French Quarter, New Orleans. The city’s heart beat is raging. It is pre-Mardi Gras and everyone is in high gear. Mind you, ‘low gear’ simply does not exist in New Orleans. Arriving on a Saturday afternoon is like plunging yourself into the deep end of a very deep pool that swirls its way to a magical world. There is no choice except to join in. We head straight to Bourbon Street of course. With ‘go cup’ in hand, the wanderer’s way of drinking, we simply dive into the infectious atmosphere. Main dress code, beads. If you don’t have tacky plastic beads around your neck you’re just not ‘flashy’ enough, literally speaking.
French Quarter, New Orleans. The city’s heart beat is raging. It is pre-Mardi Gras and everyone is in high gear. Mind you, ‘low gear’ simply does not exist in New Orleans. Arriving on a Saturday afternoon is like plunging yourself into the deep end of a very deep pool that swirls its way to a magical world. There is no choice except to join in. We head straight to Bourbon Street of course. With ‘go cup’ in hand, the wanderer’s way of drinking, we simply dive into the infectious atmosphere. Main dress code, beads. If you don’t have tacky plastic beads around your neck you’re just not ‘flashy’ enough, literally speaking.
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