New Orleans Jazz Fest

The Marriott New Orleans was like any other Marriott in any other part of the country--clean, comfortable, and just the right place to rest after a day out in the city. The location was ideal, within walking distance of everything we wanted to do in New Orleans, including Jackson Square, the Charles St. trolley, the French Market, and of course, the must-see (once) Bourbon Street. The pillows and beds in our room were extremely comfortable.

There was quite a nice fitness room, as well as a lovely pool, though the windy weekend made swimming a chilly proposition. The locker rooms include a sauna, but schedule a little extra time since the room takes a while to heat up.

I didn't know what to expect from Acme Oyster House, situated as it was in a very touristy area, but I was thrilled to have waited out the long line! I had some wonderful food in New Orleans, and this restaurant is at the top of my list of places to return. Oysters, crawfish, po'boys, fried oysters, crawfish etouffee, friend shrimp--we tried it all, with beers and margaritas, and our bill was under $100 for four people. It was absolutely delicious food--this is the real deal.

What an excellent place to start off our trip! Located alarmingly close to Bourbon Street, this bustling, line-out-the-door restaurant at first threatens to be touristy and disappointing. Fortunately, the opposite is true. Felixe's has delicious New Orleans cuisine, including huge oysters, overstuffed po'boys, and fresh boiled crawfish--and everything is so affordable, you can order whatever you want to try.

The back room is very casual, with fluorescent lighting and a crowded, messy oyster bar, while the front room is a bit more refined, more suitable to nighttime drinking.

Felixe's is just across the street from the Acme Oyster House, and though Acme is perhaps more famous, Felixe's did not disappoint. (And you can't beat the price: four entrées, six oysters, and six beers came to about $60.)

I had my first taste of the South this weekend when I traveled to New Orleans. The occasion was the New Orleans Jazz and Heritage Festival, a.k.a. Jazz Fest, an annual 2-weekend-long music and food blowout that draws musicians and spectators from all over the country. I’d been told by a Jazz Fest veteran that only Grateful Dead concerts had this festival beat.

About 70 musicians and groups performed on Friday from 11am until 7pm on 11 different outdoor stages. It was impossible to see everyone—even getting a glimpse of each one was impossible—and people-watching was almost more tempting than settling in for a performance. But I wound up seeing some excellent performers, including Susan Cowsill, Amanda Shaw and the Cute Guys, The Black Crowes, Ozomatli, and Wilco. They all put on great shows, but Ozomatli seemed especially suited to performing to a totally laid-back, giddily happy, well-fed, sunburned crowd.

The atmosphere of the Fest, and the attitude of everyone there, was unadulterated bliss. People left their inhibitions and their stress in the planes they flew in on and the entire day was just one big party. Cowboy hats, bikini tops, Jazz Fest T-shirts from years past, Birkenstocks, bare feet, and Mardi Gras beads made up the dress code, and many people carried beer cans and water bottles in insulated holders that hung from straps around their necks and were printed with the question, "How you gonna clap?"

I spent about 3 days in New Orleans, and the anything-goes attitude never changed—no open-container laws for alcohol means there were plenty of beer-carrying tourists decked out in still more Mardi Gras beads wandering around the streets. Away from the Fest, however, other parts of the city peeked through. New Orleans is obviously the end of the road for a lot of people, and many of them apparently spend their days loitering on the benches overlooking the wide, muddy Mississippi.

There were too many tourists around to make the place seem dangerous, but my Lonely Planet was loaded with warnings about walking alone at night, and even warned against walking in the grand cemeteries alone during the day. I did explore a cemetery and understood the warnings: the above-ground tombs loomed closely around the cracked stone walking paths, and with all those hiding places, mugging me would have been no problem at all, even in the sunny afternoon.

I didn’t wander very far from the French Quarter, and I suspect I went 3 days without seeing a true resident of New Orleans apart from restaurant and hotel employees. Early one evening, however, as I walked through the warehouse district back to the Quarter, I passed a porch where two weary-looking men were talking and overheard a bit of their conversation. "I’m just so tired of the whorin’ of the city," one said in a distinct New Orleans accent. "These endless festivals…" And I have to wonder what real New Orleans life is like, taking place on the outskirts of the Disney-fied, constructed "New Orleans" of Bourbon Street. I can’t blame the men for giving me disgusted looks as I consulted my street map for the hundredth time and headed back to the Quarter for dinner. I was just another tourist, part of the reason why the lovely Jackson Square is littered with palm readers and mimes.