Ramblings: After the Flood, After the Years

I remember where I was when I first heard about Hurricane Katrina and the flooding of New Orleans — I was returning from hiking in the Slovenian Dolomites, and the poorly translated news came to us in the last days of the trip: something bad had happened to an American city. The news filled in gradually — we learned it was a natural disaster, not a terrorist attack, and we learned it was in New Orleans. By the time we were at the airport heading back to the US, the story on CNN was about the collapse of civil order. The full magnitude was shocking.

Today, nearly five years later, it’s more shocking yet.

Houses

Torn down and gone, boarded up, or still being repaired

I don’t think I ever had even factual understanding of the extent of the disaster Katrina visited upon the city. I knew certain parts of the story. I had seen pictures, heard people telling what they’d seen, heard about their volunteer experiences. Somehow, though, because the picaresque French Quarter and Garden District were spared, and despite the news stories of the tremendous chaos, operational bungling, and political failures, somehow in my mind, the narrative was all about the Lower Ninth Ward.

Condemned House

Condemned House, Marked as Searched

Our first full day in New Orleans, we went on a three hour driving tour through the city, focusing on Katrina and the aftermath. Statistics like “80% of the city was flooded” and “12 feet of standing water” take on a tremendous visceral quality when you can see it. It’s almost five years later, and outside of the two places already mentioned, there is no part of the city without ample signs of what happened. It’s staggering. It’s overwhelming. It’s far beyond my ability to describe.

Flood Wall

Repaired flood wall, 17th Street Canal

When thinking about disasters, my personal point of reference is the Los Angeles experience of earthquakes,  fires, and the ’92 riots. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I think of the effects of disasters as being slightly worse or slightly better than what I’ve seen. This thinking completely falls apart in the face of surveying the vast swaths of New Orleans that were under 12 feet of water for days or even weeks.

Not to minimize the pain and destruction of the disasters that have gone through Los Angeles, but the sheer scope just can’t be compared. Percentage-wise, the equivalent would require over eleven million people to evacuate LA County within a week, with nearly three million of them never returning. Nearly four million housing units would have to suffer damage, and half of those would have to be condemned and demolished. And this is just the physical disaster, and leaves out all of the governmental, funding, and rebuilding crises that follow.

New Orleans has been vigorously rebuilding (at least the wealthier areas) since the waters have receded. An estimated seventy percent of the population has returned. Some businesses have returned; others haven’t. Even on weeknights, the touristy areas (like the French Quarter) are hopping with revelers and the restaurants and bars are crowded. The convention center is reportedly fully booked.

Sometimes, the community spirit of the city seems palpable; civic pride runs deep.

Who dat?

Saints fans are everywhere!

Other times, you can see the strain on people’s faces — they’ve been through a lot (and for many of them, that’s in addition to Katrina). There have been promises made and broken, there has been corruption, there have been lots of false hopes dangled and then snatched away.

Empty

Some businesses won't come back

It’s not clear what the future holds. Severe problems persist in housing, government, and social services. The fundamental threat of future levy failures has not been resolved.

Still, after even a brief visit, you can’t help but root for New Orleans. Who Dat!

(A variety of sources, of varying reliability, were used here, including personal experience, tour guide statements, the Greater New Orleans Community Data Center, Wikipedia, and NOLA.com)

Union Station, lunch and departure–San Antone, yeehah!

Didn’t sleep much the night before departure–I always have a panic attack before I leave town for a while–having the house burglarized twice eight years ago traumatized me, but since we’ve had the alarm installed theft hasn’t been a problem, so I know it’s just neurotic to worry as much as I do but I still do–not a rational thing.  We have all the neighbors watching the house and folks to take the mail in etc., but leaving still makes me twitchy.  Plus, this year’s rains have made the roses come out in force, and they were just starting to burst open in multitudes as we left, so we’ll miss it.  I hope the mail-bringer-inner accepts my invite to take tea in the garden while we’re gone, as my garden is unhappy unless it is admired….like me, I guess.

We enjoyed lunch with Karl, our chauffeur, in the grand, elegant part of Union Station, then departed through the gritty, dingy platform tunnel.  We took our first day on the train to adjust–this is a working vacation for me, so figuring out how and what to cram into our “roomette” and which connectors would fit where took the better part of the afternoon and evening.

Outside Palm Springs, CA

After dinner at our communal tables–thus far our meal partners have been pleasant–we retired to our roomette, clicked off the lights, got a couple of those little airplane bottles of rough Scotch from the club car, toasted the launch of our adventure, and watched the desert twilight of Arizona whiz by.  When we finally figured out how our bunks folded out (with the help of our car attendant, who set up a little mattress pad, sheet, and blankie on each bunk), Samuel volunteered for the upper (complete with catchnet to keep you from falling out) and I got the lower bunk and window.  I kept the curtains open and watched the sprinkling of stars and airplanes over the dunes; each time the train hit a rough trestle or went around a curve, I could see them shudder and curl around as if the sky were a dark, waving flag.  I’m moving, I’m on a train; as I move, the cosmos moves too.  It’s all a matter of perspective, of course, just in my head….or is it?

Little cloud over big desert

Sunset, Arizona

Slept fairly well despite long late night stops at Tucson and Maricopa that kept me awake and some rough track as we entered West Texas in the early morning hours. I liked seeing the sunrise, usually miss it at  my house.

Sunrise, West Texas

Our lunch companions pointed out the border fence as we went through El Paso/Juarez–the brick station was cute, small and stately, in contrast to the chaotic landscape of sheds and tin huts beyond.

The Border (fence), near El Paso/Juarez

Storm a-coming, TX

Storm's a-here, TX

Tonight we detrain in San Antone, yeehaah (we’ve made it a rule that if you say, “San Antone” instead of “San Antonio” you have to say “yeehaah!” afterwards.)  Last we heard there might be rain and heat; that’s some Texas high humidity for y’all.

Samuel and Amistad Reservoir, TX

Here’s a rockin’ little version of the San Antone (yeehah!) hometown tune–enjoy!

San Antonio Rose, 1962

Yeeeee-haaaaah!

Rambling Impressions, Part I

One of the things I like about trains is that the path they take cuts through the unpolished and unadorned part of the country. By and large, the facades face the roads and highways, while the rails pass through the land, almost unnoticed.

Unadorned America

Texas ... but could be anywhere.

From a train, you see places as they are, not as they would like you to see them. Instead of the well-maintained public-facing business park, you see the warehouse loading docks; instead of the shiny car dealership, you see the scrapyards, the repair shops, the pick-a-part lots. You see the hidden face of our tremendously complex infrastructure: power plants and electrical substations, flood control channels, highway maintenance yards, aqueducts, landfills, and refineries.

I  tend to think of the United States (and California in particular) as being a completely post-industrial society. Ten minutes on an eastbound train out of Union Station puts the lie to that belief. We may no longer have the kind of industrial output we once did, but all across Los Angeles County we passed small factories churning out security cameras, concrete structural components, piping, pallets, vacuum fittings, aerospace connectors, signs, irrigation equipment, and more. Then again, it’s not Kaiser Steel or General Motors.

Texans are fond of pointing out how big the state is. And it is big. So big, in fact, that there are vast stretches without any cell coverage at all.

But then, the heavens open up, and to a chorus of angels, pure, beautiful bandwidth rains down from on high…

Heavens

A chorus of Angels

Bandwidth

Bandwidth ... but not a compatible carrier

Bandwidth

Sweet Sprint CDMA like Manna in Del Rio!