Nicole Aaberg

Thank you for the music

I’m sitting down to write my final blog. What a crazy thing to say! My tummy is still full with pancakes and hashbrowns from Café Fleur de Lis (if you ever find yourself in New Orleans, definitely check this place out!), and here I am doing my laundry for the last time here in the Garden District. I remember the day before I left for this trip and how nervous I was. Worries like being away from home for an entire month, traveling with a group of strangers, or getting food poisoning like the time during my eighth grade Washington DC trip were my main concerns. Now having one more full day left of this experience, I would tell my past self there is nothing to be worried about. Sure, I felt homesick a couple times and missed my friends and family back in California. But the strangers I’ve been bookpacking with have turned into friends, and I have been fortunate enough to stay healthy (knock on wood). 

I could list off the things I love about this place. The people of New Orleans welcomed me with open arms. I definitely have the shy and quiet type of personality where I usually wait for others to approach me, so coming to a place where the locals initiate the conversation first has been great. After a month being called “baby,” “honey,” and “sweetheart” by shop and restaurant owners, I am not excited to go back to Los Angeles where the only thing they offer you is a sideways smile or a judgmental stare. The architecture, supernatural lore, nightlife, and food are also things I will miss dearly once I am back home. However, the sounds of the city, especially the music, is what I will miss the most.

I have wanted to visit New Orleans for a long time now. My mom has been here once before, so when I told her that I wanted to travel here too, she asked “Why?” and my answer was “Because of the jazz and live music everywhere you go.” It really is true that around any corner on the streets that there is a 95% chance you will hear some form of music whether it is coming from a brass instrument or percussion ones. On the very first day we ventured into the French Quarter, I saw street performers for the first time at Jackson Square. I only caught the tail end of their set, but it was a great first glimpse of the other kinds of performances I would get to see over the course of my stay here. 

The second line parade on 5/19/24

I would say the first actual “event” I had the opportunity to witness was the Second Line Parade on May 19. On Sundays during parade season, Social Aid and Pleasure Clubs (SAPCs) host these parades through predominantly African American neighborhoods. It was disgustingly hot, but I had a smile on my face the whole time. The bright colored costumes, flashy banners, brass band, and spirit of the people made me so happy. I have never seen anything like it before.





The amazing saxophonist at Cafe Negril

After submitting our first paper, my friends and I had a mission: find a jazz club. Once we had a destination in mind, we headed straight towards Frenchmen Street. Maybe it wasn’t the best idea to go on a Saturday night since the street was packed, but it was alive and bustling. Music was pouring out of every restaurant, and there were tons of people lining up to get in. Our initial plan to go to the Spotted Cat Music Club was quickly squashed when they told us about the $10 cover fee. As responsible college students on a budget, we followed the sound of music across the street over to Cafe Negril. And thankfully, it was free to go inside. The atmosphere was pulsing with soul. As soon as the band began to play, my body involuntarily started swaying to the beat, and the harmonies between the instruments mesmerized me completely. The trombone player loved interacting with the crowd and the saxophone player had some amazing solos. 

The most special jazz performance had to be when we went to as a group to Preservation Hall. I went into it blind, not knowing what the inside looked like or what the players would sound like. I was a bit worried when I saw how small the room was and that there was no air conditioning inside, only fans that plug into the wall or hang from the ceiling. My handheld fan definitely came in handy! At first, I was bummed that no photo or video was allowed during the show, but it was actually really nice to be in the moment with the musicians. These days, I usually see more phone screens than the actual performance during the concerts I go to, so it was a nice change of pace. Overall, I loved the intimacy of the small room where you were unconnected from the outside world to enjoy some lively jazz music. 

Not the group from Preservation Hall, but these are some really talented musicians in Jackson Square

The music jam at Tom's Fiddle and Bow

Of course, New Orleans/Louisiana is not just limited to jazz music. Delightful music is found in the most unassuming places down here. On a daytrip deep into Cajun country, we stopped in Arnaudville where Tom’s Fiddle and Bow is located. Every first Sunday of the month, Tom, the owner, invites the musicians of the community into his shop to jam out. When we arrived, you could hear the music from the outside, and on the inside, there was just pure joy. On the day we went, they were playing traditional bluegrass music, and in previous years, they used to have a Cajun jam session in a different portion of the shop. This circle of musicians went around and took turns selecting a song to play, and what really impressed me was that all of them knew what to do without any rehearsal. I have never voluntarily listened to bluegrass on my own, but the way this group of people played their instruments made me love it. 

