My First Tour of Post-Katrina New Orleans

My Brother's home in uptown New Orleans suffered almost no damage

My first sight of New Orleans since Katrina was mid-afternoon Saturday, October 22, 2005.

My sister and I drove in from the west, having chosen the faster, shorter, safer route from Lafayette via US 90 (rather than I-10), through New Iberia, Morgan City, Raceland, and Luling, crossing the Mississippi River on the new I-310 bridge near Saint Rose.

We entered New Orleans on the old River Road, near Oschner Hospital. Although this ground is the highest in New Orleans (being near the natural levee of the river), and therefore received no water damage from flooding, trash was piled high everywhere.

Refrigerators were ubiquitous. Many had funny messages scrawled on them in large print. "Loot this," one said. "Sir Stinky," said another. Most simply stood curbside as silent sentinels to the storm's damage, their doors duck-taped or tied securely shut.

Work crews were out, busy with measuring, sawing, replacing shutters and windows and other renovation efforts. Many were piling trash, hauling away trash, or seeking to do same.

We arrived at our brother's home in uptown and saw how lucky he had been: the only things destroyed were a backyard patio plastic roof, a bamboo fence covering, and a single roof panel on his backyard shed. Whew !

The tree canopy visible at the top center of this July 2005 photo is no longer there. Neither was the bamboo fence covering to the right, until it was replaced October 23rd.

One glaring difference, though, was the profusion of full sunlight in his backyard patio area. The huge, old oak tree with its 30-yard-long diameter of a canopy spread in every direction had been stripped back to a few branches spreading out no more than 15 yards in only a couple of directions. A 98 per cent shaded area was now splashed in 75 per cent light.

My brother decided we needed to pick up some groceries and replace the bamboo fence covering. He had previously replaced both the patio's pitched plastic roof AND the shed's roof panel.

The stores that were open (less than a fourth of the pre-Katrina total) were doing brisk business. We picked up some groceries and a new bamboo fence covering and the mood in the stores was one of muted shock but preternatural courtesy, as if everyone was so raw with pain that they respected that you might be as well.

The sharing of survival stories and "what's next?" buzzed as small groups of people gathered in aisles to commiserate, then go their separate ways after catching up briefly with friends and neighbors not seen since the storm.

A clear plastic roof covering the back patio area (to right) was blown away, as was a bamboo fence covering that hid the tin sheds on the neighboring property to the left. Plants were saved indoors.

After running errands, we brewed some fresh coffee (to which we added half-and-half) and worked on the bamboo fence, then relaxed into the evening with a meal and a long conversation before calling it a night, early. Tomorrow was another day.

Sunday we arose to the same eerie silence that had accompanied the night - this was a strange atmosphere for New Orleans, which I had both lived in and visited for more than half a century.

After stretching, meditating, and a breakfast of ham and 2-egg "Holy Trinity" omelets (minced onion, celery, & bell pepper mixed in), toast, and jam, we grabbed an extra cup of our cafe au lait brew and headed to Canal Street.

My brother is a first-rate tour guide to his hometown, and we started the tour by driving to the Mardi Gras Parade route of eastbound St. Charles Avenue heading toward Canal. No water damage from flooding here either, though the lack of electricity for a few weeks and no garbage pick-up for more than a month produced the expected piles of refrigerators and trash along every single curbside on the way downtown. There was little traffic, and NO streetcars running. Buses plied the famous avenue.

When we hit Canal, I noticed that most of the newly-planted palms had survived upright, but some were toppled. Once we crossed under Interstate 10 just north of Rampart, the marks on the buildings were clear: water was here.

The neutral grounds had been designated as trash-dumping areas, so they were both piled high and smelly. Amazingly for New Orleans, no ragpickers were perusing the piles. Sunday brunch was the priviledge of birds and vermin only - few people were stirring even at the relatively late hour of 10am, save for the occasional military vehicle scooting along on security duty.

We swung by City Park, and the dried mud, watermarks, downed trees and tents everywhere gave the impression of a city still under siege. The sound of chain saws now punctuated the still air. Only certain streets were passable and then only in certain areas - you had to pick your way through to see all you wanted to see of this beloved City Park.

Lakeview was next on our agenda - and I was not ready for the complete devastation I saw there. The streets had that "washed with mud" look. Watermarks on the houses reached 10 feet above street level (which was several feet below sea level). See www.nola.com for post-Katrina photos.

Cars were at odd angles as they were floated by rising floodwater and set against trees, houses, other cars. Trash was being piled up at curbside, but many properties had not been touched since the levees broke. Streets were one-lane wide and littered with bits and pieces of unrecognizable stuff.

Thirty minutes of surveying the death of the Lakeview neighborhood was enough for me. Off we went to take a Sunday morning walk around Audubon Park near my brother's home in uptown. The walk worked wonders on my mood.

That 1.87 mile oval, full of life (though less than the normal crowd) this sunny beautiful cool morning, was just the tonic for resurrecting the feeling of hope deep within me after my tour of Lakeview. Couples jogging, parents with baby strollers, senior citizens strolling, all brought back to me the belief in rebuilding a Newer New Orleans.###