He crossed the street with a trumpet in his right hand, as if ready to play at any moment. His left hand held the strap of a backpack, casually thrown over his shoulder. I was on Bienville Street, in the last hour of my last day in New Orleans and I had hoped he would move the trumpet to his lips and play.

While each day in New Orleans differed in its essence and experience, there are two inescapable things about this city - its humidity and its music. Music is what grounded our days and nights. The trumpet and the saxophone and the tuba and the trombone were the soundtrack to our days. There is something in the music of the city which feels deeply personal, it invites you in, welcomes you.

The New Orleans we experienced wasn’t Bourbon Street or meeting drunken strangers or noise or crowds coming at you from all sides; it wasn’t boobs and beads (aside from the occasional bead strewn tree) or any stereotype you might have imagined – it was far better.

On our first night in the city we went to the Bywater. Upon being saturated with recommendations to go to Bachanal – a house turned wine bar with a backyard stage for jazz – we decided to start our weekend here. Bachanal was no secret. On a Friday at 7pm, after our 45 minute walk from the French Quarter to the Bywater through sticky air (an ill-advised move, to be sure), we were confronted with a long line of people, waiting for their chance to revel.

Once inside, you can immediately understand why this out of the way wine bar is so popular; it is dreamy. The backyard is lush with trees and vines and lit with white fairy lights which give it a storybook feel. Long and round wooden tables cover the yard, each one full of strangers. It’s the sort of place you might believe only exists in movies, something too charming for reality. Walking through the doors and outside you stop, stare, and must confirm to yourself, yes, this is happening. I am awake. Magic is real. (in fact, in our short four day trip, Loni and I loved Bachanal so much we later went back)

By the time we had arrived on that Friday, the backyard was packed. Standing room only. The tables around us were filled with couples, families, locals, as well as tourists. Luckily we quickly managed to snag some space, sharing a table with a bachelor party – a group with which we became fast friends and would see again.

Two hours later its 9pm and we have consumed a plate of cheese, are on our second bottle of wine and the jazz has stopped. I tilt my head back and, looking up at the lights, listen to the buzz of the people around us – conversing, eating, drinking. Starring at the sky I want to take it all in, absorb this moment into my memory and skin – this place, the people, these sounds. I feel tipsy and light from our first shared bottle. The yard spins a little with my head in this position, but it's a pleasant feeling. Sitting there, it seems as though the Humidity is supporting me, holding me together, so I let it while I smile at the sky and those craggly dixie trees.

Sitting up, I look over at Allanah and Loni confirming, “Its going to be a good weekend, isn’t it?”

"America has only three cities: New York, San Francisco and New Orleans. Everywhere else is Cleveland." - Tennessee Williams