Where To Go In Southeast Louisiana (That Isn’t New Orleans) Part One: The Northshore
Photos by John Sizemore
When many people think of Louisiana, a blurry haze of beads, jazz, laughter, and the strange characters of New Orleans typically come to mind. The city’s awesomeness is well documented on these pages (including a couple of articles by yours truly), and when it comes to my favorite cities in the country, it’s at the top of the list.
As much as I love The Big Easy, the fact remains that Louisiana is much, much more than New Orleans, and on a recent trip there, I learned that I had been selling myself short all these years by not exploring the places around it. After all, this is a state extremely rich with culture, and just beyond the city’s borders, one can find other chapters to the lively Louisiana story through its vibrant swamps teeming with life, fun takes on local traditions like Mardi Gras, the energetic rhythms and melodies of zydeco and swamp blues, and an entire world of Cajun cuisine that is not only some of the best food in the United States, but the entire world.
Coming in just west of New Orleans from Jefferson Parish (Louisiana is one of two states where what are usually called “counties” are referred to as something else), I entered The Northshore beginning with a hypnotic journey across the Lake Pontchartrain Causeway, whose meditative 25 miles over open water feels like entering a different world. The long, formless spit of horizon far away gradually took shape, and before long, I found the swaying palms surrounding the sign for Mandeville greeting me in St. Tammany Parish.
I crisscrossed flat streets flanked with quaint southern-style homes until I found de la Bleau, my accommodations for the evening. I was struck by the massive columns hoisting up the petite bed and breakfast, whose relaxing interior was adorned with welcoming maritime art. A large staircase descended from the front door to the ground level, where I found a surprise elevator under the central column offering easy passage to the structure’s upper floors. As I walked up the stairs to my room, despite the faint glow of the lights of New Orleans visible across the lake, the salt in the air and the sound of the waves felt more akin to being at the beach than existing within earshot of a major U.S. metro.
As a native Southerner, I am no stranger to the awesomeness and mystical healing qualities of a proper Southern breakfast. The following day at LaLou, a comfy eatery inside a petite house decorated with quirky art, my eyes and stomach heartily welcomed the sight of biscuits, grits, and waffles. I would need the fuel—the afternoon would consist of a bike ride along the Tammany Trace, an attractive, leafy trail connecting the communities of St. Tammany Parish. I headed next door to Brooks’ Bike Shop, a funky co-op adorned with local art, where I picked up my rental. I took in the morning air with a brief ride along the lake, where I saw a rare alligator poking its nose above the water to greet the morning with me, and then I disappeared into the thick woods of the Trace.
Entrances are easily found—the Trace was created out of a former rail line, conveniently leaving behind lovely old train stations that often double as entry points, museums, and the occasional makeshift music venue. I rode past Mandeville’s “station,” vanishing into a tunnel of towering pines and froggy creeks until I popped out at the next stop in Abita Springs.
The word “Abita” carries weight in Louisiana—the famous beverage brand is everywhere in the state, and fans shouldn’t pass up visiting the Abita Brew Pub, the original brewery site before the brand outgrew the space in 1994 and converted to an eatery. The restaurant offers burgers, pasta, and regional classics like jambalaya and catfish etouffee that are the perfect place to enjoy the famed Amber Ale, Purple Haze, the playfully titled “The Boot” (named after Louisiana’s distinctive shape), and other drinks exclusive to the pub. It wouldn’t be a trip to Louisiana without having at least one shrimp po-boy doused in Crystal sauce, which I happily devoured with sweet Abita Root Beer while I people-watched travelers on the Trace.
While big on charm, Abita Springs is tiny—the town center is scarcely more than the Abita Brew Pub, a grocery store with an entire section of trademark Louisiana spices, a tavern, and a gas station. Among these buildings, visitors will undoubtedly notice the peculiar structure on the edge of town that seems about to burst with intriguing art and sculptures on the verge of swallowing the property. Indulging my curiosity, I began approaching until I found myself at the door of the Abita Mystery House.
Louisiana is a famously and beautifully strange state, and that trademark spirit breathes through the very walls of this place. In a time where it feels like “authentically weird” is difficult to come across, yet all the more precious when it is found, I took a moment to appreciate and take in the unique, endearingly unusual atmosphere as I explored the maze-like property. I was happy that there didn’t seem to be any upper bound on weirdness or pattern to whatever I discovered—among other things, I found a cheeky diorama detailing the end of the dinosaurs, an electronic New Orleans jazz funeral made out of dolls, models of Louisiana cryptids, an explorable silver UFO, a working “two-man organ,” and the “House Of Shards,” a literal building whose walls are entirely covered in a mosaic of tiles, mirrors, and glass. There was no limit on the media used to make these creations and contraptions—they could be made from antique pinball machines, computers from the 1980s, aged bicycles, musical instruments, toy dinosaurs, old signs, random junk, and anything else one could possibly imagine.
Next up was Covington, another attractive small Southern town off of the Trace whose downtown, on the National Register of Historic Places, is a delightful, walkable district filled with art galleries, museums, and cute shops. I parked in one of the several free “ox lots” and headed to Meribo, an artisanal pizza joint emblematic of Covington’s thriving food scene. It took only a few minutes of browsing the menu before I opted for two pies—one red and one white—with amusing names. Before long, “The Vinnie” and “The Rocket” arrived at my table, where I enjoyed their taste, just as endearing as their names, as the afternoon faded.
Nightfall was approaching by this point, and back in Mandeville, I followed the sound of music back to the town’s stop on the Trace, now fully converted into music mode. I watched Typically Booked perform for a sea of people gathered in lawn chairs on the grass as sunset colors graced the skies above, listening to a few songs before drowsiness set in and I headed back to de la Bleau for the night.
