I woke up in Houston, Texas sore. The night before, just before midnight, I had gone to the gym for first time all trip. I worked out with Mike Castillo, a stout U.S. marine who was recently back from Iraq. While I was profiling Mike, he put me through a good military regimented lift. It was quite tough and my body felt the worse/better for it. In the locker room after the lift, my arms shook so much that I could hardly take my shirt off. As I write this now, my arms are still sore and typing is less than ideal. That workout was one I won’t soon forget. I feel like now I don’t have to workout until 2009.
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We left Houston and headed east. Soon we left Texas behind and crossed the border into Louisiana. In light of Katrina, I stared intently out the window for signs of her/its devastation. As we approached New Orleans, I spotted numerous indications from the roadside that hinted at the storm. There were piles of woody debris strewn about in bunches, green highway exit signs twisted and contorted in all kinds of ways and billboards were, well, missing boards

In New Orleans on I-10 East there were noticeable signs that something was amiss. The SuperDome, the bubble that dominates the New Orleans skyline, had a huge white patch on its gray exterior shell. Brick apartment buildings had severely damaged roofs, palm-like trees were uprooted and tilting at unnatural angles.

We finally parked Harvey in the Warehouse District and took to walking the streets. We walked down to the French Quarter and along Bourbon Street. I saw shirts on sale that exclaimed “I survived Katrina and all I got was this lousy shirt.” Or one with a picture of a bull on the toilet captioned by big bold letters that spelled FEMA. It was only 6:30 pm, and despite all the hotels, shops, bars, and restaurants, Bourbon was eerily empty. Of the few people we did pass by, many donned police uniforms. Walking down a street notorious for debauchery, we didn’t see anyone else our age. As for the pastel painted French influenced buildings, there wasn’t too much noticeable damage. But then again, I knew the French Quarter was one of the least hit parts of the Big Easy.

We finished the night by eating a good burger at a famous local establishment called The Port of Call. We then listened to some jazz at the Maple Leaf Club and then called it a night.

I went to bed confused. I knew this city just had a major catastrophe, but I hadn’t seen it yet. I only saw some signs here and there. Little did I know that I hadn’t even scratched the surface. I was looking in all the wrong places.

The next day, what I saw in East New Orleans, and especially the Lower Ninth Ward would prove to be unimaginable.

That said, the people of New Orleans are awful friendly and have already proven resilient.

good joss

This entry was posted on Wednesday, August 1st, 2007 at 4:13 pm and is filed under TYAP '05 Trip Blogs. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.