MIRRORS IN THE BATHROOM:::: THE DELICATELY SEDUCTIVE SCENTS OF HOVE PARFUMEUR, NEW ORLEANS

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There are some cities I love but could not live. Kyoto is one. New Orleans is another. While diametrically opposed in many ways, both of these places are so drenched in their own atmospheres, so full of ghosts and their self-prolonging essences, that when I am asleep they pervade my dreams; insinuate themselves perniciously in my bloodstream, leaving no room for space.

These are places that could possess you.

I only spent four days in New Orleans, but it has made quite an impression. Compared to Miami, Tampa, and Anna Marie Island, with their clear, ocean-kissed florid air (and where I had almost dreamless sleep), walking around the so-called City Of The Dead, built upon the colonial conquests of an all-pervading, palpable Louisana swamp (the city is fading; sinking, it is the Venice of the Americas), the air there is damp, tainted; flourished. There is something inexplicably unsanitary about the place, somehow: not just the large numbers of shuffling, homeless alcoholics who walk through the streets and city parks like zombies, the jazzed up ‘sinfulness’ of Bourbon street and its fleshpot, boozy indulgences, but also entire districts, places that feel a little uncanny despite their tremendously warm and friendly atmospheres, places that thrill the imagination- the glorious Southern Gothic feel of the Cemetery Lafayette with its eerie above-ground tombs vampires, the trailing, succulent plants from the balconies of the French Quarter and its impossibly pretty and mysterious houses; the music – (all pervasive, everywhere, in the very water, it seems, music that at first you think is just there for the tourists to continue the city’s clichés perpetual, but which you then soon begin to see as something real, instinctive, inevitable: the lazed, rangy spontaneity; the true musicality of those jazz musicians scattered throughout who  pick up a trombone or clarinet nonchalantly, dismissively almost, as if they were casually about to  just blow their noses but then come out with the most fantastic, heart-real music of pure jazz intuition, totally in step with each of their crew,though none are probably looking at each other; pure improvisation that seems to rise up as naturally from their bodies and souls as the vapours and encroaching waters from the levees that flow up from down beneath in the sewers and up to the sidewalks; insidious, and everywhere, from down in the drains).

Yes. I can’t claim to know this place at all really, in such a short space of time, so forgive me if any of this comes across as being presumptuous or excessive. There is no doubt, though, that New Orleans is definitely a place of imagination. It is like a palimpsest, the present traced over what is past, but not succeeding, feelings ascending up through the membranes of actuality, piled on top of one another like the bodies in the cemeteries that lie there altogether in Cemetery St Louis No. 1, tens of thousands of them, stored together in families or anonymously, but shifting and moving with the temperature. Closed shutters. Secret gardens concealing former slave houses. The enticing idea of real Southern Belles, lounging on the terraces of their Antebellum trellised, abodes, fanning themselves slowly in the heat as they sip on an iced drink, sit prettily before the elaborate mirror of their boudoir: glass, ornamental tables of creams and powders, of lotions and perfumes; flower waters for the brow, headier scents come evening. Toiletries, real onesfoam baths to troubling the waters, talcum powders for cooling the skin; the ladies’ signature scents.

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For me, this mix of sultry, flowered sensuality and easy Southern elegance is quite present in the lovely Hové Parfumeur on Chartres Street, a sanctuary from the madness on Jackson Square, the cathedral, and a place where the perfume lover can close the door, shut out the world, and pick out something that us unique to the boutique, a native New Orleans Scent. He can then bathe in it top to toe, with those powders, and creams and soaps and solids that stack the shelves neatly, and willingly, in soothing, waitful silence.

Though the shop wasn’t at all crowded when I was in there, people would come in from the street into the hushed, sound absorbing space where there is nothing to do for the real lover of perfume (and these were: I recognized myself in them) except carefully peruse the fragrances, trinkets and quaint little objets that dot the place, many of the antiques, picked up by the owners on their travels actually for sale, one lady saying to me with a slightly haunted look: this is my favorite place, you know, I love it. I always stock up on my perfumes when I come back here. I can’t get enough of it. Have you tried Pirate’s Gold?

