"Orleans, baby!"
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No one ever said that. No one will ever say that. Therein lies the charm of New Orleans.
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The streets are narrow. The pubs and restaurants are small. The live music scene is dominated by superbly talented but relatively unknown local bands belting out classic tunes. The milling crowds of revellers walking in and out from one fuel stop to the next seem strangely happy for people who don't seem to be the "Look how rich I am" type. Not having a Lamborghini is no problem in getting an entry into any popular place in this town. It's a party town all right, unlike any other, but more focused on enjoying the moment, less on boasting how much it cost.
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For the other half of the day when the sun is up, a warm sub-tropical cloak envelops the Crescent City. Walking past the vine covered houses with their wrought iron verandahs, some dilapidated, some bright and cheery, a trumpet chorus floats in from the distance. A little further down, the languid Mississippi runs through this town, a river both embodying its spirit and shaping it. For centuries, artists of all calibres - writers, painters, musicians have been drawn to the creative hum that fills this city. The cemeteries, the trams, the gardens, the varieties of neighbourhoods - all point to a past which refuses to leave and a future which will accommodate them at the cost of perfection.
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On that count, there is no conflict. This is the Big Easy.
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More pictures @ http://tinyurl.com/n57cfvb
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More pictures @ http://tinyurl.com/n57cfvb
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