Everyone who visits New Orleans has strolled through the French Quarter at least once (whether they remember or not). Many shoppers have walked some of the three miles of Magazine Street's commercial zone, while football fans have made their way through the Central Business District en route to the Superdome.

But Hurricane Katrina created an opportunity for other parts of New Orleans to come into their own. One place that many visitors have yet to find is Freret Street, in Uptown New Orleans. And even some locals stay away, because of Freret's checkered history – which merchants and restaurant owners are doing their best to obliterate.

Freret began as a commercial area for people who were left out of New Orleans' most powerful social groups: the French Creoles, who governed old society, and the wealthy "English" traders and business owners, who dominated the CBD and built their homes in the Garden District. Instead, the neighborhood, named for brothers William and James Freret, became a refuge for Italian and Jewish residents, who shared the commercial district.

But population shifts took place in the 1950s, driving middle class residents to the suburbs, and by the 1980s, when bakery owner Bill Long was shot and killed in the doorway of his store, Freret was disintegrating.

Help came in 2001 when the National Trust for Historic Preservation adopted Freret Street under its Main Street program. Yet, the neighborhood took a body blow from Katrina, whose damage can still be seen, and its comeback never seemed farther away.

But seven years after the storm, Freret is a symbol of the New New Orleans, where a handful of business pioneers and long time stall warts provided the nucleus for its growth to take place. Bars, restaurants, businesses, and a monthly fair have popped up in a few short years, and the sounds of construction resonate as cars and pedestrians ply the bumpy street between Tulane and Loyola Universities.

"You could see the revolution happening with just a few places, and just a few pieces finally falling into place," says Greg Ensslen, a property developer and New Jersey transplant who has lived in the neighborhood since 1984.

Gallery: Freret Street, New Orleans

Until Hurricane Sandy slammed into New York and New Jersey in October, New Orleans was perhaps the biggest urban natural disaster story the country had ever seen. Seven years after Hurricane Katrina, the city has gotten back on its feet, regrouping after the storm of a lifetime.

Now, New Orleans isn't just rebuilding what it was before. It's beginning to move forward. Across, the city, new people, places and points of view are adding flavors to an already rich gumbo. People who weren't in New Orleans before Katrina are helping to craft the city's future. And places that have been derelict since the storm, and even before it, are coming back to life.

This New New Orleans has many of the elements of other successful cities. It's attracting entrepreneurs, through the same kind of incubators you find in Silicon Valley. Young professionals, like the Emerging Philanthropists of New Orleans, a grassroots giving circle, are contributing money and time. Big name companies, like General Electric, are making investments and creating jobs.

But the most visible evidence of the New New Orleans is in the city's food industry, which has doubled in size since before Katrina, and which has broken away from some of the traditions of the past. If New Orleans once rested on its food laurels, as critic Alan Richman proclaimed a year after the storm, it's not doing so any longer.

"The best thing that happened with that experience, with Katrina, was that it forced people who were on their knees to come back and compete," says restaurant owner and entrepreneur Joel Dondis (above).

"Whoever came back was going to get better. The beauty is what you see today."

Gallery: The New New Orleans

I just love visiting factories. After finishing my Southern Road trip, I've now been to 99. I went on my first plant tour when I was 8 years old, and my family went to visit Ford's Rouge plant in Dearborn, Michigan.

Like me, you can visit many of the car plants that have been built in the South over the past 20 years. (See here for a list – and companies are adding tours all the time.) But, what are you actually going to see?

Here are some tips to help you understand what to look for.

1) Robots. Hands down, people who go on plant tours want to see robots. And you'll see plenty at Mercedes-Benz in Tuscaloosa, Alabama. Pretty soon, it will have 1,000 robots in its body shop. It has some of the most interesting uses for robots of any plant in the South. It actually hands them upside down, so they're easier to repair and maintain. Robots do a variety of things on the assembly line, but they're primarily used to weld things together. Don't let the sparks scare you.

2) Organization. Felix Unger of the Odd Couple would love going on a plant tour. It's the primary example of how things are organized to reach an outcome. When you're on a plant tour, look at how parts are arranged on the side the assembly line – and also look to see whether there are many parts at all. In some plants, big pieces of a car, like the dashboard, are now delivered to workers in one module.

3) Atmosphere. Is the plant well lit? Is it hot, or cool and does it smell? Odor is a problem in engine plants, like Toyota's factory in Huntsville, Alabama. The women who work there don't bring their purses inside, because the smell gets into leather. (That odor is coolant, which is used because there is so much metal being processed.) On the flip side, I don't think I've ever seen cleaner plants than Toyota in Tupelo, Mississippi, BMW in Greenville, South Carolina, or Mercedes.

4) Flow. Car plants have a particular flow. The biggest ones, like Hyundai, in Montgomery, Alabama, start with stamping plants, where they make the hoods and sides and trunks from big coils of steel. All the metal pieces get put together before they go through the paint shop. Then, car companies take the doors off so that workers can get inside and underneath to add parts, without damaging the hinges (or themselves). You'll always see a "wet test" at the end where the car gets sprayed with water to test for leaks.