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I had. In fact, I had just chosen a dram of that very scent, in parfum, as it had been the first one to strike my fancy as I walked into the shop and then smelled it, intrigued, from the scent strip. First impression: Mystère, as in Rochas, shrewdly erotic yet fresh, with a brisk unwashed undertone, perhaps patchouli, castoreum, labdanum, an unusual herbal element (cascarilla ? there is an apothecary just down the street), and a powdery, ambered top facet that when on skin almost brought to mind Bal à Versailles, albeit more transparently. It was damn sexy at any rate, and it was no wonder this attractive, coiffed and soignéed woman of a certain age, hair maintained magnificently, should want it as part of her collection .

Yes, both of us loved Pirate’s Gold, a small bottle of which I got as a new perfume for Duncan, and it was the scent which he then wore for that evening’s New Year’s Celebrations (wild: boisterous shouting and singing in the streets, beaded necklaces being tossed, everywhere, all over the place, by champagne-quaffing, well-dressed people from the city’s most exclusive balconies towards the partying, upstretching crowds; throngs of people: families, couples, mad drunkards and homeless people surging through the streets down by the river front, D’s mother clinging on to me for dear life (genuinely quite afraid, as we sheltered in a door way and tried to not get dragged under by them all), but it did smell fabulous, both tender and delicate, rich, yet sexually disturbing, and it made a very nice entry point into an extensive collection of scents I found to be very well made and appealing.

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Ranging from fresh and light-summery, to mossy and old fashioned, there wasn’t really a scent that I didn’t like here. Elan d’Orange was an uplifting citrus orange blossom that would work delightfully in the summer heat, as were all the soliflores: Azalea, Ginger Blanc (a delicate white floral), pleasing sultry flowers like Jasmine, Carnation, Magnolia and Honeysuckle, but also a finely tuned lilac, Lilas D’Avril, that fit my image of a young southern dame accurately, with her frilled and bonneted, ribboned-up accoutrements.

There just wasn’t enough time to smell them all, though. Had I not been on a family holiday with more hours alone to just please myself, I would have spent longer there in the perfumery getting to know all of these perfumes (because, who knows, perhaps I’ll never smell them again). I looked around, smelled, and took some notes, but a cursory experiencing of perfumes is never really enough – we had snuck out before breakfast to be there at opening time (but before the itinerary for the day); I must have spent an hour there at most that time, and much less the second, when I went back excitedly with dollars in my pockets, like a school kid at Christmas, to buy the coveted bottles of Vetivert and Plage D’Eté that I couldn’t quite stop thinking about as we toured the city.

