One night in New Orleans

There is one area in which Kristine and me really differ. She likes to plan, I like to wing it. This means that we makes awesome travel partners. We strolled the French Quarter, took two guided walking tours and ended up with some locals talking politics and Nicola Tesla’s technology in a random bar. All in all, success!

Jackson Park.

Jackson Park.

Hanging with my loa homies.

Hanging with my loa homies.

Burbon street, the most famous of all the streets in New Orleans, strikes me as a blend between the red light district in Amsterdam and the back alleys of Copenhagen. In the evening, it smells like a club and half naked girls are trying to lure you into places like “Temptation” and “Barely Legal”. Every other building is either a strip club or a bar, with the odd souvenir shop and gallery thrown into the mix. We toured the old cemetery for some pretty interesting insights on the burial traditions over here, and learned the actual story behind voodoo. Also dropped by the voodoo museum, which was run by some old kook. New Orleans is a city of stories and storytellers, and the first survival skill you learn is to escape the locals once they start a never-ending conversation.

The fact that I failed to capture the lightning in the background only means one thing. I need a better camera.

The fact that I failed to capture the lightning in the background only means one thing. I need a better camera.

The night ended at Pirates for beers and absinthe, as well as conversations with random people about the governments weather control program, artificial intelligence and of course, the city of New Orleans. I’ve never heard Indian English with my own ears before, and one guy spoke like the old English colonialns from movies. Now we’re off to a trip of the swamps, before checking out an old plantation.

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