The marais creeps in...

Winter in New Orleans is foggy and wet, as if the swamp is seeking to reclaim what was once its own....

New Orleans at Night

Long Live the Crescent City

New Orleans, The Republic Of

It's been a busy November. I have been near and far these 30 days and some, with the wind blowing me to Boston, Chicago, and Phoenix (in that order). These cities are all beautiful in their own ways, and great though they may be, I find myself eager to return to New Orleans. For all of its issues, the Crescent City still has its spirit, and it keeps me looking forward to returning.

Leaving New Orleans for another American city is an experience unlike other traveling I have done before. It must be akin to leaving, say, Swaziland or Lesotho for Cape Town or Johannesburg, or like venturing from the Outback to see Sydney. I'm just not accustomed to making the leap from Third to First World while staying in my own country, though with patience and hard work, I'll get there, I think. But in early November, finding myself in the financial district of Boston, I found myself trying to remember if I had brought my passport, so I could get back safely to the Republic of New Orleans. All of a sudden I got a little dizzy, seeing all these immaculate, tall buildings, with nary a window missing, lined with clean, well-maintained road, and teeming with people - all of them white people! - and I had to sit down at the nearest pub for a refresher.

Going to Chicago was different, but weirder, since I just moved from there. It felt like I had been away, and was back, but not home. Which is good since that's in fact what was happening, but it was just a bit odd to be visting rather than living there. Friends and coworkers conspired to make me feel wlecome and happy, and for this I thank them.

Phoenix is just a strange place. Whenever anyone says anything about not rebuilding New Orleans, becuase it's below sea level, I'll ask them if they think Phoenix should also be abandoned, situated as it is in the middle of a desert. Or Las Vegas, for that matter. Only by diverting the Colorado River to the fullest extent have we been able to make both places habitable locales - and thereby robbing Mexico of all the water they would otherwise receive from the source. I suppose it is easier to add water than to keep it at bay, but I dare anyone to say living in a desert is a sane idea. The 5th largest city in the country can't be wrong, right?

Flying back from Phoenix I laid-over in Houston. Houston looks just like Phoenix from the air, except greener. Whatever.

Needless to say, my recent November adventures have left me realizing that New Orleans is, perhaps more than I had realized, home. Y'all come on down and git you some.

From the Third World,
Noel

Some Goodness

There's been plenty of goodness in my life lately, since I moved to New Orleans. A lot of it has to do, I'm certain, with the karmic powers of the city. Having chosen to give to New Orleans, New Orleans is giving back to me. It's nothing big really, at least that I know of. I mean, I haven't won the jackpot (though maybe New Orleans is just protecting me from the problems of having too much money). It's more like the small-to-medium things: a nice apartment, a good job, great friends, tires that haven't gone flat (yet - you should really see the streets here).

Sometimes, I have to admit, the karma runs a little low. The other Saturday, I set out to accomplish two things and two things only. I failed in both, as the bank had closed 15 minutes prior to my arrival on the premises, and the cell phone store was incommunicado. But these are very mundane details, and were easily resolved once Monday rolled around. And there are some things that not even karma can overcome, witness my misadventure at the Frost-Top burger joint. Specializing in 50's style burgers, fries, and shakes, the Frost-Top is not far from my house, maybe five minutes. A friend of mine was in town, and as we were recovering from the previous night (I recall scaring the morning joggers on St. Charles Avenue, as my friend tried his best to avoid trees and street signs), I thought I would drive down, grab some burgers and fries and cokes and a shake, and be back for lunch. Well, friends, there are some things in New Orleans that one can do, in fact many things, that one cannot do anywhere else. However, by the same karmic token, there are things that can be done elsewhere in the world that simply don't exist within the boundaries of the Republic of New Orleans - and getting a quick bite at the Frost-Top is one of them. In fact, doing anything quickly is a foreign concept here, unless you're talking alcohol, namely the purchase and consumption of. From the time that I left to the time I got back to the house, I was gone 45 minutes. Total driving time was 8 minutes. All I ordered was 2 burgers, small fries, two cokes, and a shake. I gotta say, though, that shake was worth it. Y'all check it out sometime, when you've got an afternoon free for lunch.