Every scent in this perfumery is available in either cologne or parfum format, and I love this idea. Obviously there are small, subtle differences in the makeup and throw of each fragrance depending on its strength and proportion of ingredients. You could wear them altnernately, one for day, one for night – the very best kind of layering. The house of Hové is chiefly known, though, apparently, in New Orleans, for its best selling and signature fragrances, Vetivert and Tea Olive (a version of the silver osmanthus bushes that I smelled in the air around the city, but which in perfume format I found to be bright and cheering but overly aldehydic and oily). Vetivert, on the other hand, was an immediate winner. Although the use of Haitian vetiver has been a long tradition in the city, with spiritual connections in the rituals of voodoo, Hové grows its own vetiver locally in fields outside the city (available in bunches to buy from the shop – you can scent your linen draw with it, or use it to repel insects, and New Orleans apparently gets a lot of those when the weather heats up). I like this idea very much. Something local, with terroir, rather than the generic niche vetivers we know so well that follow the standard patterns (sharpness: fruitness: wood). This take on vetiver is just vetiver, to be honest, practically just an essential oil suspended in alcohol, but the thing is it is a good one; warm, rich and earthy, real; direct, but not rough and tarry, as some vetiver essential oils can be. Although the perfume format of Vetivert appealed to me immensely as well (green, bitter and strange at first before it settles into a clear and tangible vetiver), the cologne seemed more approachable and balanced, so I bought one of those (already about an eighth or so gone – when I like something I really go for it), a scent I will wear on its own or in cahoots with others as I find the scent of vetiver very versatile. The other scent I bought in full bottle, this time in parfum, was Plage D’Eté, or ‘summer beach’, perhaps the least New Orleansy of the collection in some ways (most of the perfumes have something quavering, tremulous: mossy and spiced, this being the land of Creole and Cajun ( delicious, incidentally: I had a lobster bisque soup at Galatoire’s that was one of the best things I have ever tasted – I found, while I was eating it, that I had drifted off into some sensual, subterranean sea scape. Dreamy. Aphrodisiac. Uncoincidentally, I stopped talking for a while and so did Daphne, who had also chosen the same): scents on these themes are in the shop such as Creole Days, a parfum sample of which I picked up as I thought it made a nice souvenir, lightly spiced and aromatic but with a mellifulous, sing-song heart, like the accent of the people here. Plage D’Eté is a rather predictable choice for me as it is based on coconut, but as I found out on the voodoo tour that we attended on New Year’s Eve, coconut is also the usually proffered gift to one of the particular voodoo lua, or spirit guides: Papa Legba, which seemed in keeping with the specifically Louisiana theme but in any case, being the native coconut freak that I am, I just inevitably gravitated towards it anyway (in a past life I am sure I swayed from a branch). Rather than the standard creamy and milk-fleshed noix de coco scents we know so well, however, Plage d’Eté takes a fresh and clear-smelling coconut heart – pure, simple, and pairs it with glinting fruit and citrus essences, creating a scent that reminds me a little of Lutens Un Bois Vanille before it bit the dust, or perhaps Chopard Casmir, and its mango fruitbowl lusciousness. Unlike those two perfumes though, Plage d’Eté has none of the molar-melting heaviness or sweetness that can mar your enjoyment – I liked this Hové take for its unfussiness. Also the idea of a coconut parfum : the cologne was lovely, but the extrait was tighter, more precious, and it reminded me, almost, of a purified, more intense concentration of Malibu rum, something we got very drunk on last night as we danced our way through various clubs in Tampa, a memorable evening that has nevertheless left us like feeling like brain-dead husks as we cross the state in sleeper car on our way back to Miami for our final night here in the States).

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Husks. Yes, husks. Hové’s Patchouli is a husk. A very good scent indeed that one. A bit unclean, somehow, as the lovely assistant Ashleigh explained to me : ” Yes, our patchouli is dirty “. With obvious similarities to Pirate’s Gold (they clearly share some accords), this is a smoky, dusky patchouli troublant that would not be out of place in the niche collections of Parfumerie Generale and the like, only looser, more bodied, with suggestive qualities that make it much more natural and at ease with itself. I had put some of this perfume on my left wrist on my initial visit, and as the day wore on, its strange and souled character traits rose up in a ghostly and perturbing fashion: very characterful, very impressive, even if I don’t think I could wear it myself. Like Le Labo’s Patchouli (though with none of the meatiness) this spreads itself out tantalizingly into the air around it and won’t let go. It is inescapable: perhaps too musky and disturbing for me, personally, but undoubtedly one of the highlights of the shop. For patchouli heads who need something different, this is a must.

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As for the other perfumes, well I didn’t have the skin space or nose space to try them all. There was a gorgeous rose, Bulgarian, resplendent and honeyed, that may or may not have been Radiance or Serenade I got confused. A Kiss In The Dark was a little like a less complicated Shalimar, quite nice; Louis Quartorze sensual, powdered and beautiful, and Fascinator a sexy, androgynous aldehyde. As I said, because of time restrictions I didn’t get to smell everything properly, to my great frustration, though I did do my best, as Duncan went round the shop taking the photos you see here from every nook and corner and I chatted to Ashleigh, who really seemed to enjoy working there(apologies if that is spelled incorrectly). I love the idea of small, independent perfumeries with character, perfumeries that chime with their surroundings and give you something distinctive. Overall, in terms of scent design and aesthetic, Hové strikes me as being a bit like the Angela Flanders of the South. While many of the perfumes do have a powdery, nostalgic sensibility, there is also a streak of something quite modern and innovative running through them as well. Where Parfums French Bourbon, on Rue Royal (which I will discuss in another post) go for a more sweet-rouged, Caron approach, Hové strikes a more limpid, almost contemporary balance. Like the city itself, which is a living, modern city, a functioning, hedonistic place full of friendly, courteous and people with a flair for the humourous and the dramatic (so nice, warm, and genuinely polite – the British and Japanese could learn a lot from them, I tell you), the perfumes do also seem relevant to the current.

