edmund breaks his arm in maine and uses it as an excuse to bully them all into going back to new orleans -- "where it's warm," he says pointedly -- but no one's complaining.
edmund likes new orleans, likes the unabashed fervor of the city -- still shockingly and heartbreakingly alive even after katrina. the french quarter is raucous, bourbon street moreso, and the garden district and uptown are stately, but in such a way that it's nearly tongue in cheek, like an amused younger brother grinning at his reckless older siblings. not that edmund knows what that's like, of course.
they're not working this time -- at least not yet -- so they get connecting hotel rooms at a hotel in the quarter, on the second floor with balcony access. "watch out for the ghost," says the tour guide from a ghost tour lucy drags them on, pointing at the filigree railing, and laughs an amused, knowing laugh before he goes on to tell the story. edmund tries not to dwell on the well-dressed man he'd seen on the balcony of the room next door, the one who'd grinned at him and who edmund hasn't seen since.
new york is the city that never sleeps, but new orleans is the city that's always awake, and edmund finds himself in lafitte's blacksmith shop with a hurricane in a plastic go-cup at five in the morning. just about the only things in the city that never close are the bars; it's the first place he's ever been that doesn't even have the concept of "last call."
there are parts of the city that are more touristy than others, but there's something very real about it, the grit and blood and bone of the city. everything has its story, everything has its place. even in the fancy houses of the garden district (the american district once upon a time), there are secrets hidden behind white columns and manicured lawns.
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edmund likes new orleans, likes the unabashed fervor of the city -- still shockingly and heartbreakingly alive even after katrina. the french quarter is raucous, bourbon street moreso, and the garden district and uptown are stately, but in such a way that it's nearly tongue in cheek, like an amused younger brother grinning at his reckless older siblings. not that edmund knows what that's like, of course.
they're not working this time -- at least not yet -- so they get connecting hotel rooms at a hotel in the quarter, on the second floor with balcony access. "watch out for the ghost," says the tour guide from a ghost tour lucy drags them on, pointing at the filigree railing, and laughs an amused, knowing laugh before he goes on to tell the story. edmund tries not to dwell on the well-dressed man he'd seen on the balcony of the room next door, the one who'd grinned at him and who edmund hasn't seen since.
new york is the city that never sleeps, but new orleans is the city that's always awake, and edmund finds himself in lafitte's blacksmith shop with a hurricane in a plastic go-cup at five in the morning. just about the only things in the city that never close are the bars; it's the first place he's ever been that doesn't even have the concept of "last call."
there are parts of the city that are more touristy than others, but there's something very real about it, the grit and blood and bone of the city. everything has its story, everything has its place. even in the fancy houses of the garden district (the american district once upon a time), there are secrets hidden behind white columns and manicured lawns.