But I digress. The city reaches out to envelope you, if you let it. There is a certain ponderousness about its movement, as if it's slowly folding in on itself. "An elegantly maintained decrepitude", as Andrei Codrescu has it, is the air of certain parts of the city, especially the French Quarter and the Garden District, and the Marigny and the Bywater, and parts of Uptown, Esplanade Ridge, and Bayou St. John. If you let the city absorb you - because attempting to absorb the city would certainly be lethal - you will be covered in a magical, bullshit-repellent, karma-enhancing cloak that will allow you to cut right through the garbage of this modern life and see things as they are. And you get an amazing shake or two as lagniappe.

Thinking about it, I feel like I generated some good karma for myself by coming down to the Crescent City. But I don't think I have a monopoly on the karma. All the transplants I've met here, and everyone who has returned since Katrina, we're all under some kind of spell here. Maybe it's the karma, maybe it's the food, the music, the beverages, the all-night drive-through daquiri stands, the 80 degree days in October, the way you can have a 20-minute conversation with anyone, anywhere (including the grocery store), or maybe it's just that this is a special place, and has been for the past 350 years, and will be as long as we can keep the water out of the bowl. Karma sure helps in life, but one man's karma is nothing in comparison to an entire city's. Come on down and get you some.

The Superdome

The Superdome was ridiculous. 70,000 people yelling and screaming for 3+ hours. That's 1/3 the current population of New Orleans. I felt like I was at the Super Bowl. I am so pumped I bought season tickets...easily one of the best purchases I've ever made. The Saints look legit this year, but it's still too early to tell...they are, after all, still the Saints (or the Ain'ts, depending on one's mood). Bourbon Street looked good after the game, too, like it should be, which is to say sloppy and filthy and loud and stupid. But in a good way.

It's funny how a game can do so much for a city, but I have a new-found level of respect for sports and the NFL in particular, which I think has possibly done the most good for New Orleans than any one organization since Katrina. It is extremely therapeutic to yell and scream and feel good for three hours...it's not unlike the Rhythmic Roots concerts/drum circles that happen every other week in the courtyard of St. Augustine's church - people getting together in large numbers and being loud and happy. Sometimes it's good to just let it all out. And to do it in what became the symbol of the city after the storm, well, that's all the more fitting, really.

Be a Saint.

Steal This Blog

A funny thing happened to me the other day, something right out of Office Space or The Office, or some office-related situational comedic narrative. What, you might ask, was this, dear friend? Well, I had occasion to visit the Jefferson Parish offices in search of some planning-related information, and thus I was headed appropriately enough to the planning department.

Upon entering their facility, I noticed immediately that something was not quite right. A room, not much larger than a hobbit house, was occupied by about 20 or so full-grown humans. A curious set-up for a planning department, I thought to myself, but this was explained by the fact that their normal 6th-floor workspace was currently under construction. In any event, I introduced myself to the receptionist and said I was looking for the planning department. "What?", she yelled, rather forcefully. The planning department, I explained. "Well you're in the right place. What do you need?" I replied that I needed to speak with a planner, whereupon the wizened old crone threw her head over her shoulder and screeched, "I need a planner!"

This seemed to be the cue for the woman next to the receptionist to interact with me, as she then turned around and asked, "What do you need?" Mind you, this second woman was no more than three feet from the first, and had clearly heard everything I said since I entered the area. Nonetheless, I dutifully informed her that I needed to see a planner about some rezoning. "Just sit right down, honey, and someone will be up to help you in a few minutes." Good enough for me.

So I sit down and this second woman picks up the phone and calls a planner. Now, I'm not sure exactly what I expected, but I'm pretty sure it was not the scenario which presented itself: 1) this woman placed a phone call to an individual seated not more than ten feet away from her, 2) had a conversation in which she repeated verbatim our conversation (which had been overheard by all 20 humans in the room since I was the only one talking), 3) the planner on the other end of the phone hung up the phone, got up from his desk, took three paces towards me, and asked if there was anything with which he could help me. Can you imagine?

