Brian had never seen New Orleans.
I’d been desperate to get there after Katrina to see the city for myself… but it never seemed the right time.
Finally I decided to surprise Brian for his birthday. We crammed it all into a short day and a half weekend. Nowhere near enough time.
I picked him up from the airport from his two-hour late flight and we went to the Rock-n-Bowl to see the Blue Runners. http://www.bluerunners.com/home.html
We got our bowling pin shaped beers and settled in to the slidy plastic circular booth next to a family who had more fun lobbing the ball to the middle of the lane and shaking the foundation than they did knocking down pins. It was certainly entertaining to watch…The bowling balls already (and seemingly always have) had huge chunks gouged out of them, which has always added an increased element of randomness and inaccuracy to the game.
I took this photo as we were driving away. Those of you who have been to Rock-N-Bowl will remember that the lanes are up a steep staircase on the second floor. Everything else in this strip was flooded out…including the awesome thrift store that was next door. The entire lot was surrounded by a high chain fence.
The hallway still had it’s odd photos and knick knacks…like for example…
these now holy shoes still watch over us.
The city feels empty…driving back to the hotel in the French Quarter it seemed no one was on the road.
The next morning Brian and walked for beignets at Cafe DuMond.
The heat and the stink outside the cafe were unbelievable, but not uncommon. This is nothing new. For decades the pigeons have landed on these tables to march their sticky mangled talons in the plates of powdered sugar. I didn’t photograph them for some reason.
I actually didn’t photograph much.
It felt parasitic to capture or memorialize the devastation of another city that was not my city, even though it was a city I loved.
IS a city I love.
I made two exceptions.
Mandinas, where I’d had so many lovely, friendly, delicious meals. The last one before Calexico as an extension of my band played at the Tape Op festival. We had the trout almandine, which tasted like fishy candy. Now there is just this dirty brown line from where the floodwater stood.
They Shall Return.
A friend told me the owners had opened a restaurant in Baton Rouge that had taken off; so many local New Orlineans had shifted over to that town.
If you look down that backside street to the left of the restaurant every house for blocks were flooded. No one seems to be repairing anything here.
There is a very strong and constant urge when driving around to have been there in the chaos, to see what it looked like when the waters rose. I found myself closing my eyes and trying to imagine it all weekend long.
One thing that helped was a little book called One Dead in the Attic. It’s a compilation of the Times Picayune columns of Chris Rose a Pulitzer prize winning journalist who sat out the flood. The book is furious, and human, very sad, and tremendously funny. I’d recommend it to anyone. http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/0977771504/sr=8-1/qid=1153413873/ref=pd_bbs_1/102-0869085-6129700?ie=UTF8
The proceeds from the book go to the New Orleans Musicians Clinic so it’s a good cause.
You can also read a lot of the columns here on the web for free.
Finally, this breaks my heart.
Angelo Brocato was the best ice cream parlor I’ve ever visited.
When my family would go to Jazz Fest each year we would regularly stop in more than once a day for the frigid air-conditioning, the cool marble tables and the best ice cream in the world. They had three different kinds of pistachio and their spimoni sent you to a childhood coma.
Now I can barely tell which storefront is theirs
Good news from the website is that it’s coming back.
We had a great sit down meal with Steve and Grasshopper at Brennan’s.
I don’t know why I didn’t take a picture; they were dressed to the nines. The Bananas Foster was delicious.
Once we were in the clouds we could see the FEMA trailers on every lawn for miles. I’m coming back as soon as I can and in the mean time I’m going to listen to Harry Shearer on Le Show.
He knows what’s going on.