New Orleans, Mississippi River

As the Mississippi snakes from Baton Rouge to New Orleans, its bends seem tighter, more pronounced, as if it knows the Gulf waits at the end. But I’m not ready for the journey to finish just yet. I have one final city to explore: New Orleans. A place so vibrant, so unique, that even Louis Armstrong tried to capture its essence and the longing it inspires in his song:

Do you know what it means to miss New Orleans

When that's where you left your heart?

Oh the Mardi Gras, the memories

Of Creoles' tunes that filled the air

And I'd like to see the lazy Mississippi

A-hurrying into spring

Stepping onto the riverbank, what’s immediate is the city’s below-sea-level geography. Levees, pumps, and canals thread through the city like veins, essential to its survival. Twenty years on, Hurricane Katrina’s shadow still lingers, with some areas recovering remarkably well while others are still struggling. Katrina caused a devastating effect on the city, so much so that its name was removed from the Atlantic Hurricane Names roster to honour the victims. 

As I wander the streets, the city’s resilience is written in its architecture. Creole cottages catch my eye first, sitting right up to the sidewalk with steeply pitched roofs and dormer windows. A few blocks over, grand townhouses rise two or three storeys, with wide galleries, verandahs lined with iron railings, tall, shuttered windows, and detailed gables that speak to French and Spanish colonial influences. Then there are the narrow Shotgun Houses, rooms arranged in a straight line—legend has it a shotgun fired from the front door would pass straight through to the back. Across all styles, details unify the homes: ornate cornices, decorative fences, and bright façades, each elevated to suit the city’s geography.

Wandering deeper into the city, I find myself in the French Quarter, the oldest neighbourhood and the heart of New Orleans’ history. Founded in 1718 and named after Philippe II, Duke of Orléans, the Quarter still carries its colonial roots in every street and building. Narrow, grid-like streets are lined with colourful façades, iron balconies, and hidden courtyards, many of which have survived centuries of natural disasters. Music spills from bars and street corners, a constant reminder that this is jazz’s birthplace, while cafés and restaurants fill the air with the smells of gumbo, jambalaya, and freshly made beignets. 

North from the French Quarter, I wander into Tremé, one of the oldest African American neighbourhoods in the country and the birthplace of Louis Armstrong (1901–1971). His home no longer exists, but walking the streets feels full of his spirit. His gravelly, rhythmic voice brings old favourites to mind—What a Wonderful World and When the Saints Go Marching In, songs I grew up with—but none more than his duet with Barbra Streisand, Hello, Dolly!. Louis also popularised scatting and blended it seamlessly with his trumpet playing. As I walk through Louis Armstrong Park, his larger-than-life statue, trumpet in hand, watches over the square, welcoming all visitors. Satchmo, as he was lovingly known, remains the King of Jazz.

Walking through Tremé and into the wider city, I feel Creole culture all around me. The mix of French, Spanish, African, and Caribbean influences shows up in the food, the music, and even the way people speak on the streets. Their accents are subtle but noticeable, and their vowels seem slightly drawn out. Some words carry a French twist, while others seem to have a singsong rhythm. 

The most famous celebration is Mardi Gras, which lasts a whole month and transforms the city. I can imagine the streets spilling with partygoers, alive with energy, the air thick with music, laughter, and the brassy sound of marching bands.

I take a seat on one of New Orleans’ historic trams, the carriage rattling over the tracks as I watch the city drift by. It’s a small pause to absorb the architecture, the street life, and the city’s rhythm before I head back to my motorboat.