There is a little more I could write about New Orleans, but not much.
Bourbon Street is awful.
I wish I'd seen it during the day, had a fruity drink, and then not gone back.
at night it stinks like vomit and booze, and the crowd is obnoxious, trying to pretend that it's Mardi Gras, flaunting and flinging beads, yelling at women to show their tits. The locals hate this.
I hate it, too.
I did get to go for a long walk from the Quarter down Magazine, into the Garden District. I didn't see Anne Rice's house, but I stumbled on a cemetary by accident, and that was cool.
I planned poorly, and did all my walking during the day in black jeans; it felt like I was wearing leather pants in a sauna. At least having sandals on helped ventilate me. Iced coffees tasted like heaven. The air conditioning in the antique stores made shopping for enormous mirrors and trunks and things very appealing. I settled for a lovely scarf and a weird old keychain with some very old-looking dice in it.