I have presented this scene, dear readers, exactly as it played out in front of my very eyes. Had I been observing the above interaction from a safe distance, I would very well have been close to tears with laughter. As it was, however, I got on with the day's business, and have made it through to share this priceless gem with you.

God Bless the Office,
Noel

ps I got my diploma in the mail today. Hot shit!

Snoop's Living the Good Life

Pardon my absence, readers, but in a quick note I would like to assure everyone that Snoop is alive and well, and living on his own with a wife and two kids. They're not his, since he's been fixed, but he has taken up residence with three other felines underneath a house about 12-15 blocks away. It's good to know he's got a little family, and the folks who live in the house above him take care of the brood, providing food and water. It seems to be a pretty nice life, and I'm not sure that I can justify disrupting it just to have him trapped in the house all day by himself. Of course, the undying love of a cat does give one pause, but I'm just not convinced that he would be happier. In any case, he is out and about, a fella on the town in New Orleans - a pooch on the prowl. That's somehow comforting to know, and in a way it's brought us closer to our neighbors and neighbood.

I hope everyone's doing well out there.

Noel

What Direction New Orleans?

Well, I started work this week. Getting down to it, starting the job that I came here for, has given me a little boost...I suppose it is actually possible to have too much vacation. At least if you don't have an unlimited supply of money.

But I digress. Starting work has brought my thoughts back around to the issues I wanted to confront by working here, namely urban planning, the lack of affordable housing, and the rebuilding of New Orleans. I was also reminded by my good friend Rich Seng (producer of the fantastic Rhymespitters documentaries) of the thoughts that are on the minds of many concerned citizens around the country: that the city will become a haven for the rich, a Las Vegas of the South at the expense of the displaced; that infrastructure will be provided to a population too sparse to justify the expense; and that those that return to the city will not be of a different class and color than those who left.

I have to say that living in New Orleans has removed most of these questions from my mind; more pressing thoughts have availed themselves instead, such as, When does the garbage get collected?, How is rebuilding in my neighborhood progressing?, and Can I drink the water? However, before I moved, I was beset by the very questions Rich raises above. How do we make sure the city retains its essential New Orleans-ness, that inspires and infatuates the rest of the country? How can we rebuild it better than before, with opportunities for all of its residents? How will the city plan for its recovery? Hearing from Rich and being back at work have brought these questions and more like them once again to the fore of my consciousness.

Let me state, for the record, that we don't have to worry about New Orleans becoming a haven for the rich anytime soon. We don't have to worry about rich America flocking to the city mostly because the city right now is barely functioning, and just looks, feels, and is too much like a 3rd-world city for big-money vacationers to want to be here. This is my feeling about the short-term.

However, I am sure that one long-term result of the storm will be a significant alteration of the city's demographics: fewer blacks, fewer elderly, and fewer poor. New Orleans before the storm was about 67% African-American, with relatively high populations of elderly (11.7%) and poor - below the federal poverty line - (27.9%) with respect to similar-sized cities. Though official counts are unavailable, it is thought to be currently closer to 50% black. I have no data on the elderly and poor, and they are still prevalent, but in what must be reduced numbers. It was, of course, primarily the black, old, and poor who were most affected by Katrina, as they overwhelmingly did not have the resources to evacuate and the city made no effort to help them. As for those that did get out, some want to come back and some don't. Whether or not they return seems primarily to be based on individual decisions about what's best for each family, a process that is not helped by the lack of official city planning.

This may mean that in the future, New Orleans will be moderately whiter, wealthier, and younger, but I do not expect that it will become the Disneyland that many fear. In some ways, it already was, so separate were the tourist areas from the shanty-towns that comprised the majority of the city. New Orleans lacks major industry, apart from tourism and shipping (and to a lesser extent, the oil and natural gas industry), has terrible public schools and a suspect police department, and some of the worst infrastructure in the country - besides shoddy levees and floodwalls, basic streets are sometimes impassable due to potholes. None of these factors are encouraging for attracting a wealthy population - no Fortune 500 companies are headquartered in New Orleans, with the exception of now-bankrupt Entergy New Orleans, which means no large corporate class (not necessarily a bad thing) and bad schools and a reputation for crime keep others away. Without education, infrastructure, reduced crime, and economic improvements, the city is not likely to become a place for the rich.

