Introduction

For as long as I can remember, I wanted to visit New Orleans. I was intrigued by the city's colorful history, and I saw it as training ground for my dream vacation of going to Rio de Janeiro. Unfortunately, Hurricane Katrina came along and laid waste to the Gulf Coast on August 29, 2005.

There was much debate about whether or not the Crescent City should celebrate Mardi Gras less than six months after the catastrophe occurred. But once it was decided that the show would go on, I made it my business to travel to the Big Easy and be a part of something special.

Chez Nous

After last year's storm, I expected chaos to greet me at Louis Armstrong Airport when my plane landed on Thursday afternoon. Instead, I was welcomed by an eerie silence. Like my fellow travelers, I wasn't sure what to expect during the next seven days ... but, as always, I was game for an adventure.

Unlike previous vacations, I stayed at a bed and breakfast called Chez Nous because most of the hotels were occupied by relief workers and municipal employees. (There were no reputable hostels near the French Quarter.) I called my hostess, Donna, to let her know I was in town, and she said she looked forward to meeting me.

I boarded a shuttle bus for what should've been a half-hour ride into the city. Instead, multiple drop-offs and traffic jams extended my trip to nearly two hours ... but I didn't mind the delay. The driver showed passengers the floodwater lines on Interstate 10 and pointed out spray-painted signs on its overpass. She also shared her survival story and told us she was living with a co-worker because she'd yet to receive a FEMA trailer.

In spite of the thoughts of Katrina preoccupying my mind, I was ecstatic to arrive at the 19th-century Creole cottage in Faubourg Marigny. Donna and I exchanged pleasantries, and she gave me a tour of the suite where I'd be staying -- two bedrooms, a living room, a kitchen, a bathroom, and a laundry room. Its traditional architecture and modern amenities made for hospitable accommodations; the only drawback was the place was more suited for couples or families than a solo traveler.

Red Fish Grill

After making myself at home in the second bedroom, I was ready to pig out -- so I went to the Red Fish Grill on Thursday night. I had blackened fish, soup du jour, bread pudding, and Katrina Rita -- a drink made of Sauza gold tequila, triple sec (a colorless orange-flavored liqueur made from dried orange peels and is triple distilled), lemon juice, lime juice, and a splash of blue curaçao (a liqueur made from clear curaçao and blue coloring).

Judging by the décor and service, one would find it hard to believe the restaurant was operating with a reduced staff. For that reason, I tipped my server more than the customary 15 percent after I finished my meal.

Knights of Babylon

With my hunger for Southern cuisine satisfied, I proceeded to Canal Street to watch my first parade. The Knights of Babylon held court with the theme "Out From Under," which paid homage to the city's post-Katrina resilience. I waved to the riders and tried to catch any trinkets they threw in my direction; I was rewarded with plenty of beads and doubloons. Because they wrapped up their parade so late, I didn't realize that Chaos and Muses were behind them, so I wandered back over to Bourbon Street without seeing their parades.

Revelers who decided not to wait until Fat Tuesday to engage in debauchery lined the block, and I found myself more amused than disgusted by their antics -- especially when a few men tried to persuade me to go topless. (Contrary to popular belief, a woman does not have to flash her breasts to get beads.) People from all walks of life took part in the madness; body parts were on display along with public drunkenness. The surreal atmosphere was so intoxicating until I wondered how I managed to keep my clothes on.

Café du Monde

My first order of business on Friday morning was to visit Café du Monde at the French Market and try beignets and café au lait for the first time. Within walking distance of Chez Nous, it was the perfect setting to fulfill my sugar cravings.

I took an immediate liking to the pastry, even if the powder made my face look like a messy canvas. (It doesn't hurt that I'm also a Krispy Kreme junkie.) As for the coffee, I'm neurotic enough as it is, so the last thing I need is another drink that makes me high-strung -- even if it's sinfully addictive.