I may not listen to jazz as much anymore, but listening to jazz music live has a completely different vibe. There is an energy that cannot be compared to anything else and it walks the streets of the city. So… 

New Orleans,

It’s been great, thank you for taking care of me, and I hope to come back soon.

Bonus — Here are some of my other favorite sounds of from the city:

Everyone inside Pat O'Briens singing along to American Pie

The sounds of Bourbon Street

The sounds of the St. Charles Streetcar through through the Garden District

A new core memory - listening to Take Me Home, Country Roads while driving through the country roads

Weathering the Storms

A comparison of the ocean temperatures between the year of Katrina (left) and this year (right)

I tuck myself into bed after a long day of sightseeing and being in the sun. I know it’s not the healthiest habit but my nightly routine is not complete without a quick scroll through TikTok (just ask Cecilia). It’s the usual funny videos, easy recipes, storytimes, etc. I guess ever since I arrived in New Orleans, my feed has slowly been adjusting to more localized recommendations like restaurants to try or suggested things to do in the city. I scrolled to the next video, and it caught my attention. It’s a video from Alexis Amber and it shows a tweet that compares the record temperature anomalies for the year of Hurricane Katrina with the forecasted temperatures for this year. And the difference is scary…


I glance at the date – May 22, only nine more days until this year’s hurricane season officially starts. Naturally, after seeing that one TikTok, I go down the rabbit hole and do my own investigations on forecasted predictions for the 2024 year. Videos from Accuweather, Tracking the Weather, and residents of Florida, Louisiana, and Texas filled me in on what is to be expected. A general consensus is that it will be record breaking and above average, or in other words, “a supercharged season from hell.” Yikes! I also learned that a new scientific paper published in the journal of the National Academy proposed the question: with global warming and the potential for larger, more intense hurricanes in the years to come, do we need to add a category six to the Saffir Simpson scale? I am no expert on hurricanes whatsoever, but I found this extremely alarming after all the information I have gathered. Looking at a list of the strongest hurricanes on record, they are all classified as category fives with wind speeds ranging from 175-190 mph. However, a video clip from meteorologist Mike Iscovitz from Houston discusses the possibility of adding another category and makes a valid point: what if some of the category fives have been classified as a category six, and would it have made any difference in preparation or in the loss of lives? It’s crazy how much you can learn after stumbling upon a particular video, but the timing was surely freaky. I uncovered all of this while I was in the middle of reading The Yellow House by Sarah M. Broom. I have just finished reading Movement III which focuses on Hurricane Katrina and its path of ruin in Sarah’s life. 

Getting caught in the rain in Jackson Square

Not to run an old joke into the ground, but as a native Southern Californian, I really do not get to see a whole lot of weather (rain). Every day for the past couple days, rain, thunder and lightning have been part of the forecast. I would say I am intimidated but also in awe of the thunderstorms I have experienced so far. Intimidated because the thunder can be LOUD and in awe because of how quickly the storms can roll in and how heavy the rain can pour. Thankfully, I have only experienced thunderstorms on this trip. Hurricanes, however… Those scare me because I have seen the damage that has been done by previous ones from years past. 

I am no stranger to natural disasters. Just not the ones that involve water. Wildfires pose a threat to my family and our home each year. In November of 2018, the Woolsey Fire forced me, my family, and countless other families to evacuate. The fire burned over 96,000 acres and scorched the entire hill directly across the street from my house. I remember the night we evacuated to my grandma’s house, watching the live coverage on television, and seeing my neighborhood being surrounded by flames. We were unable to sleep as we were only thinking about if we would have a home to return to. Reading about how Katrina completely uprooted Sarah’s life in The Yellow House was something I resonated with. Although I did not lose my house, just the mere thought of how close I was to losing the only place I have ever called home was enough to send me into despair. I honestly have no clue how Sarah dealt with the loss of her home. I don’t know how anyone can deal with the loss of their home. Sarah and I share the same kind of relationship with our houses in the sense that we have never lived anywhere else. Memories, good and bad, are also residents that live within the walls of your home. Having to say goodbye to material possessions as well as the emotional ties at the same time is something I never want to have to do for real. 