At the same time, though, you cannot escape the deeper sensation that the whole place, despite its volatile, still, voluptuous beauty, is essentially decaying : moribund, caught between two worlds (there is definitely something quite surreal about New Orleans; something heightened, touched). The perfumes, and the shop itself, consequently do, unavoidably, also look firmly in the always fascinated direction of The Past. They seem to embody that romantic yearning, the stories, the desire to not relinquish those essences that make New Orleans New Orleans. And this city, ‘The City Of The Dead’, is a place so palpably steeped in history, in blood, slavery, disease, and a beautiful, half-winking decadence, that in truth it would be probably futile to attempt to do otherwise.

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41 Comments

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41 responses to “MIRRORS IN THE BATHROOM:::: THE DELICATELY SEDUCTIVE SCENTS OF HOVE PARFUMEUR, NEW ORLEANS

  1. Neil, this is so very beautiful. Somehow you caught the spirit of the city I knew from childhood, still the city I love most in the world, although I seldom return these days. The scent of death is woven throughout the roiling boistrous life there, Eros and Thanatos dancing down every street and alley. Thank you more than I can say for seeing my favorite city so clearly and giving it to us to experience.

  2. Oh, and by the way, New Orleans is not “touched.” In the idium I grew up with, it is “teched.” As in “teched with a hand from the other side.” We meant it more literally than most tourists, you excepted, could ever imagine.

  3. judith dm

    I visit New Orleans frequently, my son went to the university there and stayed. It is one of my favorite cities in the world, once one gets off the tourist path. I know Hove well. It is my second favorite place in NOLA after A Gallery for Fine Photography, a museum really. One thing did stop me in your incredible piece, Un Bois Vanille bit the dust? Good grief, I hope not! It may not be the most sophisticated or complex but to me sometimes I need simplicity. This was my first bottle of niche and a scent I always, but always, have in my collection. I use it often. You have encouraged me to go to the Hove website and dream, and I will be visiting in the spring!

    • No, Un Bois Vanille is alive and well, but for me it has changed. I only like the old formula now.

      You know, I do wish that I could have gone off the beaten tourist track but with parents-in-law in tow that was difficult. I felt instinctively that I needed to see more, as I also feel in Miami, but I am still grateful for what I did see.

      Enjoy Hove next time you go: it strikes me as a lovely little escape zone.

      • judith dm

        New visitors to NOLA need to go the tourist route, many interesting things to see! Things like swamp tours, surreal! Walking the streets of the Quarter! Then, next trip seek out the unusual, and of course, there are the most incredible places to eat, which is worth a trip alone. When did Un Bois formula change? I know it has been going on and coming for a long time!

      • I don’t have any definitive information, I just know that I got through about three bottles, then was given one for Christmas let’s say about 5 years ago, and I lost all interest. All the dessert like fluffiness that I loved had been sucked out. It is nothing to me now, but if you got into it post-reformulation (and it is still quite a nice, woody vanilla) then you have no problems. To me the changes were too shockingly obvious to ignore though .

  4. Neil, this was the most beautifully written and perfect description of New Orleans I have ever read. It has been years since I spent time there, but while reading this, New Orleans became alive again in my mind and the memories started flowing. You truly captured the city I well remember. Thank you!

  5. Lilybelle

    What a fabulous read! You really do capture the feeling of New Orleans. I bought bundles of dried vetivert for my husband at Hove. He won’t wear fragrance but he fell in love with the scent of the dried vetivert. I have assorted soaps and drams of perfume from Hove, but I never use them. The scents that bewitch me in New Orleans only work their spell in that place and don’t make the transition back home. Just one of the those New Orleans things that only make sense in New Orleans and that keep me going back. 🙂