Bringing Out the Dead

I hopped on a bus to go to the Garden District and see Lafayette Cemetery. Its history dates back to the early 19th century, and its many bodies are entombed above ground because the city is below sea level. Among the crypts housed there was one for firefighters who died in the line of duty, while another was for siblings who fell victim to yellow fever.

Katrina left her mark throughout the graveyard with broken tablets and open tombs, and uprooted trees and unkempt grass only added to its spookiness. But I enjoyed learning about the symbolism of the angels and urns that adorned the crypts, and I left with a better understanding of what makes New Orleans such a unique place.

The Gray Line Experience

On that note, I took part in Gray Line's Hurricane Katrina tour on Friday afternoon, which focused on Gentilly and Lakeview. I had mixed feelings about it because I have issues with tourists who visit "Ground Zero" and act like they're at Disney World. (Don't get me started on the vendors who try to profit from what happened on September 11, 2001.) But I rationalized this expedition by telling myself that, unlike what happened in New York, Katrina was a natural disaster.

The tour guide and bus driver announced that ten percent of the ticket price would be donated to a charity of one's choice that supported one of the following causes: affordable housing, cultural preservation, ecological conservation, or an animal shelter. (All four endeavors are worthwhile, but affordable housing is the starting point for the city to get back on its feet.) For the next three hours, I saw block after block of abandoned houses, wrecked vehicles, boarded-up shops, and desolate streets.

The images I saw on television and in print didn't prepare me for the horror of seeing nature's wrath in person. Knowing that people's lives, and livelihoods, were swept away like litter in a sewage drain brought tears to my eyes -- which was fitting, for it started raining.

Everybody Loves Parades

Dreary weather gave way to clear skies as Hermes, Le Krewe d'Etat, and Morpheus held their parades on Friday night. Hermes recreated "The Voyage of Ulysses" and Morpheus indulged in "Dreams of World Travels" ... but Le Krewe d'Etat stood out for their "Fridge Hurling" (d'Olympics d'Etat). Its members presented a satirical take on Katrina, using colorful floats and eye-catching costumes to lash out at government officials on all levels for mishandling the catastrophe. (The 'Looters' dancers were hilarious!)

Court of Two Sisters

Standing on my feet for hours on end was starting to catch up with me, and I was yearning to wrap my lips around a po' boy. (Those unfamiliar with Louisiana lingo will find this glossary useful.) After the parades were over, I went to the Court of Two Sisters and munched on a dressed roast beef sandwich with a cup of lemonade. I chatted with two police officers about life after Katrina, and they said the recovery was an ongoing struggle. As proof, one of them pointed out that the storm's effects were still lingering because "you can actually walk down Bourbon Street during Mardi Gras!"

National World War II Museum

Speaking of walking, I headed to the National World War II Museum on Saturday afternoon because it was one of the few non-Mardi Gras activities available for me to do. Entering the building was like traveling through a time capsule, with imposing tanks and other military vehicles greeting visitors.

The exhibits upstairs are divided into four sections that spread across two floors, combining interactive displays with personal artifacts to tell the stories of those involved in the six-year conflict. Oral history booths give voice to soldiers' experiences, while propaganda posters featuring Rosie the Riveter and anti-Japanese sentiment adorn the walls.

The events of June 6, 1944, are a major focus of the museum. On that day, Allied forces invaded Normandy and fought Germany for control of France. This campaign was the beginning of the end for Adolf Hitler, and U.S. victory in the Battle of the Bulge would lead to his downfall less than a year later.

Being in the museum was like watching Saving Private Ryan come to life. I always had respect for those who serve in the military, but I developed a newfound appreciation for the families who also made sacrifices. (In some ways, history is repeating itself in Iraq -- even if our presence there is unjustified.) A few hours exploring the past confirmed what I knew all along: war is an option that should only be used as a last resort when there's a legitimate threat to our national interest.

