I flew out of Auckland, and two planes later, landed in New Orleans.
I had a ( wonderful introduction to New Orleans. )Then I realised with dismay that I'd forgotten to bring with me
kauket's directions to the ( bar I was supposed to be meeting her in. )As it happened, she found me while I was ambling round Decatur Street, and dragged me off to a bar, for a really ( nice evening ).
The following morning was a disappointment in a couple of ways - in particular, everywhere appeared ( tacky in the extreme. )However. By mid-afternoon, I'd realised this wasn't entirely true, and was feeling a ( lot happier ).
People I met kept saying to me had I done this, had I done that. Had I been out to the Plantations, had I been on a Swamp Tour? The answer to all of them was no. I went to NO with the intention of chilling out for a few days. ( So I did. )
I'm not sure that NO is really representative of America - certainly bits of it didn't seem to fit with my ideas at all. But I did encounter my first Great American Problem there: post boxes. I had my postcards, written and (eventually, after some further ado) stamped. I walked round a whole day, and failed to identify a post box. Eventually, I asked someone. And I'm sorry, America, but they're not post boxes. They're rubbish bins. Sort it out.
Oh, and second G.A.P: all the money looks the same. 'Nuff said.
I had a ( wonderful introduction to New Orleans. )Then I realised with dismay that I'd forgotten to bring with me
The following morning was a disappointment in a couple of ways - in particular, everywhere appeared ( tacky in the extreme. )However. By mid-afternoon, I'd realised this wasn't entirely true, and was feeling a ( lot happier ).
People I met kept saying to me had I done this, had I done that. Had I been out to the Plantations, had I been on a Swamp Tour? The answer to all of them was no. I went to NO with the intention of chilling out for a few days. ( So I did. )
I'm not sure that NO is really representative of America - certainly bits of it didn't seem to fit with my ideas at all. But I did encounter my first Great American Problem there: post boxes. I had my postcards, written and (eventually, after some further ado) stamped. I walked round a whole day, and failed to identify a post box. Eventually, I asked someone. And I'm sorry, America, but they're not post boxes. They're rubbish bins. Sort it out.
Oh, and second G.A.P: all the money looks the same. 'Nuff said.