As featured in Maclean's EXTREME WEATHER Edition,
Nov 6, 2012 |
Thursday Morning - Click here to listen to the entire song.
The song, "Thursday Morning" was written and performed by Dean Italiano (with Brent Hagerman on Sax).
On the CD "Songs of Innocence and of Experience" the song called "Thursday Morning" in memory of a moment in New Orleans that is in the book...
Thursday Morning received an Honorable Mention in the Blues Category in the 2009 Unisong International Songwriting Contest.
"Thursday Morning just kicked the shit out of me. I got drawn in by the sax as I love sax, and then the lyrics sank in and I was a mess. I wasn't prepared for that. Quite the tune, well done."
-- Kirk Metcalf, Accountant
"Just heard the song you recorded for Katrina And The Frenchman trailer. Haunting and incredible! Is an MP3 available somewhere?" -- paperbackhorror via Twitter
The song, "Thursday Morning" was written and performed by Dean Italiano (with Brent Hagerman on Sax).
On the CD "Songs of Innocence and of Experience" the song called "Thursday Morning" in memory of a moment in New Orleans that is in the book...
Thursday Morning received an Honorable Mention in the Blues Category in the 2009 Unisong International Songwriting Contest.
"Thursday Morning just kicked the shit out of me. I got drawn in by the sax as I love sax, and then the lyrics sank in and I was a mess. I wasn't prepared for that. Quite the tune, well done."
-- Kirk Metcalf, Accountant
"Just heard the song you recorded for Katrina And The Frenchman trailer. Haunting and incredible! Is an MP3 available somewhere?" -- paperbackhorror via Twitter
About KATRINA AND THE FRENCHMAN: A JOURNAL FROM THE STREET
THE BEST POSSIBLE PLACE
THE WORST POSSIBLE TIME
On August 27, 2005, a Carnival cruise ship docked at the harbor of New Orleans. Amongst the arrivals were Canadian writer Dean Italiano and his husband, G, wrapping a wild 10-year anniversary celebration in a city they dearly loved.
But this was less than 48 hours before the levees crumbled, and the nightmare began.
Katrina and The Frenchman is a haunting, harrowing first-person account of the Hurricane Katrina disaster, seen from the perspective of two tourists trapped in a city gripped by terror, and coming apart at the seams. Repeatedly finding light in the darkness, and then watching the darkness swallow it whole. Finally forced to escape on their own, when the system broke down completely.
Mostly, though, this is a story about beautiful people, and what they become as their hope runs out.
“I love this book. It’s a riveting story, intimately told with skill, deep humility, startling honesty, and the kind of stark photographic recall most people only achieve when they find themselves suddenly slapped within an inch of their lives by death. Which is, of course, precisely what happened; and that profound revelation is delivered intact throughout the course of this beautiful, powerful work.”
-- John Skipp, bestselling author of Jake’s Wake and The Light At The End
Italiano is sharing their story so that donations from sales of Katrina And The Frenchman: A Journal From The Street can be made to Common Ground Relief, and to help the people of New Orleans.
**Update August 26th, 2009**
After the first two months I'd like to let you know that a donation has already been sent to Common Ground Relief.
Thanks to all of you who bought a copy of the book and helped make a difference.
Reviews/Comments:
"I just finished reading Katrina and the Frenchman...I burned through (it) in about 5 hours. That should let you know how much it blew me away. I’m still sitting here stunned at what I’ve read.
Your experience was so tremendously different than mine. A polar opposite in many ways. I went in not only voluntarily, but totally prepared both mentally and physically for what I was about to experience. I’d been chasing tornadoes for about five years at that point so I had a pretty good understanding of what these systems can do. We had lots of water, food and gas and we were able to set up in a location that gave us maximum protection from the wind and water.
And it was still the single most intense experience in my life
...The writing is incredibly personal and powerful. I keep coming back to how different it was from what I went through and that makes it so important to me to read it. I got the worst part of the storm, but the easy part of the story. We were able to escape in minutes after the wind died down and because we had cars and lots of gas. Man, if I’d known what was going on in the city, we would have headed straight into New Orleans and started giving rides to get people out of there...We didn’t meet that many people in the storm and I think that’s what makes your story so powerful.
The ironic part of this is that I’m writing this on the plane as I head to Fort MacMurray, another major disaster zone. Your book made a huge difference in how I’m going to approach the story that I’m heading into, so I have to say thank you in a major way."