Mulate's

To soothe the hunger pains in my stomach, I made my way to Mulate's and had a late lunch. I ordered grilled alligator, blackened, with a cup of zydeco gumbo (a roux-based soup with shrimp, smoked sausage, chicken, and okra served with white rice) and two glasses of Twisted Cosmopolitan (Smirnoff Orange Twist, Cointreau, cranberry juice, and a splash of lime juice).

I was told beforehand that alligator tastes like chicken ... but I can't think of an appropriate word to describe this culinary experience. Eating a reptile didn't gross me out as much as I thought it would; in fact, it was no different from eating chitterlings. As for the gumbo, it tasted good but was nothing to write home about -- except it's a heart attack waiting to happen. But the drinks were a delicious way to complete my meal.

An Unconventional Horror

After leaving the restaurant, I found myself in front of the Ernest N. Morial Convention Center -- one of the many city landmarks made synonymous with pandemonium after Katrina landed ashore. It dawned on me that I was probably standing in the same spot where someone cried for help or, God forbid, took their last breath. Pushing that thought out of my mind, I continued en route to the Riverfront as it started raining again, putting a damper on the rest of my day. (Inclement weather also forced a 24-hour delay of the Endymion parade.)

Rest In Peace

Church is the typical destination for most people on Sunday morning ... but I went to St. Louis Cemetery Number One instead. This graveyard dates back to the late 18th century, and it serves as the final resting place of several historical figures, including Ernest N. Morial and Homer Plessy. Tombs representing various ethnic groups can also be found here.

Despite its dilapidated condition, this burial ground contained a lot of history. Its maze-like layout invited visitors to get lost in time and learn about the people who contributed to the city, from Marie Laveau to the fallen soldiers in the Battle of New Orleans.

Mother's

I didn't cross paths with any corpses when I stopped at Mother's for lunch on Sunday afternoon ... but I did encounter a long line outside the restaurant. I joined the crowd and waited to get in while a man named Elvis greeted the customers. He offered to make a Bloody Mary for anybody that wanted one, and the line continued to inch forward before I reached the counter a half-hour later.

Drab furnishings made for an unappealing ambiance as I digged into a roast beef po' boy, a cup of jambalaya, and a glass of iced tea. I asked Elvis how the staff was dealing with life after Katrina, and he told me they shared living quarters next to the restaurant because of the housing crisis. Even though there was a sign on the wall that said no tipping allowed, I handed him five dollars and gave him a hug as I departed.

Hurray for Harrah's

Since I was spending more money than I normally would on this vacation, I tried my luck at landing a big score at Harrah's. I spent the next hour alternating between wandering around the casino and playing the slot machines and blackjack. By the time I called it quits, I was out of $100 -- not that "the house" would've had it any other way.

Hollywood Meets Canal Street

Bacchus and Endymion took to the streets on Sunday night to march in their parades. These processions offered twice the fun because I could catch more goodies and see some celebrities. Michael Keaton and Willie Nelson served as grand marshals, waving to fans and throwing trinkets as they led Bacchus down "The Yellow Brick Road." Later, Dan Aykroyd and Jim Belushi did the same for Endymion as they embarked on "Legends and the Lure of Gold."

These themes inspired natives and tourists alike to party until midnight, at which point people migrated to Bourbon Street to continue living it up. I followed suit, indulging in Hurricanes and Hand Grenades while mingling with other revelers. I even spotted a group of Deaf people and communicated with them in American Sign Language. (I have an interest in the subject and started taking classes in 2005.) I may be a novice when it comes to ASL, but I'm an expert at socializing.

Lower Ninth Ward

Donna and I started off Monday morning with a visit to the Lower Ninth Ward. I'd told her about my Gray Line trip, and she said I shouldn't leave New Orleans without seeing the worst of Katrina's devastation.

As she drove along St. Claude Avenue, the surroundings didn't strike me as being any different from what I saw a few days earlier ... but after we crossed the Industrial Canal, what stood before us was an apocalyptic vision that not even Philip K. Dick could've imagined. Sadness morphed into anger as I saw houses knocked off their foundations or, even worse, sitting in the middle of the street. (In some cases, houses were reduced to rubble.)

