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By Donna Smith Ammons

I nearly walked my legs off in New Orleans last month, while on a trip with friends.

We parked in a parking garage by Harrah’s at the end of Canal Street and then hopped on the trolley to the French Market.

We walked through the open air market, looking at all kinds of trinkets, carvings, silly hats and more. And then we walked through the stores in the French Market. I had to step in all the shops and look around. I found lots that I could buy, but refrained myself, since I knew I had a long way to carry my purchases.

I stayed in the toy store a while, looking at all the puppets and trying them out; pointing out books that my grandson would like; and reminiscing about all the old games we played as children.

We stopped to rest by the Cade de Monde and were trying to decided where we’d eat supper. I asked a young man in the information booth about a seafood restaurant we ate at several years ago. He quickly identified it as “The Crazy Lobster” and gave me directions. “Just walk along the river and when you get to the end, you’ll be there!” he told me.



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