New Orleans Solo Traveler-Adventures in Wandering the French Quarter and Across the Tracks

My blog is Observations from the Road Less Traveled, and if you’ve been a regular reader you know that what I love to do is try something that is off the beaten path, spontaneous, different or personally challenging for me. My recent trip to New Orleans was from an outside view, certainly touristy. I only left the French Quarter once. Still, I tried to operate without a plan until I needed one. The reason I wound up heading to New Orleans was because I pulled the city as a choice, out of a hat for my comfort challenge. To fly alone— a first for me. Difficult because of flight anxiety, but very necessary to really open up my travel world.

The thing you notice as a solo traveler is that people will talk to you more. If you’re with a companion you’re seen as already having a chat buddy, or you’re busy paying attention to them. When I got on my flight, my seatmate was a former pilot who spent the entire time explaining aviation to ease my anxiety. When I got on the next leg, a man asked me if I was going home. These two men were interesting because they spoke their assumptions. My pilot friend saw a wedding band, learned that this was a spur of the moment trip, and later remarked, “Do you work?” I educated him on my online teaching position. The second man wrongly assumed that New Orleans was home. I can’t say what he was thinking, but I think it had something to do with the solo flight. Perhaps my race? Perhaps.

Assumptions were the standard of the trip. To be frank, there weren’t a lot of solo black female tourists roaming the French Quarter midweek. I felt an assumption from the merchants and people around me that I was a local—that is until I opened my mouth and that sweet mixture of Creole dialect and english did not spill out. Actually, I didn’t want to look like a tourist. I wanted to explore the area, but unlike a tourist I had no map at hand. Shortly after my arrival I put my backpack away, raised my umbrella and just started walking. It was a hot afternoon and as the rain fell it seemed to rise back up at me in steamy wisps. Only the gung ho were out in the steady downpour. Only people with purpose. Mine was just to inhale the section of the city I had found myself in. Having been to New Orleans once 10 yrs ago and then never venturing far from my conference hotel, I never experienced the city’s rich fine arts history. I was amazed by the number of phenomenal art galleries along Chartres Street. I often stopped to shake off my umbrella and browse through them. One in particular, La Belle Gallarie, is devoted to the artwork and images of African Americans and it was incredible. I learned that it holds one of the largest collections of African American art in the US. The gallery has no web site to share but if you ever go to the city, stop by and prepare to be captivated.

That first day was short because of a midday arrival, but I did my best to pack in lots of rainy walks. A guy strumming an acoustic guitar while sitting in the window of a classic Orleans style house, caught my eye. The rain helped carry his clear tone down to the street. I was trying to be sneaky and get my iPhone ready to take video, but when I looked up he was above me out on the balcony and in seconds he had said hello and invited me to hear him play at a club on the next night.

The French Quarter doesn’t have a lot of vegan options so I had gotten the advice of my hotel to find Rouse’s grocery on Royal St. for things to keep in my room. When I found the store, I had a surreal experience by stumbling onto a location shoot for the Young and the Restless. I was swept into being an extra for the shoot as “Nick Newman” searched for his “wife” in the intersection in front of the store. (see short clip below) My day ended with a promise to myself that I would fill the next with even more road less traveled moments.

I woke on day 2 with so much rested energy that instead of going for a run on the hotel treadmill, I burst out into the streets and had a run/exploration deep into the Quarter. Stopped to catch my breath at a few galleries and made mental notes of places I would come back to visit after showering. Running by and seeing so many interesting buildings, I wondered about their history. This made me realize I needed to come up with some sort of plan, so when I got back to the hotel I asked my concierge for as many free tour guide pamphlets as I could hold. Up in my room I spread them out on the bed and created my own walking tour specific to my interests. Then I spoke into my iPhone with tips and directions and created an audio tour. I didn’t want to broadcast my solo traveler self to everyone. When I went out I had one earplug in and listened my way through every spot I had wanted to see, walking casually at my own pace. I walked through the Quarter, checking out landmarks (see slideshow below for pics and stories) and making my way deep in towards Bennachin for lunch and a much needed foot break.

By afternoon I had a full belly and was ready to hop on a streetcar and find the infamous Lafayette cemetery and the land behind the lore of Anne Rice. This area is called the Garden District. This was an adventure in itself, not so much because of the spookiness of the cemetery, or of the high brow weirdness of homes once lived in by Rice, rocker Trent Reznor, and actor John Goodman. No. My real adventure was when I got off the streetcar and instead of heading left into the Garden District, I headed right. I wasn’t carrying a map or tour book. Instead I had written sparse directions on a scrap of paper stuffed in my pocket. I mistakenly thought I was to head right of the tracks. Wrong. It took me a couple of blocks of walking before I realized this mistake. I started noticing run down homes and groups of young men sitting on porches playing cards, cursing, and drinking. This was about 2 in the afternoon. I figured I was in the wrong place so as I approached a woman standing on the corner. I said to her, “Excuse me, but I’m not trying to be funny…Am I in the ‘hood?” She laughed and asked me where I was trying to get to and said, “Oh child …yeah you in da hood. You in da wrong place. You need ta go back o’ dem tracks to da ga’den.” And so I did. Quickly.

My final evening was spent eating pasta and drinking margaritas at Pierre Masperos. I ordered one to go and made my way, slightly wobbling, back to the hotel to prepare for a night of live music at Preservation Hall.

My trip was quick and there were many things I wish that I had the time to do. I didn’t get to Frenchman’s Street. I wanted to ride the streetcars deeper into the city. I wanted to go to the 9th ward and see first hand the post-Katrina rebuilds. A cab ride with a vocal local was fascinating. He told me stories about the inside workings and history of the city, the horror of living through the days of the hurricane, post-storm life, sad politics, and the opinion of the driver that “the only person doing anything in the 9th ward is Brad Pitt.” (audio clip Orleans Pt1 and clip Orleans Pt 2)

See you next time New Orleans.

Links:

Bennachin Restaurant (link)

Preservation Hall (link)

Jamie Hayes Art Gallery (link)

Lafayette Cemetery (link)

French Quarter History (link)

French Quarter Walking Tour (link)

Garden District Walking Tour (link)

Garden District Book Store (link)