Usually, we do not play "tourist" on our trips to the Crescent City. Usually, we settle in a little town right outside the hustle and bustle of downtown New Orleans to visit with family and enjoy the hours away from work and school and people we know. Usually, we take a boat out onto the lake and burn in the heat while fishing. But not this time. This time we embraced the beautified chaos that is the French Quarter. Right in the heart of New Orleans the market and Garden District and pieces of history coexist in this glorifed area. Tourist-y places, such as, the aquarium and zoo and expensive gift shops lure those not familiar with the New Orleans charm into their traps; and I watched with amusement, all they were missing. At one point, crossing over the train tracks near the boardwalk, a tour guide led a group of people "oo-ing" and "aw-ing" over the enriched beauty of the Quarter. Next to the Saints winning the Super Bowl, I had never been so proud to have Cajun blood. Walking around downtown New Orleans confirmed my beliefs that I did not need to play tourist in order to see all the beauty in the city I love, because, being from there, I had it with me all the time, and in a year, I would be back, not to visit, but to live.
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