Day Twelve: The Big Easy

Never has the sight of an apple been met with such elation. After days of eating nothing but carbs, meat and sugar, the produce section of Walmart is nothing short of heaven. Much excitement gained from the spice aisle – shame about the sister’s lack of enthusiasm. Her expression of desperation suggests we should probably spend a bit of time away from each other in the afternoon.

New Orleans is gearing up for the weekend. For ten joyful minutes the Calle Real explodes into life as a second line parade snakes its way through the French Quarter. I find a second hand bookshop with literature climbing to its ceiling and a heady silence clinging to its walls. I come out with four books, (note to whoever’s reading: if I reach the point of sitting cross-legged in a bookshop, surrounded by potential purchases and stroking a resident cat, drag me out before I inevitably bankrupt myself). The streets hum with humidity and music and I am hopelessly, gloriously, lost. Finally reunited with Hattie, we eat beignets at Cafe Du Monde and talk of ghost stories under the pooling light of the town’s street lamps.