| A Day in the Quarter |
| Hard to see in this picture, but it's the steamboat, Natchez |
Looking downriver at the bend in the Mississippi. Looking upriver.
| After Mary and I said goodbye, I made a loop around the Lakeview, Lakefront, City Park and Gentilly neighborhoods before heading out I-10. The happiness of my day in the Quarter was tempered by the reality that is still New Orleans in these and other areas of the city. I'd say that only about 10% of the houses in the areas I drove through were occupied. Some had been gutted. Some had been razed. But many (most) still look today as they looked on the day the flood waters receded, nothing has been done by their owners, who for reasons far too numerous to list here, haven't made their way back to the city. Some never will. On my way to Lakeview, as I was driving down Canal Boulevard, a street I've driven so many times, I might be able to travel the length of if safely even blindfolded, I suddenly noticed a tour bus up ahead of me. Reverting to the mindset I'd held on those many other occasions on Canal Blvd.---in other words, momentarily forgetting---I thought to myself, I wonder why that tour bus is traveling through Lakeview. Then I remembered. It wasn't traveling through Lakeview, it was traveling to Lakeview. The peaceful neighborhood where I'd lived for so long was now a destination for tour buses filled with tourists ogling and snapping photos of the mile upon mile upon mile of devastation, still in abundant display for inspection and photos to take back home...in the hope that a picture will show what language cannot describe. But, soon, the "disaster tourists" on that bus will know what I know. Photographs won't paint the picture any better than words. It's the rare, maybe once-in-a-lifetime circumstance, which cannot be described at all, but has to be seen to be understood. By the time I skirted Irish Bayou and re-entered I-10 at Lake Pontchartrain, I deeply regretted taking that extra drive...the rest of the day had been such a happy experience. But, by the time I'd crossed the Lake and reached Slidell, I'd changed my mind. New Orleans' story today is a tale of two cities...the portions that flooded and the portions that didn't. It wouldn't have been appropriate for me to visit only one of those. If I'd done that, I might've even been tempted to start thinking that the grand old lady by the bend in the river was getting back to normal. But I know in my heart that she won't reach a degree of significant recovery in my lifetime. And, as far as normal goes...if that means back to the way she was...she will never be that again. As I drove through the nearly empty streets, I couldn't help thinking about the speech I'd heard the head of the U. S. Army Corps of Engineers make, accepting accountability for the failure of the levees for what is undeniably the worst engineering failure in our nation's history [finally...after initially denying culpability for their now admitted negligence and incompetence]. It was a nice speech, as I recall. But, what, after all, does "accountable" mean? To the people whose loved ones drowned or died of dehydration in their attics while waiting for help...to the people who lost everything they had, including their culture, traditions, personal history and way of life...to the former residents of the empty neighborhoods I traveled through on that bright October day...my belief is ...it doesn't mean much. |
| Everyone has heard of the jazz funeral in New Orleans, but many people don't realize that, though not as frequently done and usually only done after a service performed at St. Louis Cathedral, there is a jazz second line procession tradition for weddings, as well. Mary and I happened on to a wedding party's procession as we left the restaurant where we'd had lunch and I rushed to take photos of it, as many others were doing. (The tourists probably think this is something staged for their benefit. :-) One of the things I always loved most about living in New Orleans was the unexpected bonus of seeing something in the course of an average day that I never would've seen if I'd lived somewhere else. |
| The last Saturday in October, 2006, found my friend, Mary, and I celebrating our anniversary get-together We met in the 5th grade, on Halloween Day (many, many Halloweens ago). So, every year, we make a point of spending a day together as close to Halloween as is convenient for us. This year, we celebrated the occasion in the French Quarter. It was the first time either of us had spent time in the Quarter since Katrina. It was a beautiful, crisp Autumn day, with a clear, deep blue sky and the mood in the Quarter was buoyant...filled, as it was, with many Baltimore Ravens fans, in town for the next day's game with the Saints. We were amazed---and thrilled---at the crowds. There were lines everywhere we went. Cafe DuMonde had two lines, each more than a block long (that's a long time to wait for a beignet and coffee!). It was the first time I'd been to the city since Katrina without shedding any tears---though, I could've easily cried tears of joy for the French Quarter merchants, who have so badly needed a rebound in tourism. Jazz bands were playing, artists were painting in Jackson Square, the steamboats were running and the sidewalks overflowed with people enjoying the music, the food and the atmosphere. We shopped, we ate, we took "touristy" photos and we even ran into a jazz wedding second-line procession. And the best part? We did something I had never done before. All these years, I'd left the famous French Quarter buggy rides to the tourists. But, on this day, we were already doing touristy things, so we added that to the agenda. It was wonderful...no wonder so many people like to do that! As we rode through the Quarter, with the guide introducing us to some historical trivia that we didn't even know, before you could say Bananas Foster, Caesar (the handsome fellow in the picture below, with his owner and buddy--he lets her think she guides him) was making his way out of the Quarter and down to St. Louis Cemetery No. One--the city's oldest remaining cemetery. I hadn't been there in years, so Mary and I decided it was high time for a visit. What a special experience it was for me. To see the photos I took at old St. Louis Cemetery and read its history, click here. Nancy |