And then — because apparently the city had decided I hadn’t had enough yet — came the New Orleans Jazz & Heritage Festival. Eight days, spread across two weekends, at the Fair Grounds Race Course.
I went to all eight.
Jazz Fest is hard to describe to someone who hasn’t been, because the music is almost the least surprising part of it. Yes, the lineups are stacked — legendary acts, rising local stars, gospel tents, brass bands marching through the crowd like the parade never really stopped. But what gets you is the food. The crafts. The sheer number of small tents run by people who’ve been doing this for decades, serving food their families have made for generations, because Jazz Fest isn’t really a music festival that happens to have food — it’s a celebration of an entire culture that happens to have a killer soundtrack.
By the second weekend, I had routines. A coffee in hand as I walked to the Fairgrounds as I returned each day. A spot near one of the smaller stages where I knew I could always find a little room to sit. People I’d see, year after — well, day after day, and start to recognize, nod to, eventually talk to. Eight days in, I wasn’t a visitor anymore. I was just… there. Part of the scenery. It’s a strange and wonderful feeling, becoming part of a place’s rhythm that fast.
Another great feature of attending Jazz Fest is attending after festival block parties. One of my favorite takes place just outside of the Festival entrance called Savage Fest.