The changes to the city are going to be felt for a long time; 10 years won't be long enough to know how the city will recover, and if it gets hit by another Big One, it may not recover at all. The city is just now digging itself out from under the debris of Katrina; people will be starting to receive their "hurricane money" from the state this fall, and I expect to see another burst of people returning and either rebuilding or relocating within the city. Whether the parts of the city most affected (Lakeview and the 9th Ward), come back, well, that's something that remains to be seen. Though it is tough to say, and not at all politically possible to mention, I do not think that rebuilding the 9th Ward is viable; there is simply too much destruction and desolation to bring people back. Even if you had lived there all your life, if your family was there for generations, as was common, one look around would surely convince you that this was not a place fit for human habitation. But emotions and their subsequent behaviors are notorious for their inconsistency with logical thought. Can the city sustain or justify infrastructure in depopulated areas? I don't see how, but that hasn't prevented politicians and administrators in the past. The next year will be telling in how the city addresses the worst-hit areas.

As for the rest of the city, the part that did not flood is experiencing something of a real estate boom, with home values up over 25%, while rents are up 40% city-wide. I don't see homes in areas that flooded sustaining their pre-Katrina values, let alone their post-Katrina prices, which spiked initially due to the first wave of returnees. If you know that an area flooded, and you know that the levee system is not fully in place (and even if it were, would you trust it?), what would make you think that you would be safe in the future? On the other hand, places that did not flood have become more valuable than they were in the past, based on the same logic, and these places were already relatively more expensive (think of the French Quarter, St. Charles, the Garden District, parts of Uptown, the Marigny).

Will the city benefit from the flood, like San Francisco after the 1906 quake, or Chicago after the 1871 fire? It certainly has the potential to benefit, if its leaders can gather the will to do so. But the problems are many and complex, and the political climate has been one that has suppressed, rather than encouraged, civic improvement. Education, industry, crime, infrastructure, and of course, affordable housing will be the issues that New Orleans must confront in order to make a sustained recovery and create a city that is better than it was before. These are major issues for every city, and a tall order even for one not trying to recover from the worst urban disaster in American history. Can the city do it? I believe it can, but it's going to take a long time and a lot of love (and money) from a lot of people, including the federal government, which has been grudging at best in this category.

There is much more to say on this, but I can't do it all now. Be confident and stay true, readers: there will be more to come in the future.

Make Levees not War,
Noel

Snoop Ahoy!

Readers, rejoice: Snoop has been sighted.

As you may recall, he disappeared over four weeks ago when Lisa and I were out of town for the weekend. I saw him this morning as I was riding around the city en route to a jazz funeral parade in memory of Katrina victims and first responders. I was happily astonished to see him, and he looks skinny, but seemed like he was in pretty good shape. He's still Snoop, though, meaning he didn't stick around to find out what I was up to as I stopped to check him out - no, he bolted for the nearest hiding spot. I know it's him, though, from the tuft of white on his chest.

I saw him again this afternoon, on the same block, so now comes the challenge of bringing him back. Perhaps he enjoys running free, so it may be quite difficult to get close enough to get at him, and maybe we should just let him be a feral kitty. But now that we know where he is, we gotta try, right? Stay tuned, dear readers, as the saga unfolds.

In other news, today is of course the anniversary of Katrina's entry into New Orleans. If you haven't yet, see Spike Lee's documentary When the Levees Broke, or read Douglas Brinkley's The Great Deluge, which chronicles the week from August 27 to September 3, 2005. More on that topic soon.

Peace, Love, and Remembrance

1921 or 2006?

Friends, you may or may not know that I have been reading a book in the attempt to edify myself on the situation in the Middle East. Being a history major, I have chosen to start more or less at the beginning of the modern middle east, which has its roots in the aftermath of World War I.

The book I am reading, which I highly recommend, is David Fromkin's magisterial A Peace to End All Peace. Though I am not yet through with the book, I am getting there, and in light our recent misadventures in Iraq and the most recent Israeli-Lebanese conflict, I must relate to you an editorial from the Times of London that Fromkin quotes on page 470 of his book. The similarity of Britain's position as described by the Times to our current situation is frighteningly, sickeningly, eerily familiar.

