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Pirates, Cabarett, Jazz

Piratas, Cabarett, Jazz
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A city unlike anything else. We are easy people: we think Toronto is multicultural, we felt like staying in Montreal, we lived in New York, from Washington we thought it was imperial. And we arrived in New Orleans.

I don't know if anyone comes prepared for New Orleans, we didn't. Colonized by the French and Spanish and populated by descendants of African slaves, as well as German, Italian and Irish immigrants, the city is a multicultural and racial junction.

We arrived with threats from the Harvey storm that ravaged Texas. Here, except for the wind on the first day, it was not felt. We stayed 4 days, addicted to the French Quartier,
Upon arrival we went to lunch at a PoBo further away from the center and recommended by Anthony Bourdain. Recognition of the place where we were going to sleep and we took a chance with the mammoth until very close to the French Quartier.

We knew that New Orleans was the birthplace of music. We walked 100 meters and couldn't stop. We started to hear a bagpipe at sunset, the sound was mixed with the beat of a jambé, a woman's voice accompanied it.

Laughter, conversation, and the sound of a cruise ship arriving. New Orleans is surrounded by water.
A few more steps and someone sells art, others read the cards, fate, souvenir shops mistake them for witchcraft and voodoo shops. It's Wednesday, the atmosphere is calm. We pass by almost empty bars, in others with more movement, a girl on the first floor throws necklaces at a tree.

The necklaces are called “beads”, they are a kind of bead necklace. Very popular at Mardi Gras, our carnival. The tradition dates back to 1872, when a group of businessmen invented a king named Rex who threw almond necklaces into the crowd. From 1900, glass necklaces appeared that were thrown and that were a huge success among all, and began to be collected. The city is full of necklaces, on the trees, on the ground. But they say, we didn't see, that there are women showing their breasts in exchange for necklaces, giving rise to the expression “bread for tits”. It was easy for Duna, who always wears her tits to show, and received a necklace in return.

In a bar a duel of pianists, in another a band plays a more modern jazz, in a corner a saxophonist earns a living, a restaurant with live music surprises us with a more traditional band. Sound, sound, sound, melody, melody, music. We dance in the street, we are infected.

A daytime visit is promised, a weekend visit is promised when the city is in full swing.
The streets are dark and reminiscent of a city from the time of pirates, with houses lit by candlesticks. In stores, masks, feather strips and ruffled skirts are sold to invite you to any performance at the Moulin Rouge.

Ivo can't stop shooting pictures.
We spent Thursday in a cafe working on photos. We didn't finish until dinner time. Restaurants full of venues broadcast a football game. We had dinner around midnight at a pizzeria. The heat bothers you, the humidity doesn't let up.

We advance the next day to the French Quartier, it's lunch time. We make a trip to the café del monde to taste the local delicacy, a kind of hot donut. The sounds keep coming, the melodies follow us through the city. We thought we would find an area with no life during the day. The city doesn't stop. Artists tap dance. When we arrive at the market, we are infected with new sounds: a craftsman works, a man opens oysters, another makes jewelry using cutlery, someone serves a coffee. We spoke at length with Bad-Ass Uncle Sam. You can see more about him here -

We leave to return later, this weekend is long in the United States. Labor Day is on Monday. We heard on the radio that the city expects 300,000 people. We find out it's the Decadent South party, investigate and see that it's an LGBS party. It's Friday, the streets are full of police, bachelor parties, color, bands playing in the street, walking tours, people reading letters, fate, a girl plays the violin, a man preaches in the middle of the street .

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