  6. Renee Stout

    Glad you got the chance to visit Hove and Bourbon French. My first introduction to them was when i came across a vintage bottle of their Vetivert. I now have drams of Fascinator, Habanera, Diverti, Spanish Moss, Pirate’s Gold, Flame and Mirage. To me, Mirage is the closest thing that I’ve smelled to Guerlain’s Djedi, which you recently reviewed. Flame with it’s vintage Tabu-like complexity is so warm, spicy and sensual (like the city itself) that I love wearing it while there on hot, sultry days, as it seems bloom in the heat and make me feel that I’m not just visiting the city of New Orleans, I am “of” it. You’re description of Pirate’s Gold was interesting. I’ll have to put some on this evening as I contemplate your take on it. When I go back down in February, I’ll check out some of the scents you’ve mentioned that I have yet to try. Bourbon French hasn’t seemed to capture my attention as much as Hove, although I do have and LOVE their scent that they created in a collaboration with Vampire Lestat Author Anne Rice called “Dark Gift” (they can no longer call the scent that since Anne Rice owns the copyright to that name, but if you ask for it they can still make it up for you as they know what you’re talking about when you ask). Your description of the city was spot-on. The city seems to be an entity in itself, separately from the people…so many ghosts.

    • I wish I had smelled Mirage properly now if it is like Djedi! Fascinated by the idea of Dark Gift now as well.

      I am not good though when confronted by huge lines of fragrances, especially in short spaces of time. I never know where to start. Still, I am happy with what I bought. So fantastic when the jet lag wears off and you pick up that perfume you got somewhere and know that it will anchor a part of your spirit there.

      • Renee Stout

        What a coincidence! I put on “Dark Gift” this morning only to open up my email and find that you have re-posted this post (one of my favorites) about New Orleans and Hove. I enjoyed rereading it as I sniffed my wrist. I’ll be going there again in March 2017 and will need to replenish my supply of DG as I am down to my last few drops in the small bottle that I purchased back in 2008. Love, love, love your images.

      • ‘Dark Gift’: what a fantastic name for a perfume. I never noticed that one. Next time I am in that city I am buying WAY more, and am going to smell them all properly.

    • Renee, I am lusting for to sniff these!!!!

  7. Grayspoole

    I’ve enjoyed your wonderful blog for several months now. I’m usually a quiet lurker, but I must make my first comment on your NO posts, especially this fantastic essay about visiting Hove. I’m not a native, but I’ve been visiting the city for about 25 years with my husband, who grew up there. It is such an enticing city, and it can almost stop your heart at times with its beauty and its ugliness, all mixed up together. But we always enjoy visiting Hove and Bourbon French, which are just beautiful. I loved your (or was it Duncan’s?) photo of the vetiver bundles at Hove–one of my favorite things to see, and sniff. (Tell me, why doesn’t every city have a shop that sells these?) I am looking forward to your post about Bourbon French, and I hope you recover from the horrors of your flight home soon.

    • Thanks for unlurking. I love it when people do that. When I started writing this I had no responses at all for quite a while and it felt quite weird. Now it almost feels as though I am part of a community.

      I love New Orleans and that whole atmosphere, and I glad you enjoyed the post on it as well.

  8. Reblogged this on The Black Narcissus and commented:

    I watched Cat On A Hot Tin Roof and Paul Schrader’s Cat People again last night. They filled me with strange yearnings: I NEED TO GO BACK TO NEW ORLEANS

  9. Ardis

    Great post – I’m hoping to visit New Orleans in this year finally – and reading this makes me even more 🙂 One of the most things I’m excited about is s/thing as trivial as buying a perfume from the city 🙂

  10. David

    Neil, Welcome to my city. Glad you enjoyed it.

    I’m a little confused by the comments though …. It seems that you’ve just visited here? …although I know I’ve read this post before.

    Is that true? Have I missed the chance of buying you and Duncan a coffee at Cafe du Monde???

    I personally have wonderful bottles of Hove’s Vetivert and Tea Olive (snuggled between the Peau de Bete and Eau Noire on my shlef lol) …. And I have a yard full of Sweet Olive shrubs (Osmanthus) as well. That and the Night Blooming Jasmine are mesmerizing in bloom.

    …So disappointed if I’ve missed a chance to meet you. If you are traveling, have a safe remainder of you journey.

    • No, don’t worry: this is a post from precisely two years ago. I will definitely go back though!

      • David

        I _knew_ I’d read the post before…

        Ahh… Now I’ve just seen it. The “2015” in the comment dates.

        Well, if you ever have an envie for anything ‘Hove’, if they don’t ship to Japan, lemme know.

        You hava good one.

