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AS the aircraft banked towards Louis Armstrong New Orleans International Airport, I strained to spot the devastation below.
I thought I could see the 17th Street Canal – the one that had breached, causing so much of the damage – but it was difficult to be sure from 5,000ft. However, there was no mistaking the mighty Mississippi River, snaking towards the city centre. From the air, it didn’t look so bad.
I made my way through the airport soothed by a waft of jazz and air-conditioning, but that was just a veneer of normality.
In the terminal the tourists had been replaced by construction workers from Texas and Oklahoma – big men with even bigger bellies. Many carried camping gear in preparation for the nights ahead.
On the way into town I saw few signs of the carnage caused by Hurricane Katrina.
I even wondered if the media had exaggerated the damage. But on checking in to Hotel Monteleone, in the French Quarter, which reopened on October 15, I began to realise the scale of the disaster.
Cleatter Landry, the concierge, is now living in the hotel after her house was engulfed by flood waters.
“The water was up to the gutter for three weeks; I’ve only been allowed in once and I had to wear a mask,” she told me. Over the next couple of days I heard similar stories everywhere I went.
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However, the main areas – the French Quarter, Riverwalk Marketplace, Uptown, the Garden District and the Central Business District – are intact. In fact, walking round the French Quarter, the most visible signs of damage are the abandoned fridges on the streets.
On the advice of Mayor Ray Nagin, more than 75% of the citizens evacuated the city after the hurricane. Most people – Nagin included – expected to be gone only a few days.
But it was more than three weeks before the residents were allowed back, and by that time nearly every refrigeration unit in the city had to be disposed of, along with its putrefied contents.
Thankfully, the locals have retained their sense of humour and the fridge was the Halloween costume of choice this year.
Elsewhere in the city, signs of regeneration are strong. I had lunch at a busy Red Fish Grill on Bourbon Street where a new cocktail, the Katrina Rita has emerged. The restaurant’s Charlee Williamson told me: “It’s kinda like a Margarita but blue, and devastating, like a hurricane.”
To really appreciate the scale of the damage caused by the flooding, one needs to ride out to areas close to the now infamous 17th Street Canal.
I met up with John Biguenet, author and professor of English at Loyola University Chicago.
I knew Biguenet, a native, from a literary festival we’d both attended. He drove me out to his neighbourhood, which now resembles a war zone.
Biguenet’s house still stands, but several weeks of stewing in stagnating water has taken its toll. He told me he’s not certain he will be able to save it. Tragically, he also lost his prized possessions: his book collection, unfinished manuscripts and notes.
When asked whether he thought New Orleans would fully recover, he said: “Many of my students have developed a life away from New Orleans – courses, a new social life, apartments, relationships – and we don’t know how many will decide to stay put. The future is uncertain.”
Maybe that’s the true legacy of Katrina – the question of just who will come back?
Before the end of my trip, I dropped into Johnny White’s Sports Bar to meet a few folks who don’t need to come back. They never left. Johnny’s didn’t close during Katrina. In fact it hasn’t closed for 16 years.
I joined owner JD Landrum – and a few boozers who looked like they needed new livers – for a chat. JD was not happy.
“The state police tried to mace my customers out of the bar the night of Katrina. Man wants to drink, that’s his right – that’s the American way,” he complained.
If that’s true patriotism, let’s hope it’s enough to save New Orleans.
