travels.of.tara

New Orleans is one of my places, a special city that over time has wormed its way into my soul and constantly calls me back. I got to know it as a volunteer, rebuilding homes after Hurricane Katrina while chaperoning a teen group; and have returned several times as a tourist. It’s a city of music and art, of unique food, of dreamy oak trees, and of passionate and outgoing people that give the city its heart.

Spring was moving quickly, and I was eager to get out of New York while waiting for my bigger 2026 adventures to start. One day, I was drawn to casually check flight prices for a weekend in New Orleans, and saw that three weeks out there was a surprisingly killer deal. A quick Google search let me know those days happened to be the first weekend of Jazz Fest. I spent almost no time deliberating, and immediately booked the flight, the nice central hostel I’d stayed in once before, and a ticket to Jazz Fest. And so in late April I spent 4 days filling my soul, letting the good times roll.

The New Orleans Jazz and Heritage Festival, a.k.a. Jazz Fest, is a massive music festival that takes place annually at a racetrack and fairgrounds in New Orleans over two weekends. I always knew about the festival as an ingrained part of New Orleans culture, but had never attended, and intentionally didn’t do too much research about what I was walking into. My $109 ticket got me access to the event on Sunday (Saturday tickets were pricier and featured bigger headliner names), and I planned to take advantage of the full day from 11am to 7pm.

Sunday woke me up to a thunderstorm, but I wasn’t deterred, because the weather report had the day soon clearing into a swampy, sunny, Louisiana spring day in the mid-80s. After a quick breakfast in the hostel, I hopped onto the city bus to the festival, umbrella still in hand just in case. I was surprised at how empty the bus was: there were only two other groups of people heading to Jazz Fest (you could tell festival-goers by their folding chairs, large bags, and uber-sun preparation). The empty bus was strange, because bus passes are $3 a day and the optional direct shuttle ticket you can buy was $29, and Ubers aren’t allowed too close to the entrance. I started chatting with another solo girl in front of me heading to the fair, a Californian named Veronica who had been meeting her sister in town for a work conference. The driver told us the best place to disembark, and while the other three people insisted on walking the wrong way, my new friend and I made our way down quiet residential streets to the entrance, passing a few homeowners selling water bottles on their lawns.

After a quick selfie stop and immediately chugging water from my sealed plastic bottle, the first job was orienting myself on the giant map wall and making something of a plan. Jazz Fest is huge. Over a dozen stages of music sprawl out, somehow not overlapping in sound but still easily walkable. Some are in tents with chairs and most are in front of grassy fields. Food vendors crowd in distinct areas, and dessert and alcohol vendors seem to be everywhere. Artist booths and vendors have their zones. Several official concert swag booths are scattered throughout. Vibrant parades and bands march through the crowds periodically. There are a million port-a-potties and some nicer trailer bathrooms (worth the short lines – they were air conditioned!).

I started with a little orientation walk and grabbed a breakfast grilled cheese, before choosing to camp for a bit at one of the stages with a brass band. I had brought a small travel towel for sitting on; weak compared to the many people with blankets, folding chairs, and built-in umbrellas. There was limited shade, and I decided to use my rain umbrella as a shade tent – I was not the only person doing this. Later in the day, a woman asked to take my picture in this position; I like to think I looked happy and adorable in my makeshift shade tent.

The music at Jazz Fest isn’t just jazz, and that was perhaps a very important consideration in getting me to attend. But it all had a soulful edge to it, from big brass bands to zydeco to blues to gospel to Latin and more. And it was all amazing talent, even if not everything was my scene. The bigger names all play later in the day. For most of the day, I would pop over to a stage, listen to a song or two, and then move on. If I liked the music I would linger longer, sometimes sitting on my towel, sometimes dancing in the sun. Some of my favorite discoveries included a joyful singer at one of the large outdoor stages named Erica Falls, a soulful acoustic set in a smaller tent from Kristy Lee, and blues singer Chris Thomas King.