Allow me to set the scene. It is 1921, and Britain has been left "in control" of the middle east after WWI, by fact of having roughly 1 million troops in the area. However, due to unrest at home caused by a deteriorating economy and political realities that demand demobilization, the government is scaling back its manpower in the area, leaving the door open for uprisings against British rule. The government, however, persists in keeping troops in quantities too low to establish control yet in great enough numbers to require heavy amounts of expenditure and draw funds away from much needed domestic programs. As Fromkin puts it:

"The principal danger, as The Times pictured it, lay in British overcommitment. The principal challenge to the country, in its view, was at home and was economic. Britain needed to invest her money in renewing herself economically and socially, and was threatened in her very existence by a governmental disposition to squander money instead on Middle Eastern adventures. In an editorial published on 18 July 1921 The Times denounced the government for this, saying that 'while they have spent nearly 150,000,000 pounds since the [1919] Armistice upon semi-nomads in Mesopotamia [Iraq] they can find only 200,000 a year for the regeneration of our slums, and have had to forbid all expenditure under the Education Act of 1918.'"

Allow this to sink in, if you will. This is the same issue we are facing today - 85 years later - and promises to be the issue that controls the destiny of this country and the western world, for the political and religious tensions that have plagued the area for centuries have been augmented by the geopolitical realities of a dwindling oil supply, which is concentrated in this very area.

All of this is to say that I'm trying to take a historical perspective on our current imbroglio in the Middle East, and I'm thoroughly discouraged by the lack of a prominent media voice that understands the complexities of the situation. I don't expect he government to care, really, about such things, but those commenting on its actions should. And they should be doing a much better job of it than they are. It's a pity to have to look to 1921 to find such a voice, and a discouragement to think that this has all been done 85 years before.

My New Photo Website and My Brother's Weblog

Hey, I was hoping to include my photos and my posts on the same website, but I'm not that clever just yet. So while my synapses are still firing in the hopes of solving that conundrum, check out my new photography website:

www.noelhj.photosite.com

It's a work in progress, so expect to see more photos over time. If you're interested in any of the images, let me know and I'll forward you a copy.

Also, my brother has a blog that I highly recommend, even if you don't know him. You can check it out here:

http://nathanhj.livejournal.com/

Broadmoor and its Inhabitants

Since we've moved in, there are a few things we've noticed about the neighborhood. One is the amount of rebuilding, something you just can't miss. Another is the type of rebuilding: some gutting, some house-raising, some general rehabilitation. The third is that our block is home to a flock of parrots - not quite on the order of The Wild Parrots of Telegraph Hill (an engaging, if cheezy documentary on a flock of wild parrots in San Francisco) - but a flock of about 20 smallish birds. Even great birds, however, can't make up for the loss of one cool cat.

Our neighborhood, Broadmoor, took on several feet of water in the aftermath of Hurricane Katrina. You may recall that New Orleans, geologically speaking, is somewhat of a bowl, with the edges of the city higher than the center. Broadmoor is more or less the center of the bowl, and as a result, was flooded to a greater extent than other areas within the city (excepting Lakeview and the 9th Ward). These days, the neighborhood is showing strong signs of redevelopment though it is only about 30% repopulated, a reflection of the commitment of its residents, as well as their relatively high incomes and the strength of the neighborhood association (the Broadmoor Improvement Association - http://broadmoorimprovement.com/). As I have related on an earlier post, it is eerie to live in what amounts to a ghost town - albeit one that is regenerating.

The way in which folk are rebuilding showcases the, how shall I say, ingenuity of the New Orleanian. There are those who have restored their homes to their original state, gutting the flooded parts and rehabilitating them. There are those who have demolished their homes, if such an extreme measure was necessary. And there are those who have decided to raise their homes. This last category is the true sign of an individual's resourcefulness: while some have wisely placed their homes atop 8-foot concrete pillars, others have chosen other methods of support, including, but not limited to wooden pallets, cabinet and dresser drawers, and car jacks. It is the audacity of the last three that amazes me, especially as they are all used in conjunction on one house, a house that happens to be directly across the street from us - check the photo in the sidebar. I can't imagine that this rigged situation would withstand even a Category 1 hurricane - or even a tropical depression. The house on wooden pallets is also suspect, and both houses must violate some amazing number, if not all, of the city's building codes. But people do what they have to in order to keep moving forward. I suppose I will monitor this situation as it progresses, and hopefully I will be surprised by the resilience of the homes and well as their inhabitants.