““The house contained all of my frustrations and many of my aspirations, the hopes that it would one day shine again like it did in the world before me.””
— Sarah M. Broom, The Yellow House

Visiting the Presbytere and viewing exhibits that educate people about the impact of Hurricane Katrina put a lot of things into perspective. For instance, I was only three years old when Katrina hit, so I do not hold any personal memories of the event, but seeing the amount of loss in property and, more importantly, human lives was sincerely eye-opening. In her memoir, Sarah Broom reflects on how her entire family along with her community in New Orleans East experienced displacement because everything was now underwater. The Broom family had to scatter and evacuate to different parts of the country, the fear of knowing the chances of having a home to go back to being slim to none. This is one of the worst feelings in the world because the worrying and nerves are constant. My experiences with natural disasters and evacuations thankfully have never led to my home being completely destroyed, otherwise I would struggle with finding a substitute or replacement for it. Broom wrestles with the idea of what home means to her after the Yellow House is ultimately demolished, and she comes to a realization:

““Houses provide a frame that bears us up. Without that physical structure, we are the house that bears itself up. I was now the house.””
— Sarah M. Broom, The Yellow House

This has to be one of my favorite quotes from the memoir because Broom assures readers that all is not lost. In the literal sense, houses are physical structures that give us support, stability, and security. When they are destroyed, the feeling of this physical support can be lost. However, by finding the strength within yourself, you gain the properties of a house and become a person who can be resilient on their own and provide strength to themselves and other people around them. Seeing the empty lot of where the Yellow House once stood at 4121 Wilson Ave was surreal. Even looking at the other empty lots in the Lower Ninth Ward with my own eyes gave me goosebumps. It’s one thing reading about the destruction left behind by Katrina, but actually seeing the neglected spaces of ruins and grass forces you to reflect on the countless lives that were forever changed because of this event. Despite all the gnarly predictions that are in the hurricane forecasts this year, I pray that we never see the same level or worse amounts of destruction that Hurricane Katrina left nearly almost 20 years ago.

Remembering is a chair that is hard to sit in

When I noticed in our schedule that we would be taking a tour of a plantation, I did not know what to expect. I have visited Mount Vernon twice – once when I was in elementary school with my parents and the other time with my fellow classmates on my eighth grade Washington DC trip. I went because I was told it is a “historical landmark” and that it was the estate that belonged to the first President of the United States of America. Although its history of being a plantation is not completely ignored, it’s put on the back burner while the life and legacy of George Washington is what attracts tourists to come visit. The word “plantation” isn’t even in the official name, it’s just “Mount Vernon.” Even though I have taken multiple tours there, I think I was too young to truly process what a plantation even was and what that implied. My memory is a bit fuzzy, but I barely remember hearing about the lives and treatment of enslaved people at Mount Vernon. It would be interesting to go back today and see if I am mistaken or if it has changed. When learning about the Whitney Plantation during the days leading up to our visit, the thing that shocked me the most is that it is considered to be the first plantation museum that focuses entirely on the lives of the enslaved, and it has only been open for ten years. Unsurprisingly, other plantation museums in the South eerily remind me of Mount Vernon in the sense that they choose to focus on the wealthy White owners, their estates, and what was grown/produced there. A quick side note, but I was totally taken aback when I heard about “plantation weddings.” Yeah, my jaw dropped at the insensitivity too. It is honestly disappointing that in the year of 2024, some still choose to ignore the appalling sides of history. However, it is especially important to remember such histories in order to learn and prevent these horrors from happening again. 