It isn’t just the cities, celebrations, and cuisine that are wild in Louisiana—the swamps and wildlife also live up to the name. I would be receiving my first look into this side of Louisiana the following day with the Honey Island Swamp Tour courtesy of Cajun Encounters. After driving for several miles on some dusty backroads just outside of Slidell, I parked at the entrance and, before long, was seated on a hovercraft aimed at an animated scene of rippling water and large Spanish moss.
Our guide, Captain Randy, gave us a few safety tidbits—including a memorable warning that the “gators have a thing for hands”—and we set off into the swamp. For being such fearsome and dangerous creatures, I was struck by how adorable the alligators were—pairs of eyes and long snouts would periodically mosey up to the boat, where Captain Randy would chuck out snacks for the toothy critters to gobble up.
The numerous gators were hardly the only sight in the swamp. Haunting wreckage nearly two decades removed from Katrina still lingered, along with majestic herons, the rare and beautiful Lady Slipper Orchid, gnarled cypress trees (a prominent specimen of which our guide pointed out served as inspiration for Mama Odie’s treehouse in Disney’s The Princess And The Frog), and even legends about the local cryptid, the Honey Island Swamp Monster. At one stop, a group of adorable swamp raccoons timidly climbed down trees to grab treats, taking extra care to avoid coming anywhere near the water to stay out of range of any prowling gators.
I decided that the swamp needed an encore, so after the tour ended, I doubled back towards Mandeville and paid a visit to Fontainebleau State Park. Stepping out into an agreeable breeze, I noticed the welcome smell of seafood in the air. Families, perched up around the ubiquitous Spanish moss, had big pots set up for crawfish boils, a common sight in any Louisiana spring. I stepped out onto the boardwalk, taking a full gust off the lake while watching the buildings of New Orleans sprouting up in the distance, before I donned my swim trunks. After taking a quick dip in the swimming area, I dried off in the sunny weather before heading east to Slidell.
Lunch on this day would be the joyful Jazz Brunch at Palmetto On The Bayou. The cozy interior was dwarfed by a massive wooden patio in the back, providing pleasant views of an idyllic, flowery bayou. An experience acting as a living thesis statement for many of the reasons Louisiana is awesome, I shoved tasty boudin balls into my mouth that were just as pleasing to the senses as the festive jazz music wafting in my direction from the band in full swing mere steps away.
Afterward, I crossed to the other side of Front Street to find myself in Olde Town Slidell. Heavily battered by Hurricane Katrina in 2005, the area has since been revitalized with dazzling murals, coffee shops, and the charming Antique Umbrella Alley, a smattering of stores on a block lined with colorful parasols overhead providing refuge from the often harsh Louisiana sun. After scoring some new decorations, I returned west to Mandeville, taking in the late afternoon views over the edge of Lake Pontchartrain from Pat’s Rest Awhile. The inside of the restaurant, whose laid-back vibes were befitting of the name, still had me unable to shake the feeling like I was at the beach. I merrily feasted on a refreshing shrimp cocktail, taking in the slow transformation of the sky into fiery sunset colors as a calm wind flowed.
As darkness settled in, I walked to the nearby Dew Drop Jazz and Social Hall, one of the oldest unaltered jazz halls in the United States. Not to be confused with the recently reopened Dew Drop Inn in New Orleans, the Dew Drop Jazz and Social Hall has been a staple of jazz music on the Northshore since its opening in 1895, where legendary musicians such as Bunk Johnson, Kid Ory, Buddie Petit, and Louis Armstrong have captivated audiences over the last thirteen decades.
I myself would soon be captivated by Anais St. John, that evening’s performance. I was immediately enamored by the no-frills appearance of the venue, a small house surrounded by a large audience in chairs integrated with large trees adorned with lights that popped in the fading daylight. A couple of tables, one for tickets and one for drinks, were set up at the entrance, and in the back, the smell of home-cooked jambalaya permeated the air made by the Ladies Of The First Free Mission Baptist Church next door.
Inside the Dew Drop, I marveled at the wooden walls and pew seating in the interior, which resembled something closer to a church service than a typical musical venue. Indeed, there is something divine and magical about watching a live music performance—especially jazz—in Louisiana, and the boundaries between artist and audience seem looser here than in other places. I was transfixed by the endlessly talented musicians on stage, where the mesmerizing moments of music were intermixed with occasional moments of levity when the sax player would occasionally laugh, briefly drop out of a song to fix the towel on his head warding off the many bugs, and join right back in. The carefree spirit in the air would become electrified in an instant as the powerful voice of Anais St. John soared, who freely moved from the stage to interact with and enchant the audience, occasionally popping her head out of the windows to cast spells on unsuspecting listeners outside. Even the cosmos seemed to be getting in on the action, as a powerful aurora just happened to tinge the sky with a faint purple on the night of the performance.
The next day, I ended my trip to the Northshore in much the same way I started it—with a delicious Southern breakfast courtesy of Lisa’s Where Y’at Diner, whose bright, cheerful demeanor made it the perfect place to enjoy a strong coffee and a hearty plate of biscuits and sausage gravy.
I wasn’t entirely done with Louisiana just yet. Afterward, I hopped in my car, traveled southward across the Pontchartrain Causeway one last time, and left the world of the Northshore behind to head straight into another within Louisiana’s Cajun Bayou.
John Sizemore is a travel writer, photographer, yoga teacher, and visual entertainment developer based out of Austin, Texas. Follow him on Instagram at @sizemoves. In his downtime, John likes to learn foreign languages and get immersed in other worlds, particularly those of music, film, games, and books in addition to exploring the world.