New Orleans Evacuates

My last entry in this blog was almost five months ago, when I wrote about exotic, mysterious, heart-broken New Orleans. Today, I am watching video of people fleeing again as hurricane Gustav approaches. I see photos of adults with sacks carrying whatever they could stuff into them, waiting for buses, and frightened children clutching their little backpacks. I listen to a woman who owns a car but doesn't know where to go. She has a vague idea of going to Baton Rouge, but the TV commentator interviewing her tells her all the hotels there are full.

Having been to New Orleans and taken it to my heart, I am with these people. I await the storm with dread. I wonder what I would do if I were down there now, with little money, young children or elderly relatives, perhaps, about to leave behind what little I have. I see video of people on a bus. They don't know where it will take them or what they will do when they get there.

Travel. A luxury? In one sense it is, of course. On a physical level, we can survive without it. But on another level, we can't.

New Orleans is no longer an abstraction to me.

As I write this, I'm thinking about the nurse I met there, who sank her life savings into rebuilding her house after Katrina. I'm thinking about the artists I met who seethed with passion and anger after Katrina, and threw it into their work. I'm thinking about the restaurateur whose restaurants never fully recovered after Katrina, but who, five months ago was hopeful, because New Orleans was his home. I'm thinking about the beautiful houses on the Esplanade that last time, were spared. I'm thinking about the Ninth Ward, which wasn't. I'm remembering the jazz musicians marching through the streets and in the clubs, the beignets and coffee, the lacy, wrought iron balconies.

There's nothing to do now but wait.

Terese

Some New Orleans people:

New Orleans Now

I just returned from my first visit to New Orleans — a beautiful and complex city — and yes, still there despite the destruction caused by hurricane Katrina.

You could easily visit New Orleans today and not see that anything was amiss. The revelry continues in the French Quarter day and night. The music clubs are open and there are more restaurants in the city now than there were before Katrina struck on Aug. 29, 2005. The food is exceptional. At Bacco's in the French Quarter I had some crawfish ravioli that I yearn for right now. The food at the Royal Sonesta hotel redefined what hotel food can be. In fact, I can't remember a bad meal anywhere during the few days of my visit.

Plus there is music everywhere, literally from birth to death when jazz bands accompany the deceased to their final resting place. And art in museums and galleries. And horse-drawn carriage rides along the Esplanade where tall houses with wrought-iron balconies are elegant and mysterious. And small, charming houses in the Marigny, where many artists live. And mansions in the Garden District, shaded by live oak trees. And steamships on the Mississippi River.

Yes. It's there. Still there — but this is a city with a broken heart. When Katrina struck, thousands of people lost their homes and everything they owned. Around 1,400 people were killed immediately; others died in the aftermath of heart attacks, stress-related illnesses, hunger, dehydration, suicide and violence. Hundreds of thousands of people were evacuated and many have still not returned.

Those areas of New Orleans that are below sea level have not recovered, almost two-and-a-half years later.

"Lakeview is the neighborhood furthest along," said James O'Byrne, features editor of the New Orleans Times-Picayune. "When people visit, we take them there first and they think that's the worst they're going to see. Then we take them to the Upper 9th Ward, the Lower 9th, Gentilly, St. Bernard Parish."

Mr. O'Byrne, who had nine years left on his mortgage, lost his home. "If you didn't have the assets to absorb that blow, there was no way to get back," he said.

In the 17th Street Canal neighborhood, I met a registered nurse named Kathy Singleton whose story was typical. Because of Katrina, she and her husband lost their jobs. They fled to Baton Rouge, where they lived in one room for four months with their two teenage daughters and five pets. The hurricane left eight feet of water in their house, which was underinsured and the insurance companies are still refusing to pay more than a token amount for the damage. "They say the damage was caused by wind and rain, not by flooding," Ms. Singleton said. The family has used their entire retirement savings to rebuild.

Some money has been available from the federal government under a program called "The Road Home," but the aid has been slow to arrive, modest, and it has been taxed. Many homeowners had to fight for grants, which were at first denied or set too low, with the award decision only reversed after a lengthy and costly appeal.

Much of the rebuilding in the devastated areas has been the work of volunteers and organizations like Habitat for Humanity. In fact, there's a new word in New Orleans: voluntourism — referring to people who visit the city to help as well as to sightsee.

Whatever your reasons for going to New Orleans, it's a city worth your time. And even if you don't want to pick up a hammer and paintbrush, you can feel good knowing that spending your money as a tourist will help the city come back.

Terese

Irish New York

New York City has the largest St. Patrick's Day parade in the country. Every year on March 17, legions of high school and college bands, policemen, firemen and fraternal societies led by vote-hungry politicians march down Fifth Avenue in Manhattan from midday to dusk, when everyone disperses to their favorite watering hole.

New York’s first St. Patrick’s Day parade took place in 1762 when Irish soldiers serving in the English military marched through the city on March 17 — the anniversary of the saint’s death. But for a more recent back-story on Irish New York, drop by the Irish Hunger Memorial overlooking the Hudson River at Vesey Street in Lower Manhattan.

The Irish potato famine of 1845-1852 killed more than a million people and drove hundreds of thousands out of Ireland. Many settled in New York and Boston. By 1850, the population of New York City was one-quarter Irish.

The memorial, which was dedicated in July 2002, was erected to record the suffering of those who perished and the courage of those who came to the United States to start over. It was also designed to raise awareness about hunger that still afflicts large parts of the world. It is sited on a half-acre, the maximum amount of land an Irish farmer was allowed to own if he were to receive any government assistance during the famine.

From the west side, the entrance to the memorial is through a passage whose walls are made of 300-million-year-old Kilkenny limestone interspersed with glass strips bearing quotes from eyewitnesses to the Irish famine and statistical information. This is accompanied by an audio track.

Just beyond is a roofless, two-room, stone crofter’s cottage that once stood in County Mayo. The cottage was built in 1820 and used by an Irish farming family until the 1960’s.

A field planted with Irish clover, grasses and heath slopes gently upward to yield views of the Statue of Liberty and Ellis Island, the portal for so many immigrants to their new life. Large stones from each of Ireland’s 32 counties are placed in the field, with an ancient pilgrim’s stone at the top, inscribed with a cross associated with St. Brendan of County Kerry.

You can follow in the footsteps of the Irish immigrants with a walking tour created by the Lower East Side Tenement Museum. Download it at www.immigrantheritagetrail.org/?q=node/887.

The tour starts in Lower Manhattan at St. Peters Church, at 22 Barclay St., which was founded by an Irish priest in 1785 and is the oldest Roman Catholic church in the city. Next it takes you to 280 Broadway, where a boy named Alexander Turney Stewart who emigrated to New York in 1818 from County Antrim grew up to found America's first department store.

Some of the other sites on the tour include the Brooklyn Bridge, largely built by poor, Irish laborers, the Emigrant Industrial Savings Bank on Chambers Street, which was founded expressly for Irish immigrants and the Church of the Transfiguration on Mott Street, which served the desperately poor people of nearby Five Points — a slum so filthy and dangerous that even Charles Dickens was appalled. (Five Points is now perfectly safe and is on the edge of Chinatown. Several courthouses long ago replaced the tenements.)

This informative tour ends at McSorley's Old Ale House on East 7th Street, founded in the mid-19th century by an immigrant from County Tyrone. Here you can rest your feet and have a pint. Or two.

Terese