The concert goers were all ages, but skewed older than your typical music festival. I noticed that in the covered music tents with folding chairs set up, the older crowd seemed to congregate. Families were the ones with their full picnic setups, and many were camped out in the limited shade under trees despite being further away from the music. And the younger people were unsurprisingly hugging the front of the stages. But don’t put the unique music-lovers of Jazz Fest into a box: One of my favorite characters of the day was an older woman who was completely decked out in rainbows – a feather boa, tulle skirt, and decorative umbrella, dancing nonstop around the parades and in the aisles of the tent stages, having the time of her life.

The food included lots of local vendors and specialties, all displayed in booths with uniform signage evoking a nostalgic boardwalk carnival. Much like New Orleans in general, the festival food is not a vegetarian’s dream. We’re talking jambalaya, gumbo, red beans & rice with sausage, crawfish, po-boys, muffaletta, fried alligator, and so much more. I eat limited meat, but throughout the day enjoyed the fried chicken, a grilled cheese, bread pudding, pralines, and the most delicious vegan soulfood I ever ate with some fried cauliflower, from a vendor whose restaurant I’d long had bookmarked to try. I also paid $12 for a giant iced tea. I opted to forgo the alcohol, but it was everywhere. And by late in the day there were long but fast-moving lines for the water bottle fill stations.

I loved browsing the unique art vendors everywhere. I limited myself to buying a small necklace and a festival t-shirt ($45). I really enjoyed an official Jazz Fest clothing boutique that each year put out a special artistic pattern and sold all sorts of clothes in that pattern, and I noticed many people wearing the various outfits there. 2026 was a dark blue swirl with some orange flame accents. Some years were more literal and related to music or New Orleans.

As the day went on, it started getting more crowded, and it took longer to walk between areas with the slow-moving hoards. Around 4, I was ready to be systematic with the stages. First up: St. Vincent, a popular electric guitarist and singer who often pops up on my Spotify as a recommended artist that I would like. She was amazing, and the experience was elevated by being in middle of the packed, bopping crowd that knew all the lyrics. I stayed through most of her set; a highlight was a duet with the next headliner on that stage, David Byrne from the Talking Heads.

For the final headlining slot, I split my time between two stages, starting with the Blues Tent stage with Jon Batiste presents: The Swamp. Somehow the thousands of seats were completely filled when I arrived before the set started, but I got a good standing spot on the side, and seats soon opened up. This was a world premiere event that Batiste said he had been working on for 14 years. More of a theatrical experience than a concert set, it was experimental and unique and weird and kind of awesome, with swing dancing children and grandmas cooking on stage while Jon Batiste dressed as an old man played piano and melodica and sang about pure life in the swamp. The crowd thinned out during the long experimental jazz saxophone section, and while I made it longer than most, that style is not my jam, so I decided to check out the main headliner stage.

I caught the final 2 and a half songs from the main headliner, Rod Stewart, and they were awesome! That old man is so much fun, and the crowd was dancing and so into it. I knew some of the words to “If you think I’m sexy” and his finale of “Love Train.” Dancing women in short sparkly dresses joined him on stage with a concert-level video production in the background. It was a great ending.

As I joined the throngs making our way to the exit, I popped back into the Blues tent and caught the end of Jon Batiste’s set, which had picked up again with folks dancing out of their seats. Then I really left, taking a free orange from the medical tent folks and grateful for the healthy food.

Leaving the festival was an experience in itself: on the residential streets right outside that were closed to cars, bands were playing on the lawns, young people were barbecuing, and crowds were stopping to enjoy the ongoing party. I was really considering lingering to enjoy it, but I was exhausted and over-stimulated, and yearned to be indoors and somewhere quiet for a bit.

I had a little trouble squeezing onto the bus back, but there were extras running, and I politely asked to cut the line of groups and be the last person to squeeze into one. There was some traffic back, but with the sun fully set I made it back to my hostel, where I promptly collapsed into bed, simultaneously chatting with an older woman in my room who had also just returned from the festival. I forced myself to take a much-needed shower and quickly conked out for the night.

So overall, Jazz Fest gets an A++ from me, and I will certainly be back again in future years.