I will be honest when I say that walking around the Whitney Plantation felt strange. I did not want to think about if I was standing in the same spot someone suffered or even died. It is gruesome to think about, but the thoughts were hard to ignore. We took a self-guided tour which was very informative and offered an immersive experience that unraveled slavery at the Whitney Plantation and its impact on American history. As I was on the tour, I took in my surroundings. Fields of green grass, pathways lined with live oaks, little pockets of water, and diverse wildlife almost distracts you from the purpose of your visit. It is hard to appreciate the naturalistic beauties of a place like this when its history is tied to enslavement. In general, the tour presented me with fresh perspectives from groups of people whose stories would have otherwise been lost to the past. In my opinion, the Whitney Plantation does an amazing job of humanizing the countless lives that endured each day they were there. Whether it was from the audio guide or from the memorials, I liked the inclusion of direct quotes, stories, and testimonies from the enslaved people who lived there since it added a lot to the experience because there is no better source than first-hand accounts. Even if I did not have prior knowledge of the museum, I would still have picked up on the sense that their main mission is to inform people the truths about slavery. In our interview with one of the employees, one of the stories that stood out to me was that he has seen a person wearing a MAGA hat on the way in and tossing it in the trash on the way out. This was astonishing to hear, I almost could not believe it. It proves how powerful a place like the Whitney Plantation museum is and how it is still very relevant in our world today because it lays down the parts of history America is sometimes scared to confront. And by confronting these realities, imagine how many other people can witness new perspectives and change their own. 

““Remembering is a chair that is hard to sit still in.””
— Sarah M. Broom, The Yellow House

This quote by author Sarah M. Broom in her memoir The Yellow House is a perfect encapsulation about the idea of memory. Good or bad, memory is dynamic in the way that it often brings up emotions, making it a challenge to “sit still” with them. This quote from Sarah is a reflection on the memories in her own personal life, but its message is applicable to the memory of slavery. With history as complex as slavery in America, there are an innumerable amount of emotions that come to mind: anger, resentment, shame, guilt, grief, admiration, compassion, etc. From a historical standpoint, it is crucial to have a deep understanding of slavery not only to refrain from repeating the mistakes of the past, but also to understand current political and social movements in our country. Cultural and familial memory of enslavement is also important. Descendants of enslaved people are the voices for their relatives, and they are able to share their stories in order to preserve the traditions and resilience of their ancestors. These memories also help shape the personal identities and affect the connection these individuals share with their ancestors and how they understand their place in the world.

At the end of our tour at the Whitney, there is a wall in the gift shop that lets visitors express what they thought about the tour. This was my favorite part because I got to go through the candid reactions of people who came there before me. I shared a lot of the same sentiments people wrote down on their sticky notes, but one stood out to me in particular. It read: “I am my ancestors dream.” This sticky note is a powerful display of resilience, hope, and progress, but it also embodies a feeling of pride. The dream of their enslaved ancestors, freedom and a better future for their family succeeding them, has been fulfilled.

Mortals Amongst the Immortal

An example of the architectural style in the French Quarter

“There was no city in America like New Orleans.”
— Anne Rice, Interview with the Vampire

This is one of my initial thoughts when I arrived in the city. I could not put my finger on it at first, but New Orleans feels familiar yet foreign to me. On our first day walking around town, I thought to myself that this city resembles a blend of other cities I have visited. The Central Business District reminds me of New York City, Canal Street resembles Hollywood Blvd and the Las Vegas Strip, and the French Quarter has the qualities of a French/Spanish neighborhood town. 

I am sitting here writing this blog one week later, and I still feel like I have barely scratched the surface on things to do and see here. Yet, there is also a feeling that I have been here for months, even years! The amount of rich history that exists here is extensive and the evidence of it lies within the gas lit lanterns that hang outside homes and shops, old oaks and trees adorned with Spanish moss, weathered cobblestone sidewalks, and structures showing off their faded pastel colors.

There is a timeless charm about the city. With centuries of history seamlessly stitched together, New Orleans itself shows signs of immortality, making it the perfect home for… You guessed it… Vampires! Before this course, Anne Rice’s Interview with the Vampire was one of the books I was looking forward to reading the most since I’ve watched the AMC TV series adaptation, but I just never got around to reading the actual books. And boy, what a different experience it was. 

