Big Easy
Friday, July 4, 2008. Fireworks peak out from between weathered skyscrapers as trumpets blast and a busy French Quarter bursts with life.
As I write about my trip to New Orleans for Fourth of July, I'm torn on how to approach it. Should I be dramatic and talk about the hurricane and all its aftermath, or should I just focus on all the fun I had on Bourbon Street during a well deserved three day weekend? It's tough. But I think my confusion captures what New Orleans as a whole is going through right now. The swagger, spirit, and culture are still there, and they still shine day and night. But just around the corner remain the reminders of a city that was devastated and then ultimately forgotten by its own country.
Because we were granted a three day weekend, myself and three other (overly) seasoned TFA Instituters made the five hour trek to New Orleans on Friday. After all, when else would we get the chance to see that city? I knew that I was in for a treat. We rolled in at about 7 p.m. and found our hostel, which was a very unique large building that used to house orphans. The fairly sketchy doormen checked us in and made a few too many jokes about the place being haunted. I didn't doubt it...with all its old statues, furniture, and loud clocks, it definitely fit the criteria. As they showed us around, I couldn't help but think that this could be beginning of any horror movie...perhaps Hostel III. There was an old courtyard in the middle with a murky green swimming pool and an overgrown gazebo. Our room was a large one with about 40 bunk beds, but fortunately we were the only ones staying there.
We went out that night to Bourbon street, and I would definitely compare it to Amsterdam. They close it off to traffic and there's nothing but bar after bar with very talented live bands in almost every building. New Orleans is one of those cities that exists for entertainment. You can't help but dance everywhere you go.
The next day we slept in a little bit and then got some soul food. I ate a lot of ribs and even got to taste some alligator. We then drove around the city in search of the Ninth Ward, the area that was most devastated by Hurricane Katrina. We had vague directions of how to get there, and as we followed them, you couldn't help but notice that the city got poorer and poorer. Graffiti and boards covered the weathered walls and windows of most buildings. The first time through, we drove past the Ninth Ward and into the country, which was pretty interesting itself. As we headed back and finally figured out where we needed to be, we took a turn into one of the neighborhoods of the Ninth Ward.
The area we saw was very impoverished, but blatant signs of the hurricane were gone. Other people who drove through that area later that day described how bad it was- there were rows of abandoned and boarded up houses, and posted on the doors was info such as when the house was evacuated, how bad the flood damage was, and how many bodies were found. To be honest, I was kind of glad that we didn't see that part of Ninth Ward. I don't think I deserved to be there, driving through tragedy and devastation just to see it for myself. When the sky fell on that city, I was tucked away at college living in a dream world. As thousands of refugees waited for something to be done, I was in Italy living a paradise. Three years later, it's too late to point fingers. We all forgot that city.
I have nothing but the greatest respect for all the TFA corps members who are paving the way and establishing the movement in NO. I don't think there's a place in our country that needs it more than here. God bless them and God bless all those young kids who are looking for some sort of hope...it may just be a flicker right now, but it's growing.
After that, we went out one more night in the French Quarter. I loved the music and the company. The next day we slept in a little and then headed back to University of Houston for one more week of Institute. That's right...one more week. Almost there.
As I write about my trip to New Orleans for Fourth of July, I'm torn on how to approach it. Should I be dramatic and talk about the hurricane and all its aftermath, or should I just focus on all the fun I had on Bourbon Street during a well deserved three day weekend? It's tough. But I think my confusion captures what New Orleans as a whole is going through right now. The swagger, spirit, and culture are still there, and they still shine day and night. But just around the corner remain the reminders of a city that was devastated and then ultimately forgotten by its own country.
Because we were granted a three day weekend, myself and three other (overly) seasoned TFA Instituters made the five hour trek to New Orleans on Friday. After all, when else would we get the chance to see that city? I knew that I was in for a treat. We rolled in at about 7 p.m. and found our hostel, which was a very unique large building that used to house orphans. The fairly sketchy doormen checked us in and made a few too many jokes about the place being haunted. I didn't doubt it...with all its old statues, furniture, and loud clocks, it definitely fit the criteria. As they showed us around, I couldn't help but think that this could be beginning of any horror movie...perhaps Hostel III. There was an old courtyard in the middle with a murky green swimming pool and an overgrown gazebo. Our room was a large one with about 40 bunk beds, but fortunately we were the only ones staying there.
We went out that night to Bourbon street, and I would definitely compare it to Amsterdam. They close it off to traffic and there's nothing but bar after bar with very talented live bands in almost every building. New Orleans is one of those cities that exists for entertainment. You can't help but dance everywhere you go.
The next day we slept in a little bit and then got some soul food. I ate a lot of ribs and even got to taste some alligator. We then drove around the city in search of the Ninth Ward, the area that was most devastated by Hurricane Katrina. We had vague directions of how to get there, and as we followed them, you couldn't help but notice that the city got poorer and poorer. Graffiti and boards covered the weathered walls and windows of most buildings. The first time through, we drove past the Ninth Ward and into the country, which was pretty interesting itself. As we headed back and finally figured out where we needed to be, we took a turn into one of the neighborhoods of the Ninth Ward.
The area we saw was very impoverished, but blatant signs of the hurricane were gone. Other people who drove through that area later that day described how bad it was- there were rows of abandoned and boarded up houses, and posted on the doors was info such as when the house was evacuated, how bad the flood damage was, and how many bodies were found. To be honest, I was kind of glad that we didn't see that part of Ninth Ward. I don't think I deserved to be there, driving through tragedy and devastation just to see it for myself. When the sky fell on that city, I was tucked away at college living in a dream world. As thousands of refugees waited for something to be done, I was in Italy living a paradise. Three years later, it's too late to point fingers. We all forgot that city.
I have nothing but the greatest respect for all the TFA corps members who are paving the way and establishing the movement in NO. I don't think there's a place in our country that needs it more than here. God bless them and God bless all those young kids who are looking for some sort of hope...it may just be a flicker right now, but it's growing.
After that, we went out one more night in the French Quarter. I loved the music and the company. The next day we slept in a little and then headed back to University of Houston for one more week of Institute. That's right...one more week. Almost there.
posted by Daniel T at 10:54 AM
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