City of the Dead: New Orleans, Louisiana

Photography by Matt Fookes

I never had a very long bucket list for places I wanted to go, but at the top of that list has always been Salem, MA and New Orleans, LA. Both have a reputation for all things spooky and both have a very dark history. Unlike Salem however, New Orleans boasts a rich and unique culture that sets it apart from any other place in the world. It’s not very surprising that the week leading up to our trip we were informed of a serial killer on the loose, hurricane Francine had just hit the night before, and it just so happened to be Friday the 13th the following day. We didn’t plan for any of that. Was it all just a wild coincidence, or does New Orleans truly live up to its legendary reputation? There was only one way to find out. 

Getting there was very typical. Too typical to even make note of. It’s been quite some time since I’ve felt utter joy being in a new city during my travels. As Matt [Fookes], Megan [Shaffer], and I made our way to the hotel, I found myself literally jumping for joy at the thought of seeing the iconic New Orleans for the very first time.

It is just as you probably imagine it to be. Thick rows of old creole cottages, a plethora of hanging ferns, weathered stone streets, and the distinct smell of moldy, waterlogged buildings. It was everything I dreamed it to be—right down to the flickering flame lanterns hanging from every balcony. We stayed at the Dauphine hotel located in the French Quarter. Matt doesn’t know it yet, but I specifically chose this hotel for its haunted reputation. He once refused to stay in my office just because of the antique furniture and early 1800’s photos in bubble glass frames. He most certainly wouldn’t voluntarily stay the night in a haunted hotel, which I should note had a very pungent smell of mildew from water seeping into the carpets from hurricane Francine. 

After settling into our rooms, we hurried next door to May Baily’s, the attached bar. I couldn’t help but smile seeing its interior—a classic 1800’s French vampire vibe. Fittingly, ‘People Are Strange’ by The Doors was playing. If you’ve seen The Lost Boys, you’d get the reference. May Baily’s is said to be the most haunted part of the Dauphine Hotel. Originally opened in 1857 as a brothel, what set it apart was the fact that it was granted a city license under the ‘Ordinance Concerning Lewd and Abandoned Women,’ legalizing everything that happened within. One can only imagine the kind of mischief that went on back then.

The Dauphine staff aren’t exactly sure which spirits haunt the grounds, but there are plenty of theories. Some believe the strange occurrences are caused by former patrons of the brothel, while others believe it’s Millie, May’s sister. On the day of their wedding, Millie’s fiancé was killed in the street during a brawl, and today, guests claim to see her ghost her hand-sewn white lace wedding gown, standing forlornly near May Baily’s—as if still waiting for her love to return.

Night was upon us, and we were ready to explore the infamous Bourbon Street, just a block away from our hotel. I’d always heard stories about how Bourbon Street has a way of pulling you in. The sound of clashing music and blaring brass instruments grew louder with every step. Neon lights lit up the row of lively bars and shops, while people bopped all about. Every building we passed seemed to have its own soundtrack spilling out through open doorways. We grabbed food at Copper Monkey in hopes of filtering out some of the alcohol.

I love spontaneity, so when Megan locked eyes with a tarot card reader posted up on the sidewalk, I was already agreeing to what she was about to ask me before she said a word. We sat down and had our readings. Of course it was right in the middle of this that local skater Jasmine Styrczula a.k.a. ‘Jaz’ and her girlfriend C Perrish walked up. If you were curious about the readings by the way, Megan felt hers was very on point. Mine was meh. We continued on with our new friends by our side who led us to the oldest bar in the country, Lafittes. Built sometime between 1722 and 1732, it is believed to have been used as a Barataria smuggling operation. There wasn’t much for us there since we weren’t interested in Irish coffee and had plenty of alcohol in our systems already. 