Since we started reading the book before we left Grand Isle, I was relying on Rice’s descriptions of New Orleans and the swamps to conjure up the setting in my head. Thankfully, one of our little detours before entering the city was a swamp tour. This activity was the one I was anticipating the most because 1) I have never seen an alligator before in my life and 2) my favorite animal is a raccoon and the tour site promised that I was guaranteed to see them. My only preconceptions of swamps were based on what I have seen so far from looking out of the van window and from films/television. Let’s just say the swamp tour did not disappoint. I was instantly entranced by the tall cypress trees draped with Spanish moss making it look like they came straight off of a postcard. The murky waters were completely still other than the ripples caused by the boat and alligators swimming nearby. The surrounding air was filled with an earthy musk and sat heavily with a little breeze of air every now and then so it was not entirely suffocating. And… the sounds. I am not used to cicadas, and I know they are not popular amongst the locals, but their persistent hum almost acted like a heartbeat for the swamp. Mixed with the soft croaks of frogs and faint cries of birds flying overhead, I believe they brought the scenery to life. There is an eerie tranquility about the swamp, the sights and sounds lure you in and tuck you away from the rest of the world.

“And there were the sounds of the swamp, a chorus of creatures, the cry of birds. I think we loved it.”
— Anne Rice, Interview with the Vampire

New Orleans has a way of reminding you about life and death everywhere you go. In the swamp, you can see and hear life through the luscious greens and sounds of animals, but also you are reminded of death through knocked down trees and lurking predators (e.g. alligators) who are always on the hunt for their next meal. As you move into the city, the same principles apply. Life in the city is apparent in its people, live music, and parade celebrations whereas death creeps up on you when you pass by cemeteries and haunted landmarks. However, I have observed that death is not feared here but rather embraced. Notably, I was eager to get the chance to learn about the history of Voodoo and Voodoo practices. Originating from African countries and Hatian regions with elements of Catholicism, the practice of Voodoo adds to the cultural mythos of New Orleans. The affinity between the natural and spiritual worlds is the foundation for this religion. Practitioners of Voodoo are known to call upon spirits and ancestors through rituals and offerings in order to seek healing, advice, or protection. Even though it has no direct ties with Vampirism, I still believe they are intertwined with one another. Yes, they both contribute to the folklore that makes up the city, but they also both align with themes of immortality. Voodoo practitioners achieve a sense of spiritual immortality by connecting with spirits and ancestors while Vampirism relates to immortality in a more literal sense by drinking the blood of the living to defy death.  

In Interview with the Vampire I enjoy the parts where Anne Rice brings up conversations surrounding mortality versus immortality and the moral burdens that come with everlasting life. It is not something that you think about and question every day. If you were offered the chance to be immortal, would you accept? In my humble opinion, immortality is straight up scary. I understand that we only have one life to live and there are no do overs, but I just cannot mentally comprehend living forever and “aging” along with the times. I sympathize with Louis’ internal struggles with the moral implications about living forever and the overwhelming guilt that comes with taking away the lives of other humans to sustain his own. Lestat, on the other hand, views human life as disposable and embraces his immortality since it has been over a century that he was a human himself. The novel really implores its readers to ask themselves which kind of vampire they would be – a Louis or a Lestat.

“Evil is a point of view. We are immortal… God kills, and so shall we… for no creatures under God are as we are, none so like Him as ourselves, dark angels not confined to the stinking limits of hell but wandering His earth and all its kingdoms.”
— Anne Rice, Interview with the Vampire

The shadow of Jesus Christ on the back of the St. Louis Cathedral overlooking Bourbon Street

So far, I understand why people love to visit New Orleans. There is a palpable allure that attracts tourists from all corners of the world. 

Life and death. 

The natural and supernatural. 

Mortal and immortal.

All of the above are building blocks of the city, an intoxicating epicenter for sin and salvation.

“I might never leave New Orleans. But then, what are such thoughts when you can live forever? Never leave New Orleans ‘again?’ Again seemed like a human word.”
— Anne Rice, Interview with the Vampire

Taking it Slow in Grand Isle

As the final weeks of the spring semester at USC came to an end, I was looking forward to spending a few days to decompress on a sunlit beach on Grand Isle, Louisiana. It was time to leave the months of stress and sleepless nights behind in Los Angeles. 

The first glimpse of Louisiana’s green landscape from the skies above.