To our delight, the inhabitants of the neighborhood also include avians of another feather - parrots, in fact. Though I haven't determined conclusively, it appears that the birds might be Brotogeris Parakeets - smallish green parrots. They are rather chatty and social birds, and are a pleasure to see flying through the neighborhood and roosting in the palms of Broadmoor. As wonderful as these guys are, they are small consolation to us as we continue to mourn the absence of Snoop the cat. Snoop, in his infinite wisdom, decided he would rather explore the wilds of Broadmoor and Greater New Orleans unfettered by the constraints of a house, than continue to remain a housecat. Hopefully he will return, but until then, I look forward to running into him on Bourbon Street in pursuit of a good time, or perhaps perusing the boutiques and checking out the clientele in the bars of Magazine Street. I suppose new flying friends can only go so far in comforting us on the loss of a fine furry one.

That's the state of things in Broadmoor these days, where people are rebuilding, parrots are flying, and all good kitties are roaming far and wide to their heart's content.

It's Weird Here

I guess it depends on where in New Orleans you live, but it sure is weird here. I took a bike ride around my neighborhood, and the oddness of so many houses and no people was rather disquieting. It's like living in a ghost town, at least in this area; if the destruction were greater and the people fewer, I would think the setting akin to Pompeii.

It's also strange to see so starkly the effect of only a couple feet in elevation; up Fontainebleu (most folks say Fountainblue) towards Carrollton maybe 10 blocks, sit beautiful unravaged houses in varying states of grandeur. Here in the bowl of New Orleans, though, there isn't a house that didn't take at least 5 feet of water. Some sit higher and the first floors survived mostly intact, while others that were built slab-on-grade did not fare as well. There are at least three houses on surrounding blocks that have been raised - one with poured concrete pillars, one with cinder blocks, and another by hook/crook - this last guy is a daring individual. I'll get a picture up as soon as I can.

And then you can get out of the area and head over to Magazine Street, over to Le Bon Temps Roule and hear the Soul Rebels every Thursday night for free, which I highly recommend, and from the inside of this bar, it seems like normality, or at least New Orleans-style normality. I've never seen people having this much fun on a Thursday night in Chicago. Maybe I didn't go to the right places. But to see a room packed with sweaty happy people, arms and legs waving and kicking to the sounds of a New Orleans brass band, is a relief from the enervating effect of living in a ghost town.

Chicago to New Orleans

There are several ways to get to New Orleans from Chicago, depending on your time frame and state of mind. The easiest is to take I-57 to Memphis, catch the I-55 a ride it to Louisiana, and then pick up the I-10 or the I-12. These two routes into the city offer different vantage points; the I-10 is the most direct route and runs through the swamp between Lakes Maurepas and Pontchartrain then enters New Orleans from the west, while I-12 crosses directly over Pontchartrain and comes into the city from the north (see link below for those of you inclined towards maps).

http://www.google.com/maps?f=q&hl=en&q=new+orleans,+la&ie=UTF8&ll=30.209828,-90.273972&spn=0.842616,1.5065&om=1

Doing things for the sake of ease, of course, has never been an objective of mine. Accordingly, we decided to head due west to Iowa City to see an old friend doing some time at the Writer's Workshop. This stop was made more challenging by our hotel, which had signs posted warning of a $100 fine for keeping pets in the room. I have felt sneakier, but it's been awhile (since I used to pinch quarters from my dad's change jar to play video games when I was 8), and sneaking cats into hotel rooms was not how I envisioned my stay in Iowa City. Nonetheless, we got the feline safely ensconced in our bathroom and enjoyed an evening in town.

