Nola

I received this advice before I went to New Orleans: stay in your car and don't get lost!

Apparently, crime there is even worse than Baltimore's. I went by myself (like I often do) so I stayed on the well-trodden path. But even there Katrina's hand was evident. Only one lane was open on the highway to the airport, and as I sat in traffic on Carrollton Ave. I realized that the bulldozers weren't expanding the lanes; they were rebuilding them, five years after the flood.

But I have to disagree with the people who warned me about this city. Like other areas that have experienced trauma, its people have the biggest, kindest hearts. Navigating the torn streets was no problem; they let others by with hardly a honk. And they genuinely wanted to know about me - from the Tulane kids at the organic juice bar to the businessmen in the candlelit lounge of the International House hotel.

Maybe it's a Southern thing.

I met Tom at Emeril's restaurant. We shared a perch at the chef's table and, over glasses of Prosecco, watched E himself cook. He was a Christian motivational speaker. After dinner he walked me back to my hotel on Tchoupitoulas Street - it was sweet, really.

May I add - crawfish are delicious! Especially washed down with sweet tea, and finished off with King Cake. God, I ate well.


There were psychics and voodoo and a general loucheness to the city that felt wonderful. A palm reader said she could see me running Bell South but I'd be happier at an art gallery. The love line on my palm was the longest she's ever seen; someone has been with me thru many lifetimes. But I don't think I've met him yet.


I could seriously picture George and me living in a second floor apartment in the French Quarter.

What I liked best was the music - it was everywhere... hepcats in the street, quartets in the restaurants... I joined a spontaneous dance party outside of St. Louis Cathedral.


Because that's what you do when you're in New Orleans.