New Orleans

In early April, we went down to New Orleans for a long weekend to celebrate my 34th birthday. Though my dad is from New Orleans, I had only ever visited once, a few years back, for a Saints game and bachelor party, so my experience this time around was much different.

We spent five days eating and drinking our way through the city. We visited the two best po’ boy spots in the city on the same day, stopped off at Cafe Dumont for beignets in between rounds of cocktails, tried our first fried alligator, and took full advantage of crawfish being in season.

In between meals, we explored the up-and-coming neighborhood of Bywater, walked the length of Magazine Street in the Garden District, listened to music on Frenchman Street, and participated in a second line parade.

There’s plenty of places that I’m happy to have spent a weekend in, cross it off, and move on to the next one. Not New Orleans. Since the day I left, I’ve been contemplating a return trip. The only other city I’ve ever felt that way about is my home, New York.

Second Line

The highlight of our trip was undoubtedly partaking in a second line parade, the tradition of a parade (the first line) that picks up more people as it moves through the city (the second line). While traditionally associated with weddings and funerals, there’s now one that takes place every Sunday, put on by various social groups, in different parts of the city.

It was a rainy Sunday and we were fairly certain this weeks parade would be cancelled, but we decided to make our way over to the start area just in case. We arrived to find a small group of people milling about, seemingly equally unsure about what was happening. After about an hour, just as we were contemplating throwing in the towel, a large bus pulled in. Suddenly, half of the crowd raised various brass instruments to their lips and all began playing a song that wouldn’t quite end for the next few hours. 1 by 1, as if being introduced as the starters of an NBA team, a group of people all clad in black and gold uniforms emerged from the bus, each showing off their individual dance moves. Once everybody was out, the party really started. The procession made its way through various neighborhoods, with people stepping out onto their porch, some joining the parade while others just danced for a few minutes and then returned to their lives. The procession stopping occasionally at a bar for the brass band and dancers to go inside and refuel while the party continued outside.

We stayed with the parade for a few hours and then split off to continue exploring. It was one of the coolest things I’ve ever been a part of, and I feel so fortunate to have been able to participate.

Since writing this, I’ve returned to New Orleans several times. I keep a comprehensive guide to all my favorite spots at Coop’s Guide to New Orleans