|This is where these stayed.|
Last week I finally got to take a real vacation and I went to New Orleans with my husband and a couple of friends. Land of voodoo, Cajun food, street performers, Bourbon Street, debauchery and cobblestone sidewalks.
Those last two don't go well together.
I've been there twice before, so I really should have remembered that you can't walk anywhere on a flat surface, but apparently I was too drunk to remember anything. I can't even use the excuse that it was a long time ago, because I was there last year.
Lucky for me I packed a few pair of wedges of varying heights, and the one pair of stilettos I brought for the nice night out ended up staying in the suitcase. Between the cobblestone, stumbling drunks, bizarrely curved streets, and the fact that every piece of metal that has ever been installed is still sticking out of the street, the whole city is like hot heel death.
I saw two girls (who weren't strippers) brave enough to walk down Bourbon Street in a pair of high heels, and I saw one of them fall. Maybe it's out of character, but for once in my life I think I chose well.
|How to get through Nola.|
So the last day in New Orleans I woke up with a hangover and a twisted ankle, and a couple of bruises I still can't explain. I guess that means it was a good time. The pictures sure look like we all had a blast, and my shoes have more than a few more miles on them. I should really consider buying another pair before my next vacation in case I go to another place that doesn't believe in modern sidewalks.