A Fat Purple Fig

New Orleans has a lot of freight trains running through it…sometimes you get stuck in the car waiting for them for ages. The noises from them can be incessant after dark. At first, I thought they were foghorns from the water, but it’s definitely the freight trains.

It gets really misty here. One minute it’s clear and the next, you go outside to a veil of mist and condensation covering everything.

It’s rare to find a two-way street. In fact, if you don’t see signs, it’s safe to just assume it’s one-way. Driving here really takes some getting used to.

The tourists here are gross. I know I’m technically a tourist, but you won’t find me staggering drunkenly down Bourbon Street, wearing feathers and a dozen strands of plastic beads, holding my shoes and sucking from a plastic drink receptacle shaped like a bong.

You are allowed to drink on the street here (see point above). This opens up a realm of possibilities that you mightn’t have imagined. There were mini-parties all around the superdome on game day, where people had put up canopies and fold-out chairs, hooked their televisions up to generators, and gathered to watch the game.

I swear the cats are louder. We have met four, and they have all been incredibly vocal, looking us right in the eye, as if to say, “well, what are you going to do about it?” Pecan, the cat from our place, liked to climb the stairs and wait for us in the morning, full of complaints about life and apparently expecting us to fix them.

They locals really do call you ma’am…all the time.

Iced tea is really big here. Unsweetened or sweetened…they drink it everywhere.

Musicians are on every second corner. It’s a truly marvellous thing. I’ve always been a sucker for buskers, so this place was off the charts for me. Putting dollars in buckets has been a source of great pleasure.