.
The atmosphere: Bay St. Louis feels a little like Key West on a budget, and it's only about 90 minutes from Baton Rouge, closer still to New Orleans, with populations from both cities represented there. The city has that same slightly ungoverned energy.
People wander around in pirate costumes. There is a witches festival. A shirtless hippie-punk rolls by on a homemade contraption that looks part surfboard, part go-kart and part apocalypse prop.
At Blind Tiger, you can get a cheap drink, sit in a rocking chair and look out at the boats. Thorny Oyster, inside The Pearl, is one of the better restaurants on the Gulf Coast. Mockingbird Cafe is a fine place to lollygag away a morning.
Bottom line: Bay St. Louis offers something that has become a little scarce: permission to idle, amuse yourself and look a little ridiculous in public. That, more than the oysters or the golf carts, may explain its rise.