I didn't expect the city to look the same way it did before the storm ... but, judging by the lack of cleanup and rebuilding, it looked as if the calendar had been flipped back to the day it happened. The canal breaches were so large until you could drive a bus through them. Some critics say their faulty construction -- and the resulting flood waters -- classified Katrina as a man-made disaster ... but, no matter how one looks at it, what happened was a tragedy.

Seeing Fats Domino's house rounded out our time in the neighborhood. It was easy to find not only because his name was on it, but the roof was painted yellow and black. Compared to the other places I saw, his house was in good condition. But the good news wasn't that it withstood Katrina -- it was that he lived to tell about it.

No Home at the Superdome

After returning to Donna's house on Monday afternoon, she went off to do errands while I headed to the Louisiana Superdome via streetcar and foot. I surveyed its perimeter, which reminded me of the Guggenheim Museum for some inexplicable reason. Eager for an aerial view of the facility, I managed to gain access to an office building across the street and go up 25 stories. Blue tarp flapped in the breeze to illuminate the skyline, and the view extended as far west as the eye could see.

Uptown Girl

Since I was looking west, it only made sense to go in that direction as I hailed a cab to Tipitina's. It was my first time Uptown, and I looked forward to hanging with the locals for a few hours. As it turned out, the club wasn’t open, so I made my way to Pepper's for a late lunch.

There were only three people on duty when I arrived at the restaurant: a waitress, a bartender, and a chef. I had time to kill before Proteus and Orpheus held their parades, so prompt service wasn't an issue for me. However, I was surprised that more than an hour would pass between the time I placed my order and the time I got my food. In the end, though, the slow service didn't bother me because I was sympathetic to their staffing situation.

Greek Chorus

Seeing the parades while the sun was still shining was a nice change of pace, but what made it even better was the family-oriented atmosphere. St. Charles Avenue was the opposite of Canal Street, for instead of ducking recklessly thrown items and picking them up, adults and children could walk up to floats and ask for what they wanted. Rowdy behavior was nowhere to be seen as Proteus took spectators "Through the Years" and Orpheus explored "Signs and Superstitions."

While Proteus marched, I chatted with two women, Linda and Tracy. They expressed their gratitude to tourists for helping the city get back on its feet, and they praised me for coming Uptown to see how Mardi Gras is really celebrated. During our conversation, I learned that Linda works for the Arkansas Democrat-Gazette but is from New Orleans. She told me she never thought she'd see the day when her hometown would be under water, forcing generations of families to relocate elsewhere.

To help take people's minds off Katrina, Orpheus had three celebrity monarchs lead their parade: Steven Seagal, Scarlett Johansson, and Josh Hartnett. Johansson got the biggest reaction from the crowd ... and since the actress' appearance was unannounced, I wanted to take her picture. Unfortunately, by the time I got a good angle, I discovered my camera was out of film ... and when I finished reloading, her float had moved on.

Black and White

Growing up, the only holiday I observed in February was Presidents' Day. This year, I joined thousands of people in celebrating Fat Tuesday.

Unlike most parades, Zulu and Rex hit the streets early in the morning. I must have been in the mood for exercise because I walked all the way to the Interstate 90 underpass without collapsing. To avoid the harsh rays of the gleaming sun, I grabbed a spot along the curb and waited for the show to start. Zulu reached out to luminaries in politics, sports, and movies for help in "Leading the Way Back Home." Ray Nagin made his appearance on horseback, while Spike Lee marched with members who wore blackface and grass skirts. As characters like Big Shot and Witch Doctor passed by on their floats, I saw Deuce McAllister and yelled for a coconut. Luck wasn't on my side, for he tossed one in my direction ... but it landed on the ground and was crushed by a tire.