I was in a type of mood where I wanted to go wherever the rhythm took me. I weaved in and out of bars like musical chairs, dancing and singing about. We stopped at a small shop to look at masquerade masks. It was here we saw a raw piece of chicken on the floor in the corner and watched in disbelief as a rat came and snatched that shit up immediately. Sometimes universal timing blows my mind. Anyway, Jaz and C warned us to be careful buying things off the street from people since they already observed me doing that several times. A shot girl physically grabbed me by the arm and pulled me into her with a seductive voice, attempting to persuade me into buying shooters from her. Jaz calls them sirens. Honestly, such an accurate name for them. 

The rowdiness inside us was dying down and we knew we had reached our limits. Laid out on the sidewalk in front of our hotel, Megan and I counted Matt’s 30 push-ups. Right when Megan wondered when Ashley [Tarby] would get here, she pulled up just like that. Universal timing. Ashley and I stayed up until 3 a.m. talking about life and relationships. A couple of 31 year olds don’t handle lack of sleep the way we used to, so this was not the best decision. Lying in bed while reliving the Bourbon Street rager we got chewed up and spit out of, I realized it had happened. We caught the Bourbon street bug. Lured in by its magic without even realizing, just like everyone warned would happen. I was grateful for it though.

Awoken by nothing but the sound of Megan on a work call and complete darkness, I felt the lack of sleep was a bad choice indeed. If you happen to be a vampire, this hotel would definitely be the place for you. Not a speck of sunlight broke through the wood shutters on the windows. As reluctant as we were, we had to break out from our sarcophagus and rejoin the world outside. Jaz escorted us to Cafe Du Monde where supposedly the best beignets in the city are served. Along the way we saw many more fortune tellers and tarot card readers, street musicians, and artists. We wandered into a few shops, one of which was a magic shop where a cat laid on top of a basket of Legos nonchalantly. The tag on its collar read “There is no cat.”

The only local skateshop (to our knowledge) is appropriately named Humidity. Which made sense given that we were enduring a humidity level of 90%. They gifted us some elotes and we headed to Sylvain, a restaurant that once served as a brothel where C works. Aunt Rose, manager of the brothel, is said to still haunt the building. They leave out a glass of Sazerac for her every day, otherwise Aunt Rose becomes less cooperative, breaking glasses and leaving messes when no one is looking. We spent a good chunk of the day by the pool with our new friends plus an even newer friend, local skateboarder Annie Stallman. We laid out, talking about our haters, our lovers, and how you can roll a flaccid phallus into itself. Annie promised to try it on her boyfriend and report back.

As darkness blanketed the sky, we set off on a ghost tour by bus—a must-do on my list. Our guide, Christian (like the religion, as he reminded us at least 10 times), taught us about the death that has shaped New Orleans. I actually learned a lot, including why the city has earned the nickname ‘The City of the Dead.’ At 306 years old, New Orleans is claimed to be the most haunted city in the world.

In the early 1700s, the French were warned not to settle here, as it was considered a dreadful place. They didn’t listen and soon learned the hard way about hurricanes, swamps teeming with prehistoric reptiles, fatal floods, and new diseases. The settlers called it Hell. French prisoners were given a choice: face the guillotine or relocate to New Orleans. Many chose the guillotine. For those who did end up in the city, they had no women to procreate with, so the French sent over some of their ‘Ladies of the Night.’ Soon, the city was populated predominantly by criminals and prostitutes, and crime and murder ran rampant.

To make matters worse, yellow fever infiltrated the city. With nowhere to bury the dead, rotting infected bodies filled the streets, some becoming swamp food. The water table sits only three feet deep, so any efforts to bury a body the old-fashioned way resulted in poor grandma getting pushed back up and getting carried off by wild animals. In 1763, the Spanish took over Louisiana without the former government being informed, so they thought they were being invaded. When the newly arrived Governor Don Alejandro O’Reilly arrived in New Orleans, he hunted down the six leaders of the rebellion, and slaughtered them, leaving their bodies in front of the St. Louis Church.

