So, my thoughts about New Orleans could fill a book, but I want to try to pass on just some of the feelings that I've had since arriving yesterday.
Coming into town on I-10, zipping past bayous on extended bridges, a storm hit. Down here these storms are frequent and called "the storms." They drop inches in hours and come almost every night during the summer months. Even with the thick wall of rain in front of me, traffic slowed little. However, seeing that I've seen a lot worse, I pushed through, as well.
Getting into town, you start to notice neighborhoods don't exist anymore. The city is mapped out block by block, with a series of nice houses followed by a group of crack houses followed by another set of nice ones, all within a few hundred feet of each other.
My old friend Katie works as a teacher, one of a few thousand white, northern, 20-somethings that has flocked to the city as part of some sort of teaching program. Katie teaches special ed and yearbook in the 9th Ward, a mainly black area that was hit hardest by the storm. Her school is a large collection of FEMA trailors, nothing more. She told me that there are no plans to replace the school building for the next ten years. Things are rough, students tough, low reading skills, lots of gangs, crime and conviction. The stories shes tells about her everyday life are shocking, but the fact that she speaks so matter-of-fact-ly about them make them more shocking still.
Now, on summer break, Katie gets a vacation. So, we hit the town.
On the first night, a friend had a brother in town who wanted to see a ghost, figuring the best place to do so would be the haunted history tour in the French Quarter. No ghosts, but lots of history was the result. New Orleans has a history of misfortune. Fires, disease, murder, weather, it's all there. Best of all, our guide Paul. A gruff, biker type, he knew his history and told some great stories.
Then down to Bourbun Street to Pat O's, a dueling piano bar. One of the three musicians, the permanently scowling but very nice Henrietta, sang Purple Rain for us. Our table of friends hung out until the piano's stopped dueling. The bar had cleared out, but New Orleans was still going. We ended the night, though.
The next day, Katie took me on a tour of the city, showing me the 9th Ward, as well as every other major neighborhood. Again, its hard not to be taken by all the rebuilding that has happened set right against all the building that needs done. All the fast food is back, but families still don't have homes.
Also, we hit the art museum, where a special exhibit called "Gentleman Callers" showed us too many views of male genitalia for our taste.
We attempted to watch a concert in the park, but at 100 degrees and 50 percent humidity, it only lead to standing around sweating and whining about sweating. We hit up a movie, with air, instead. Pretty great.
So, that's a quick hit list of the Big Easy. I headed out toward Florida two days ago and made it to Sarah and Gjurg's house in Sebring, Florida, last night. Florida is long and hot, not fun to drive. My journey here was completely uneventful, just two days on freeways, trying to get to the end.
Sorry I'm behind. More to come, of course.