The next day, July 31st, 2006, we realized that we were still about 15 driving hours away from our destination. This realization led to several (ie, 30) minutes of frustration and invective, made worse by the midwestern heat, the Iowa City traffic(!), my own less-than-sterling directions, and the discovery that we had left our road food at the hotel (necessitating a stop at the evil empire of Wal-mart). Once out of IC, however, the situation mellowed and we were able to enjoy the back roads of Iowa, on our way to Memphis.

To get to Memphis from Iowa City, one can go back to Illinois to get the I-55 (as Google would have you do) or one can take a more directly southerly route, eventually connecting with 55 outside of St. Louis. This is the option we took, and remarked on the transition from Iowa (midwest) to Missouri (midwest/south) evident in the landscape.

Eventually we got to St. Louis, got some gas, changed drivers, and kept on going. We stopped outside of Memphis on the Arkansas side of the Mississippi, got the cat in the hotel without much fuss, and grabbed a quick barbeque dinner. Let me say to you that when I gazed upon the woman behind the cash register, it dawned on me that we were in Arkansas. Country is really the only way to describe the apparition that appeared before me: all gums, stick-thin, a reedy, twangy accent and a vocabulary that prefaced every sentence with honey-this and sugar-that. But the pork was good, cooked just right with a good sauce not too sweet and not too spicy. Good bedtime food.

We started back up again in the morning, about 6 hours from 4321 Jena Street, New Orleans, Louisiana, 70125. As we got souther and souther, the land flattened out and we got the subtle feeling we were going downhill. I-55 around Ponchatoula starts getting into the swamp, and then you know you're close: shrimp boats in the water, salt in the air, and Spanish moss in the trees. Riding through the swamp, with a little lake on the right and a big one on the left, brought home how much water there is here where the Mississippi meets the Gulf of Mexico. Then that afternoon rainstorm caught us on the way into the city, and we had to focus on driving.

Welcome to New Orleans

We drove into New Orleans in an afternoon thundershower. It was an appropriate way to enter the city, as the summer months bring heat, humidity and almost daily rainstorms. Lisa and I arrived at our new house, and as we set about unloading our car, we realized that it might have felt even worse before the afternoon storm.

One cannot underestimate the heat of New Orleans in August. It is a heat that drains you of desire, save that desire to be in a cold, dark place. The refrigerator, unfortunately, is too small a place for both of us to be at once; otherwise, we would together hole up in the appliance and not come out until suppertime. Alternatively, one can seek grocery stores, bars, boutiques and coffee shops to inhabit during the sultry hours of the day.

But we are Southerners. We enjoy this heat and the accompanying humidity. I am from Durham, North Carolina, and Lisa has grown up all over the South, from Texas and Florida to Virginia and Maryland. We realize that we have entered the lion's den at the dinner hour and must make ourselves scarce until the beast's belly has been sated by the north wind; the thought of 61 degrees Fahrenheit in January helps us to move languidly through the worst August has to offer.

Driving into New Orleans, one is struck by how much hurricane damage remains visible. The I-10 does not spare the tourist, just as it is a constant reminder to the resident. New Orleans itself is a city of contradictions: where some areas are untouched, others barely remain; while many folks have lost everything, some carry on without missing a beat; tourists carouse in the French Quarter, and residents sit bewildered in the 9th Ward. The damage is everwhere to be seen, on buildings, under freeway overpasses, along the roads, and in the neighborhoods.

But there are also plenty of signs of life and of the indomitable spirit of the people New Orleans; where the magnolias have been drowned, the live oaks are vigorous. Many households are rebuilding their homes, and businesses have returned all over the city. Your utility services are available (I ordered cable internet and they gave me cable TV for free) and everywhere are the signs of construction and rehabilitation. Indeed, the contiuum of hurricane damage spans the cold clutches of total destruction to the warm embrace of middle-class American normality.

This is, as no other city in the country is, a city in transition. How the recovery will proceed is yet undetermined, and in the minds of many, also in doubt. Yet there are many here who would see it return to its former glory; I myself am one. For though I am not from New Orleans, it is clear that this country needs New Orleans, and needs it badly - and New Orleans needs America, as perhaps no other city does. The rebuilding process will take a long time - let's make sure that excellence and love are in the scope of work that encompasses the rebuilding of New Orleans.