As soon as I stepped off the plane in New Orleans, I could already feel a shift in the air. No, it was not the humidity in the air (although, this is certainly something I am still getting used to), but rather an aura of easygoingness. I was no longer surrounded by the bustling chaos of Los Angeles city life where everyone is in their own bubble and in a rush to be somewhere. Instead, I observed that people were more carefree and welcoming. For instance, not even ten minutes off the plane, and I overheard a conversation in the New Orleans airport bathroom where a local introduced themselves to the lady next to them in line, and they began a conversation about their families and where they are from. I found it to be extremely sweet and refreshing since I would not notice this sort of outgoing, friendly behavior in Los Angeles. 


Our journey to Grand Isle was beautiful and green. I can’t remember the last time I’ve seen this much green while looking out the car window! As we ventured further and further away from the city, I noticed homes and stores being more spaced out and how the vast landscapes were endless. You could say that I was already experiencing a bit of culture shock due to the assorted sights and sounds we were being introduced to on our mini road trip. The radio proved to be a crowd favorite with some true country gems like “She Thinks My Tractor’s Sexy” by Kenny Chesney to accompany our drive. It felt like a true Louisiana welcome, and so far, this tune in particular has lasted with us ever since. 

Finally, we arrived at the house that we would be staying at for the next few days. I vividly remember the first night of our stay. The wind was relentless, the rain pounded heavily on the roof, and thunder shook the house while lightning lit up the night sky. It has been a long time since I’ve experienced a storm like that. I’m glad I got to witness this marvelous display of nature because the sun was shining the following morning.

“The morning was full of sunlight and hope.””
— Kate Chopin

Before coming on this trip, I was looking forward to revisiting Kate Chopin’s The Awakening for the first time since high school. Obviously, a lot has changed since then, including myself and how I see the world. Rereading this novella on Grand Isle was a real treat since I could put myself into the perspective of Edna and the other vacationing upper class members of society and observe the charms of the island. However, when we began to explore the beach, restaurants, and markets, the questions I kept asking to myself were “How was this considered a desired vacation spot?” and “What is it about Grand Isle that makes people stay and live here?”.

To say the lifestyle of locals on Grand Isle is different to what I’m used to back home in Southern California would be a complete understatement. It is a complete 180 of what I’m used to back home. With only one main road, it is exactly what you would imagine when you hear the words “small southern town”. Each day in Grand Isle, I noticed new characteristics of the town each day. It sounds cliché, but it really did feel as if time moved slower. As a full time student, it is hard to find time to simply enjoy some free time, so at first, it was hard to adjust to my new schedule because I honestly did not know what to do with myself! 

“It was very warm, and for a while they did nothing but exchange remarks about the heat, the sun, and the glare. But there was a breeze blowing, a choppy, stiff wind that whipped the water into a froth… The beach was very still of human sound at that hour.”
— Kate Chopin

During one of our seminars, we discussed Edgar Degas’ paintings from when he was in New Orleans and how he captured Creole society at the time. These paintings really resonated with me because of how candid each painting was. It is impressive that each one captured ordinary moments in time, similar to how we capture photographs today. These paintings reflected what I saw for myself in Grand Isle, watching the locals out on the water in their boats, driving their golf carts around town, and eating at restaurants. In many ways, you could draw parallels between the lives of current Grand Isle residents and Chopin’s vacationers from the 19th century. I appreciated the relaxed atmosphere and learned to love the “mundane” on the island. 

The aspect I loved the most about Grand Isle was the tight-knit community I observed between the local residents. On our final night, we grabbed dinner at Tommy’s Place. It was one of the few restaurants on the island, but just like any other place on Grand Isle, it held a certain attraction to it. It was not packed with people, but there was enough to make the place feel lively. Just like our dinner at The Starfish, it was clear that our group was from out of town. Curious stares looked our way while we ordered, and one gentleman seated at the bar started a conversation with us and he told us his story of why he moved to Grand Isle. A friend of his offered him to make $200 a day restoring homes from hurricane damage and he has been there ever since. He was super friendly to us and the others seated at the bar. As I watched other people there, I noticed that everyone seemed to know each other, emphasizing the beauty of a small town. To simply put it, everyone looked happy and very carefree while chatting amongst themselves or singing along to the music. 


This environment is what made me fall in love with Grand Isle. In The Awakening, this place serves as a character in its own right since Chopin’s vivid descriptions bring the beach to life. I was grateful to see its natural beauty while also indulging in idle activities and just taking it slow.