  11. Oh how I loved reading this! I have never been to New Orleans (Now it is on the list for sure) but it is a place of my dreaming somehow. I feel I’ve spent time there in my imaginal journeys. In my twenties. A sensual and mystical place with decaying relics and customs still vibrant just below the surface.
    Interestingly when my son was a teenager he went through a pretty serious depression as a result of being in a highly demanding and rigid school program. He did not want to take meds or see a therapist and I was quite distraught. That year he went to New Orleans and worked on building houses for Habitat for Humanity on spring break. The combination of labor in the sun and being in the New Orleans atmosphere absolutely cured him. He came back a changed young man with stories of local characters, spicy rich food, and a renewed sense of joie de vivre. I am forever thankful to this city.
    Again, beautiful review.
    Happy travels!

    • Renee Stout

      Doreen, what a nice story about your son. New Orleans will do that to a person. It’s a very strange, but life affirming city as the intensity and extreme sensuality makes you feel alive.

      • Hi Renee, thanks for the reflection. That is certainly the impression I got from my son. I was so grateful for this experience New Orleans gave him.

    • I LOVE this story !

      I also truly believe that cities, places, specific environments have a huge and massive impact on sensitive people (some people, the more sturdy of nerve, are alright anywhere). I have an Australian friend who is as neurotic and oversensitive as I am and she just flounders there, starts to wilt. She has found her natural spiritual home in Berlin, where the people are right for her and the whole feeling of the place just nursing for her soul.

      In Japan, when you go to karaoke and put on ‘western songs’, you get the same crappy videos made in about 1991 over and over again, and one of them featured New Orleans, I think Bourbon Street, and it looked so ….ersatz and touristy that I was convinced I would never like it (in the way that I personally find Fisherman’s Wharf in San Francisco aesthetically repulsive and numbing but feel in love with more natural nooks and crannies of that city)…I never go for newness and bourgeois refurbishments; I just have a very specific aesthetic, which is why I love where we live. Not only do we have all the Zen temples of Kamakura on our doorstep but even our neighbourhood, while not only full of beautiful houses but also some quite ugly ones, is nevertheless not too NEAT ( I just can’t abide tidy lawns and flower beds: so UGLY). There is a certain unkemptness that I like here. Fortunately, New Orleans was also less picture perfect than I was expecting. Call me a weirdo but I NEED that ‘degradation’, that natural atmosphere, that decay, if you like. Or if not ‘decay’ specifically, than at least a place where human spirit and art shines through in some way, and New Orleans most definitely has that. I sensed it immediately. And how great that it had that effect on your son as well.

      You must go!

      • Absolutely! Each city or piece of land holds an energy, style, and life that effects us in deep ways. Especially for the sensitives as you so aptly put it. And interestingly for my son who was involved in a very rigid academic environment being among the degradation and decay of New Orleans was exactly what he needed at that time. I think it affected him profoundly in that it gave him an ability to see above any disheartening circumstance.

        Sometimes our relationship with place can shift too! I have been on the road for almost a year in some sort of massive transition from the place I lived for many years, Chicago. Picking up on the mood of place has become a true passion. Really must get to New Orleans. It cannot be that far… A quick couple days road trip…

        I think decay in environment can also represent our shadow selves. Acknowledging the process of decay brings wholeness to our psyches. So anything too perfect is unnatural and insulting to the soul, blocking alchemy. This is why people often stop and gasp in fascination of crumbling barns and castles. They are a part of us somehow.

        Similar to the creation of a perfume, eh? Without some of those raunchy or funky smells a creation lacks balance.

        Your city sounds lovely, sublime…

  12. Tara C

    I went to New Orleans about 15 years ago, before I discovered niche perfumery, so never made it to Hove or Bourbon French, must make it back there again some day. I love the idea of Lilas d’Avril, may just order some online. I also want to go to Savannah, GA after seeing and reading Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil, seems somewhat similar in ambiance to New Orleans, probably with less music.

  13. I read this two years ago and commented, however, I enjoyed re-reading it and the spirit(s) of NOLA came back into my head. I need to get three again.

  14. MrsDalloway

    In re: New Orleans, do you like Tom Waits’ Tango Till They’re Sore? I was just listening to it again and I do love it. Time as well.

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