5) Staging yards. Outside the factory, you may notice a huge lot filled with vehicles – rows and rows of them. This doesn't mean the cars aren't selling. These are called staging yards, where the cars are lined up to be put on rail cars and transport trucks. They're busy places, with cars zooming out of the factory and into the yard. It's fun to see how many different colors are being made and which models are the most popular.

Finally, one last piece of advice FOR you, not about what you'll see.

6) Don't touch anything. You're not in danger of having anything fall on you, but please keep your hands out of the assembly line and don't push any buttons. Also, don't feel like you can help yourself to a free Mercedes emblem or a BMW hubcap. These things are expensive. And, many parts are lined up in sequence. If you somehow walked off with a rear-view mirror, you might wind up delaying the assembly line, and that would be some plant tour to remember.

In Alabama, they say that Huntsville has the intellect; Birmingham has the money; Montgomery has the power; and Mobile has the bay.

Soon enough, Mobile also will have airplanes, which will be built at a factory that Airbus plans to open in 2016. And from there, the same folks that brought you the southern auto industry hope they can develop a southern aviation corridor.

And while it's still going to be a leap to get from here to there, the South is where the Wright Brothers flew their first flight (Kitty Hawk, North Carolina), where countless thousands of Air Force pilots have been trained, and where there's already a small but growing aviation industry, in places like Columbus and Batesville, Mississippi.

But let's get back to Mobile. I drove down on an August Saturday from Birmingham, a four-hour drive that's legendary in Alabama for its tedium. (Actually, if you break it up with a visit to Peach Park, and you stop for green boiled peanuts and to see Hank Williams Sr.'s birthplace in Georgiana, it isn't that bad.)

Compared with the rest of the Deep South, Mobile is a city apart. For one thing, it's on breathtaking Mobile Bay, which is shaped like an inverted U, with Mobile sitting at the top of the upside U.

I have been a fan of the Detroit Tigers since I was old enough to hold one of the big, fat, orange pencils that they used to sell at Tiger Stadium. Through the years, I've heard plenty about Ty Cobb, the famous, supposedly mean slugger who set records that still stand. Since his nickname was "the Georgia Peach," I knew he was from Georgia.

So, when I spotted a sign for Royston, Georgia, on Interstate 85 on the way from Greenville, South Carolina, to Chattanooga, of course I had to stop and find the Ty Cobb Museum. Along the way, I saw other signs for the Ty Cobb Healthcare System, which I thought was amusing, and which I soon learned is one of Cobb's greatest legacies outside baseball.

Cobb wasn't lucky in love, and two of his three sons died young. Left somewhat adrift, Cobb donated $100,000 to build a hospital in Royston, and he donated almost $1 million in today's dollars to set up a scholarship fund for Georgia youngsters.

The Ty Cobb Museum is housed in a clinic that is part of the medical system. The gift shop, which sells the Ty Cobble-head and some snazzy fleece tops, is also the clinic office. Once you pay $5, you can enter the museum where there's a film, and exhibits that include Cobb's Detroit Tigers uniform, and his spikes, which he supposedly turned on every opposing baseman.

It's a tiny memorial to someone who's still talked about in baseball, a century after he played. But the bigger legacy is obviously in what he did for Royston.

Boiled peanuts are one of those delicacies where you either love them, or you don't. You can find them all over the south. They're boiled because they are cooked in salted water, and are then kept warm in their juices in an electric casserole or crock pot.

I first encountered them in a gas station between Birmingham and Montgomery, and dipped up a cupful to try in private. I wound up with a mouthful of hull, which I spit out, and peanut, which I liked. But until I got to Georgiana, Alabama, I didn't know I was doing it wrong.

I spotted the signs first: "boiled green peanuts." Then I spotted The Peanut Hut. Venturing inside, I was offered a sample of boiled green peanuts - green, because they've just come out of the ground, where other boiled peanuts are made from dried peanuts. Green, I was assured, are superior.

I also received instructions. You don't bite a peanut in the middle, and peel it, as I was doing. You take a peanut, and place it horizontally between your top front and bottom teeth. Give it a gentle bite. The hull ought to break open the long way, in two, revealing the peanuts inside.

Here's a recipe for boiled peanuts and a little more history. They are an acquired taste. But now you know the right way to eat them.

The South has its highways, but in order to get to some places, you have to take four-lane or two-lane roads. That's where you'll find gas stations. And in many gas stations, you'll find food.

Up north, hardly anybody I know eats food from a gas station, unless they're starving and it has a Subway attached. Down south, gas station food is its own form of cuisine. If you're fortunate, you can score breakfast, lunch, dinner and snacks in a good gas station, which may also have its own booths and dining tables.