The stories of death only continue from here. In 1788, an accidental fire burned down 856 of the city’s 1,100 buildings. The blaze nearly took out the entire city, including the church, municipal building, army barracks, armory, and jail. A second catastrophic fire in 1794 demolished 212 buildings. In 2005, hurricane Katrina destroyed New Orleans. It is ranked the worst natural disaster in U.S. history. They say over 1,100 people died, but in reality, thousands more are missing and have never been found. The damage cost over 160 billion dollars to repair. Homes, schools, vehicles—all gone. Many neighbors, friends, and families were sadly gone, too. And it wasn’t the first hurricane to have a major impact on the city. The Mardis Gras season of 2020 became one of the first super-spreader cases in the country, affecting over 50,000 people. Currently, the dead outnumber the living 10 to 1.

It’s no wonder New Orleans holds the title ‘City of the Dead.’ Yet, there’s something truly beautiful about a city that, despite its history of death and destruction, is also renowned for its vibrant celebrations and traditions. Death has been a part of New Orleans since its beginnings, but it seems to be something the residents, even generations past, have embraced. The tradition of funeral second lines is a great example of this. Originally part of jazz funerals, second lines involve the family carrying the casket of a loved one through town, followed by a brass band and anyone who chooses to join in. It’s a celebration of life and death. I wondered; if there ever is to be a day that New Orleans no longer exists, would the sounds of jazz and raging parties still be heard from the ghosts of the past?

After our fill of death and beignets, we set out on a mission to attain a blood bag from a nearby vampire bar. It was Friday the 13th afterall. C told us about a vampire speakeasy we should check out. You needed a password to get in, so she asked the bartender if he knew about it. He informed us of a different vampire speakeasy, right at the very bar we were in. There was a $20 cover to get in, but out of the kindness in his heart, he waved the fee and let us head inside. So sweet, I thought. C kept telling me I had good luck and I was starting to believe it. To our amusement, the speakeasy was empty. Dead empty. No music, no bartender, no patrons. Just a couple velvet couches, moody lighting, and a coffin photo op. The hilariousness of the situation was fulfilling enough for me. We took some photos and got out of there. 

We were supposed to skate that night, but I could tell no one wanted to and no one wanted to be the first to say it. We promised each other we would prioritize skating tomorrow. We forgave ourselves on the account of New Orleans offering an endless amount of things to do, places to explore, and people to see. It can be draining, but in the best way.

The skate scene in New Orleans is sparse to say the least, and for an obvious reason. I’m sure you’ve gathered by now that NOLA suffers from some gnarly weather conditions. The high water table, flooding, heavy rains, and hurricanes have taken a serious toll on its foundation. The city is literally sinking. Maybe they didn’t want to invest in skateparks when they have subsidence and endless cycles of repairs to deal with. In a place like this, street skating is a rarity and even more difficult than it usually is. The DIY scene however is an important part of the skate culture here. With a severe lack of skateparks, local skaters came together to build Parasite skatepark

It was demolished by the city in 2012 reverting New Orleans back to being the largest U.S. city without a public skatepark. After countless hours of effort and numerous trips to city hall, Parasite finally became a public park. It’s not the only DIY in New Orleans that locals cherish. There’s also a crusty green bowl called Fort Side—location top secret, and a little street DIY built along the sidewalk called Trash Side. I’d come back to New Orleans just to skate these spots, so they’re definitely worth visiting.

Anyway, we spent some time at Parasite, too much time actually. I’m pretty sure I suffered from a little bit of heat stroke, but I’ll admit, I was enjoying the park too much to realize it at first. After loads of fluids and some lunch, I started to revive. Another must-do on my list was visiting a genuine Voodoo shop. During the ghost tour, I learned about Hoodoo; something that was new to me. Hoodoo and Voodoo are distinct practices with different origins. Voodoo is a religion from West Africa, blended with Catholicism in Haiti and New Orleans, and involves the worship of spirits called lwa. Hoodoo is a folk magic tradition from the American South, influenced by African, Native American, and European practices. Unlike Voodoo’s ceremonial religion, Hoodoo focuses on personal spellwork for protection and healing.

