New Orleans Treme: Street Art Walk with Local Guide

4.87

(46 reviews)

What’s the experience like?

Li was already waving at us from the corner by Circle Food Market — she’s got this way of making you feel like you’re meeting up with an old friend instead of a tour guide. First thing she did was hand me a cold bottle of water (it’s humid even in the morning here), then pointed at the faded green sign above the market and started telling us about how it used to be packed with locals buying okra and catfish. I could still smell fried something drifting from somewhere nearby, even though most stalls were closed. There was a guy on a bike who nodded at Li — apparently everyone knows her around here.

We wandered down streets where murals just sort of appear between shotgun houses and corner stores. One wall had this wild splash of color — Li said it was painted after Katrina, “to remember what we lost but also what we kept.” She let us take our time snapping photos (she’s got an iPhone full of tricks for getting the angle right), and I tried to edit one shot like she showed me but honestly, hers looked way better. At Kermit Ruffin’s Mother-in-Law Lounge, there was jazz leaking out the door even though it wasn’t showtime yet. The bartender waved us in anyway so we could see all the old gig posters tacked up inside. I didn’t expect to feel so much just standing in that little bar — maybe it was the brass horns hanging over the stage or just how proud everyone seemed to be part of this place.

St. Augustine Church was quieter than I thought it’d be — cool stone under my hands and sunlight filtering through colored glass. Li told us about second lines and funerals that turn into parades, which sounded strange until she described how joy and grief mix together here. She laughed when I tried to say “Tremé” right (I definitely didn’t), but nobody minded. Sometimes people passing by would stop to add their own stories or point out a mural we’d missed — it felt more like being shown around by neighbors than following a tour group.

I keep thinking about that mural with the blue trumpet player, how bright it looked against all the peeling paint. You don’t really get these moments from postcards or Bourbon Street crowds — there’s something quieter but deeper in Treme’s street art walk, especially when you’re seeing it through someone who lives here.