I did more in New Orleans over the weekend, mostly just walking around, stumbling upon live music, and eating. On Saturday, after arriving late morning and dropping off my bag, I explored the French Quarter and immediately waited on a half hour long line for beignets at Café du Monde, totally worth the light sunburn and hunger pangs as I waited to drip powdered sugar all over myself. I then hopped on a free shuttle to Mardi Gras World, a factory where artists create and store the floats and props used in the Mardi Gras parades. I had been there before and it is one of my favorite touristy things to do in the city, surrounded by quirky and giant art while learning about a unique tradition.

After checking into the hostel, I took a bus out to a residential area for a casual picnic table early dinner at Heard Dat Kitchen, which had amazing fried chicken and sides. The bus schedule was sporadic and reminded me to take it easy, and I enjoyed a lot of reading time throughout the weekend. I made my way back to the French Quarter, where I explored and spent some time talking in depth to a friendly art gallery worker named Tom.

I met my tour group at 7 for my evening experience, a music/bar crawl through Frenchmen Street, the best little compact live music area next to the French Quarter. I had done the tour once before; all the guides are professional and accomplished local musicians and they take you to see great bands. It was great dancing and enjoying the small music venues with a group for the night.

After my Jazz Fest crash out, Monday morning was actually a work day, and I was honestly looking forward to sitting indoors on a computer for most of the day. The hostel had lots of people working in a coffee shop-like atmosphere. I survived on snacks for most of the day, and when my last call ended at 3pm eastern time (2pm locally), I took a bus to a trendy diner-type spot called Turkey and the Wolf to wait in line and eat a collard green melt sandwich that I had been dreaming about since the last time I had it two years ago. I followed that up with a long walk around the Garden District and a phone catch up with a friend, and then a streetcar ride back to the hostel for a very short break.

Next up was more transit out to the Bywater area, a newer neighborhood for me that was void of tourists. The first stop was a wine bar called Bacchanal that a friend had told me about earlier that day, and despite it being a Monday evening was packed. As you walk in, you are in a wine shop. You pick your bottle of wine and perhaps some cheese, and then claim a table outside in front of a stage where live jazz plays in the background. I couldn’t drink a bottle of wine on my own, so I was directed to an upstairs bar, where I was able to get a standing/leaning spot on the porch to watch the music and the people. It was lovely. Next, I walked 20 minutes through a beautiful neighborhood and sunset to Sneaky Pickle and Bar Brine, a bougie restaurant where I was instructed to wait an hour for a seat at the bar. 20 minutes later I was shown my seat, and enjoyed a delicious meal of memorable gnocchi and an amazing cocktail made with tzatziki-infused gin. A great way to cap off the night.

Tuesday I mysteriously had no meetings on my calendar, so decided to play a little hooky while staying available for emails and messages. I headed to City Park, where I started with a nearly-empty Café du Monde location in the park before wandering aimlessly through the beautiful giant park – through the free sculpture garden, a botanical garden, and in the oak grove. I really enjoyed sitting on a bench reading under the giant shady trees, watching the occasional tourist or dog walker stroll by. A girl was teaching her 20-something boyfriend how to ride a bike in front of me for a while, which was very entertaining. I also found a section of partially-covered porch swings that was covered in blooming Jasmine, one of my favorite scents.

On the way back, I stopped for lunch at Lil Dizzy’s, and after a short line outside ordered my fried chicken and sides. It was amazing once again; another memorable restaurant from my last visit.

I squeezed in another long walk back to the hostel via the French Quarter, strolling along the Mississippi River for a bit. On the streetcar back I was mistaken for a local and helped a woman from New Zealand find an outlet mall; she was impressed about how brave I was traveling by myself, noting a few times being worried about safety. I kind of rolled my eyes to myself.

Back to the hostel, where I caught up on an hour or two of work, and then it was time to head to the airport. I was able to catch the bus there, and everything ran very smoothly, including airport security and the lounge. I landed back home at midnight, braved the M60 bus in the middle of the night, and made it home to shower and conk out before an in-person work day on Wednesday.

Travel always makes me feel good and full, but New Orleans really does it to me in a unique way. I walked so much. I ate such good food. I was around amazing music and art. I talked to awesome people. And Jazz Fest felt like checking something major off my bucket list. Once again, my soul city delivered, filling me up and adding spice to my day-to-day life.

Merci, New Orleans. Laissez les bon temps roulez.