Jaz took us to the Haus of Hoodoo, a metaphysical shop full of herbs, oils, and botanicals for ritual purposes. Something I noticed about many of the shops and even restaurants in NOLA are the altars. Altars seem to be an important tradition to the residents, a majority of them being in dedication to Marie Laveau, the Voodoo queen of New Orleans. Jaz explained to me that it is one of many superstitions of the city. Anyone who moves here should create an altar honoring the queen for their first few months, otherwise they will experience many misfortunes. A good amount of the locals truly believe in these types of superstitions. 

I had a custom oil blend made for me to induce spiritual connection and self discovery. I also picked up a couple coffin nails and rooster feathers. I noticed the sealed jar of coffin nails had a label on it that said “Used for Malice.” I had to explain that I was using them purely for aesthetic purposes during check-out, butI was offered the warning not to allow others to
handle the nails in my home. Coffin nails are used in Hoodoo to increase the potency of magic, especially curses, jinxes, and tricks. I was surprised to see items available for purchase here that would be used for harm. I would never practice rituals of malice, but apparently there are those that do. Megan got herself a seven day candle for self love, which Ashley celebrated since she is the ultimate hype man and wants nothing but happiness
for her friends. 

Already exhausted from the day, we decided to take a rest for a couple hours before regrouping. Megan and I couldn’t help but work so we grabbed our laptops and set up a little makeshift office over at May Bailys. The pounding headache and fatigue had me regretting my decision to work instead of rest. I knew we still had a long night ahead of us. Our last meal as a group was at Oceana’s. The bartender at May Bailys described it as an introduction to New Orleans seafood. I understood exactly what she meant once we got there. It felt like the cajun version of Chili’s. After way too much food, it was time to try our luck at a few street spots. 

We first skated a little two-stair spot in Jackson Square. After two close calls with the cops, we finally got a couple tricks in. Over at the City Museum, we were feeling excited about some outledges and a handrail. We were warming up and goofing around. Ashley dared to call out “Moaning Lisa” three times, an urban legend of that area, and right as the last syllable left her mouth, all of the museum lights shut off all at once. It was an odd time too, 11:53 p.m. or something like that, and there was no one around. Everyone was freaked out.

Moaning Lisa (or Mona Lisa) was a wealthy girl that fell in forbidden love with a sailor. They snuck out every night to meet each other near the lagoon in City Park. Upon discovering this love affair, her father forbade her from ever seeing him again. Consumed by heartbreak, she drowned herself in the lagoon. Other versions of the story say she may have been murdered. Either way, Mona Lisa was found dead in the water. There are many who believe to have experienced hauntings by Mona Lisa. They’ll hear her moan in the distance, growing louder and louder until it feels like she’s right beside you. Some claim to have actually seen her apparition. Others have reported seeing blinking lights in the trees and shadows moving unexplainably. Did Mona Lisa turn the lights off on us? Either way, we still skated.

Our final spot was not far from there, just on the other side of the water, Peristyle Pavilion. It sits right up against the lagoon. Live oak trees decorated with spanish moss hang eerily over the structure. I was perplexed by the design of the pavilion as its entry way appears to be facing the water, as if welcoming in whatever resides beneath the murky waters. The entryway’s stoic lion statues sit like gargoyles, destined to be protectors. The whole structure is beautifully lit and has a floor so smooth it will make even the crustiest of skaters feel enticed to dance and spin. It felt like gliding on polished glass. At just about 3 a.m., we called it quits. 

As much as I wanted to continue to explore this city, I was drained. We all were. I don’t think we were quite prepared for New Orleans. It’s a unique kind of beast and there is none other like it. Although the skate scene is quite small compared to many of the other cities we have visited, Jaz made a good point. She told me that it’s her hope that by other skaters coming to visit and sharing their experiences of NOLA, it will inspire others to pick up skating and help grow the community. I think it’s also kinda special to go out to places not often skated and create a little bit of your own history with these street spots and DIYs. Now that I know what to expect, I cannot wait to return.