Another piece of advice from a number of friends warned us not to leave New Orleans’ French Quarter. Or, as they put it, “don’t go anywhere there aren’t white people.” We took their advice to heart; we walked up and down Bourbon Street so many times we could’ve dug a rut. Glenn and I were impressed, and happy, to find that the party in New Orleans is not limited to Mardi Gras. Beads, Jello shots, flashing women (and men) and 24oz drinks were everywhere. Bourbon Street is lined with a number of different bars, a few restaurants, but also quite a number of strip clubs—as if there wasn’t enough of that on the street. Glenn and I were reminded of Egypt when we saw people on the side of police barriers selling “tickets” to walk up
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