The French Quarter, 7:00 AM

When I’m traveling for work, a lot of my sightseeing is done early in the morning, running or walking. In many neighborhoods, it’s the nicest time of the day.

Not so in the French Quarter of New Orleans. It’s all about idling delivery trucks, garbage collection – lots of garbage – and hosing the beer, piss and vomit off the sidewalks.

On my return trip 45 minutes later, everything was starting to wake up. If the Quarter is a woman of a certain age, with a drinking problem and an abusive husband, then by this time she had got her housecoat on, splashed a little water here and there, had a cigarette.

The smells of coffee and frying were steadily replacing the smells of the night, the first street performers and singers were out limbering up, and the garbage cans had disappeared for the most part.

Another day, another 10,000 tourists and conventioneers. Another party.