On a happier note, Rex charmed the masses with "Beaux Arts and Letters." Floats honoring literary classics like A Streetcar Named Desire and Bayou Folk proceeded downtown as the monarch of merriment and his underlings showered outstretched hands with plenty of souvenirs. Among the items I caught was a gold, green, and purple wristband that said "Rex Helps Renew NOLA 8/29." (This page explains the meaning behind these colors and their association with Mardi Gras.) The inscription's sense of purpose stayed with me as I watched the parade draw to a close.

Memento Overload

The party was far from over as Tuesday afternoon rolled in. I returned to Chez Nous and took a nap, since I was tired from the long-distance walk and a lot of businesses were closed. I didn't get much sleep, though, for I figured I didn't come to New Orleans to do that. (Then again, the body does need rest!)

I sorted through the goodies I got during my time here and pondered what to pack in my suitcase, what to carry on the flight back home, and what to throw in the garbage. It wasn't an easy task, and I hated the idea of parting with certain items ... but it was something that had to be done.

Mardi Gras Fever

Another deed I had to do was go to Bourbon Street. The epicenter of hedonism was in full swing on Tuesday night as people gathered to eat, drink, and act crazy. I shouted "Happy Mardi Gras!" to anyone within earshot, and some used the occasion to drop their inhibitions -- along with their clothes. Once I crossed St. Ann Street, I found myself outnumbered by the opposite sex ... but not on their radar.

One man held a sign that said 'Show Your Dick' -- as opposed to 'Show Your Tits' -- and another man asked why I was in this neighborhood. I replied that I didn't see a 'No Heterosexuals Allowed' sign posted anywhere, and he told me that I misunderstood his question. We laughed off the quarrel and exchanged pleasantries before joining a small group to do the electric slide in the middle of street. I guess time really does fly when you're having fun, for I spent the next several hours making a fool of myself.

Jackson Square

As the end of Carnival ushered in the start of Lent, many people used Ash Wednesday as a time to repent while others left town. I did neither -- I went to Jackson Square instead.

Named after Andrew Jackson, the park's open space and lush greenery juxtaposed a slice of nature against the urban jungle. It was fascinating to see such beauty in a small area, and doing so in peace and quiet was the best part.
Lynn Johnston once said the most profound statements are made in silence. Through its tranquility, the park told me that what was uprooted will blossom again.

Oak Alley Plantation

My trip to Oak Alley Plantation on Wednesday afternoon provided a glimpse into 19th-century Southern life. The first thought that came to mind when I arrived there was Gone With the Wind. Observing the tour guides standing at the end of the path leading to the mansion, I couldn't help but notice that they resembled a poor man's version of Scarlett O'Hara with their puffy blouses and full skirts.

The tour focused on the Roman family, a clan of French aristocrats who made their fortune in sugar planting. To the plantation's credit, the issue of slavery isn't glossed over ... but it's not dwelled on, either. (This database on Afro-Louisiana history and genealogy may be of interest to readers.) I found it ironic that the dichotomy of rich versus poor co-existing in the same territory still prevails in the 21st century -- serving as further proof that the more things change, the more they stay the same.

Praline Connection

The Praline Connection was the setting for my last supper on Wednesday night. Being a nondenominational person, I dined on fried alligator sausage and a catfish filet in the empty restaurant. It was strange to be surrounded by so much silence after six days of nonstop partying ... but it was also an opportunity to decompress before my vacation came to an end.

Summary

Despite the negative perceptions surrounding New Orleans, I never felt unsafe while I was there. The locals were nice, the cuisine was delicious, and Mardi Gras was fun. The krewes did an excellent job of using the event to pay homage to the past and look to the future. I'd love to revisit the city someday, provided more businesses and tourist attractions reopen.

On that note, I returned to New York with more beads, cups, doubloons, and stuffed animals than I knew what to do with ... and ended up giving a lot of it away to co-workers and family members. (I even sold some items on eBay and Coin Trading Post, but hardly enough to quit my day job.)

Even though the rebuilding process has been plagued by an endless stream of financial and political red tape, I believe the people of New Orleans will draw on their generous spirit to rise above the obstacles and reclaim their status as a cultural mecca that deserves our support.