At bare minimum, a gas station worth its salt (or fat) will serve breakfast – primarily a biscuit. This is usually a chicken, country ham or sausage biscuit. It is as far from Grape-Nuts as breakfast can get. I had resisted the biscuit breakfast until I was on the road from Birmingham, Alabama, to West Point, Georgia.

I passed a gas station that offered "Hot Biscuits & Full Breakfast, Live Bait, Hunting and Fishing Supplies." Inside, I bought plain biscuits. They were fine, and flaky, and filled my mid-morning needs. But I knew there was more out there.

I found gas stations that featured barbecue, gas stations with fried catfish (many proudly displaying a "raised in the USA sign") and gas stations with fried chicken. I found gas stations with a head-spinning, rainbow variety of frozen drinks that actually scared me.

I really struck gold at the Dodge's Chicken Store in Lexington, Tennessee. It isn't technically a gas station, but a restaurant with an adjacent gas station. The signs offered the trinity: chicken, barbecue and catfish.

Inside, people were jostling each other to get up to the counter. The variety was enormous and the prices divine: $2.99 for a pulled pork sandwich, $5.99 a pound for barbecue, $2.59 for a slab of catfish. There was corn on the cob, fried corn on the cob, hush puppies, mac and cheese. And, there were fried hand pies, a little bigger than a McDonald's pie.

Since I knew I'd be eating a big lunch, I asked for a small piece of catfish and a sweet potato pie. The counter girl looked disappointed: "Aren't you going to have any sides?" she asked. It was a perfect snack, and a terrific example of gas station food.

I can't stop thinking about Corey Burkett. And Tonya Williams. And the Burton family.

These folks - and thousands more - are southerners who have joined automobile companies to plot new careers and, hopefully, achieve some of their personal and financial goals. And the jobs along the Southern Road aren't just going to people who were born in the South.

During my trip, I met people with roots in Detroit who made a reverse migration from the North, landing positions at the foreign automakers. Others traveled across oceans, from Korea, Japan and Germany.

These are the people you'll see when you take a tour of a car plant. I got to talk to a couple dozen while I was on the Southern Road, and I was struck by the similarities and differences among the people I met.

All of them, it seems, feel the auto industry is their future, and the future of their communities and their states. Numerous times people said they felt "blessed" to have landed jobs for which hundreds of thousands of applications came in.

The pay for these positions generally starts around $15 an hour, but some earn more, and promotions seem to be readily available. These plants aren't union, and there doesn't seem to be any overwhelming drive to organize them.

You never know, as a reporter, whether people have been briefed on your arrival. But I saw more folks smile and wave at me than in any factory I'd ever visited up north. The employees in places like Mercedes, Hyundai and BMW are also used to being interviewed. Some have even starred in commercials and on the local news.

So, who's working under the roof?

Gallery: Workers on the Southern Road

I spent two weeks this summer traveling across the Deep South for Gadling, on top of a two-week business trip/vacation there in May. When the mayor of Chattanooga told me, "You have the heart of a Southerner" I blushed, but I also felt like I must have figured out how to feel comfortable there. The South is a little different from the rest of the United States – especially if you're a woman traveler. But I find it an especially intriguing and hospitable place for women who are willing to slow down and saunter. Here are my five Southern Travel Tips.

1) Enjoy the conversations. I found the South to be much like visiting France, in one sense: you say "good morning," pour on the charm, and don't expect to get away quickly even if all you're buying is gum. You should expect – and enjoy – conversations everywhere and with everyone, from strangers to waiters and farmers market vendors. I was at a rest stop in Alabama when the man in the next car ran after me. Had I left my lights on? No, he'd seen my Michigan plates and had relatives in Detroit. Did I know them? No, but I now know he and his mother were driving his little sister to college and it was a big day for them. Likewise, if you need recipes for anything, just say, "I don't know how to make this," and you'll be bombarded with advice. I can now make black-eyed peas, thanks to a farmer in Tupelo. Also, expect to be hugged by people you've just met. My daily hug count was usually three, and one day hit seven. Karen, my server at The Grand Hotel in Fairhope, Alabama, was among my hug givers.

If you mention Montgomery, Alabama, to anyone outside the South, you'll probably get a response that includes Rosa Parks and Dr. Martin Luther King. People know Chattanooga, Tennessee, best for the Glenn Miller song about a choo-choo, and others because they are Civil War buffs.

These two Southern cities, rich in history, now have something crucial in common: they've become car towns. Along with their places in America's past, Montgomery, and Chattanooga can now share industrial futures, one thanks to Korea's Hyundai, the other to Germany's Volkswagen.

And boy, are the movers and shakers happy to have their auto factories, probably no one more than Chattanooga's mayor, Ron Littlefield. "It's the Holy Grail," says the mayor.

His office on the third floor of Chattanooga's stately city hall is full of memorabilia related to the city's efforts to land the VW plant that dominates the site of a former TNT plant, just south of town.