Thanksgiving weekend we went to New Orleans (yes, this post is a few months late—things oughta be easier with instant-upload-everything, but alas).
My last and only time in the Crescent City, I was 20, a roadtrip pilgrimage to goth Mecca with Anna and Bennett to poke through cemeteries, corset shops and dance floors, adamant we had no interest in stalking Anne Rice. It was the middle of August. We didn’t know any better. We bathed in sunblock, Bennett sweating buckets in his full leather trench.
New Orleans was a ghost town, and I don’t mean it spooky. With the heat and humidity, we were essentially the only tourists, and the locals only came out at night (also: not being spooky). At the time it didn’t register as unlively.
But with this last trip on a gorgeous November afternoon, the Quarter was transformed—so many people, with so much energy, completely altering my impression of the city.
We gobbled beignets and coffee.
Then we got our walking around beers, propping in doorways to catch up on the game.
Here a gentleman cowboy consults a map while a tiny Santa huddles at a shot bar.
I hope to be back soon!