I`d seen New Orleans during Mardi Gras in 2007, which was one of the craziest places I`d ever been. Now, during low season, the French Quarter feels a lot different without the throngs and the thongs, the boobs and the beads, and the lushes and the lush. It does, however, have the same God-awful stench of trash and piss, on Rue Borbon at least. Without all the razzamatazz one can see quite a different side - for example, I had no idea that there were so many art galleries and antique shops.
I`d never before seen the garden district, a residential area consisting of the most beautiful Victorian houses on wide tree-lined streets. This was a pleasure to walk around, despite the heat. Of particular interest was the LaFayette cemetary, consisting of large family-owed tombs. Not just graves, but proper multiple-occupancy above-ground tombs. Quite a site.
Last night I slept in the dormitary of the hostel, about which I was quite excited. It`d been many years since I`d done so, and it would appear that in that time the roles were reversed. Before, I was the early-down, early-rising guest, who worried about his possessions and the noise of others. This time it was I who came home boozed up, everyone else being asleep, and then shocked when all these backpackers rose at 7am sharp. Weirdos.
Speaking `aboot` weirdos, there were a whole bunch of wannabe anarchists in the hostel last night. The came down from Canada to protest George Bush and his meeting with the Canuck PM and the Mexcian El Presidente to discuss forming some bizarre unilateral militia. They wore ditry Yassah Arafat scarves and smelled bad, so I got `oot` of their way.
By the way, that`s how Canadians talk. It`s hilarious, and Terence and Phillip from South Park were not exaggerating.
Last night I went out with some of the hostel staff for a few beers in the mid-city area of town. Everyone, even the local residents, was very Bo-Ho.