In December of 2025 I made my first ever trip to the US to visit my girlfriend’s parents and see the city of Houston where she grew up. As part of this trip, we ventured out for a three-day trip to New Orleans, the birthblace of jazz and the city of Voodoo.
The day prior Nola was hit with tragedy as a terrorist attack took the lives of fifteen innocent people celebrating the new year. I remember a sense of unease and serious questioning as to whether or not it would be safe for us to go that morning. Upon our arrival however I was touched by the tenacity and solidarity shown by the people of the Big Easy.
Wreaths and memorials were laid out at the site of the incident, not five minutes from my hotel. What was more striking though was the upbeat music that was played, the artists exhibiting their fine works, the poets clacking away at typewriters on folding tables. People here were deeply hurt by the tragedy, but they were in no way going to let it divide them or dim the rich culture that lights up their streets.
Live bands were at every corner to treat the ears to jazz, blues and more than a few renditions of “House of the Rising Sun”. Without question this was the most musical place I had ever been and I loved every second of it. A quiet night at a jazz bar with drinks and songs dispersed with light-hearted stories told by the biggest piano man I had ever seen topped the experience off perfectly.
My girlfriend and her mother both got Voodoo readings while I had my first ever po’boy sandwich. I don’t know about the whole fortune-telling thing but the food in Louisiana is enough to want to come back for more.