-- exerpt from an email (with permission) from Mark Robinson, StormHunter and Meteorologist at The Weather Network
"KATRINA AND THE FRENCHMAN: A JOURNAL FROM THE STREET is a compelling personal account of a national tragedy. Harrowing, vivid and incredibly touching, it will open your eyes to the catastrophe that befell New Orleans."
-- Christopher Golden & Tim Lebbon, authors of Mind the Gap and The Map of Moments
From Bev Vincent:
“Novelists have often written about what might happen if a city becomes cut off from the rest of the world. They speculate about how humanity will react under these conditions. Picture scenes from Stephen King's THE STAND where New Yorkers struggle to leave the island after it is devastated by an epidemic. Disaster brings out the best and the worst in people, but we don't often have anything from the real world to decide if the fiction writers got it right or not. In August 2005, nature handed us such an example.
“Hurricane Katrina was one of those events that people watched around the world in real time. In Katrina and the Frenchman: A Journal from the Street, Italiano offers a first person account of what he and his husband experienced from the day before the storm struck until they were ultimately able to escape from New Orleans many days later. Those of us who watched on television only got part of the picture--we could never truly appreciate the horror of the situation from the comfort of our living rooms--but at times we knew a lot more about the "big picture" than those on the ground. Italiano takes us through each day, from the point of no return after which people were forced to remain in the city regardless of their desires, through the harrowing hours of the storm itself and the aftermath, which was in many ways worse than the hurricane. Food and water became luxury items, as did information. Rumors swept through the city like flood waters. Another hurricane was coming. Walls of water were bearing down on the city. Buses were coming. Buses weren't coming. Much of the information received by those who were stranded was either wrong, misleading or useless. Invocations to abandon the city now, issued long after the point where that was still possible. Faulty directions. Lack of organization at all levels.
“Italiano introduces us to a small group of survivors, referring to them by colorful nicknames--a city of origin or a distinguishing feature. He takes us through the tedium of waiting and not knowing, their gradual loss of faith that they might ever get home again. His book is intensely personal. He reveals his anguishes, both physical and emotional. Having to decide what belongings were worth keeping and which ones could be jettisoned when they were forced to lighten their loads. Anger at the unfairness of the situation, and grievances over small issues that were magnified out of proportion due to the stress of the situation. And, ultimately, the terror didn't end when they were on a bus headed to Houston. Their escape was fortuitous and he recounts a combination of survivor guilt--when he became one of us, watching the disaster continue to unfold on her own television--and post-traumatic stress reinforced by the pervasive curiosity of everyone they talked with in the weeks after they returned to Canada. His anguish as he watched friends try to decide what to do when Hurricane Rita materialized a few weeks later. Even nature took a jab at them, sending the remains of Rita to tumble the gazebo in their back yard.
“KATRINA AND THE FRENCHMAN: A JOURNAL FROM THE STREET is a fast read, constructed in the form of a personal diary or a blog, but it will have a lasting and profound impact on readers as they are escorted on a guided tour of the closest thing to hell this continent has experienced in a long time.”
-- Bev Vincent, author of The Road to the Dark Tower
"I devoured this book in one weekend... This book is part therapy, part journal and part history. It is a painful yet useful read to experience such an 'unfair' and horrific storm. Thank you, Dean Italiano..."
-- Cindy Matthews in her review in The Record
“It was incredibly powerful and utterly gripping, for sure. I read it in one sitting, with breaks to just cry. Oh, hey, I'm going to cry again now just thinking about it.”
-- Mehitobel Wilson, author of the collection Dangerous Red
"Everyone knows that bad things happened to New Orleans four years ago. If you read this book, you'll realize that you had no idea how bad those things actually were, and what an atrocity it is that the city was ignored, left to die, and when it survived, never given a fair chance to recover. This book has more amazing characters than any novel you've ever read, with the possible exception of War and Peace, and every one of them is real. They are heroic, terrified, good, evil, desperate, caring, uncaring and any other human quality you can imagine. Buy the book. Read the book. Trust me on this."
-- Dave Hogg, Associated Press Sports Writer - Here's a full Goodreads review.
"In Katrina and the Frenchman: A Journal from the Street, Dean Italiano gives us a front-row view of his nerve-shearing personal voyage through one of the most horrifying disasters in recent memory. Written while the ragged wound in his emotions still burned fresh, it's of the most disturbing reads I've ever picked up."
-- Mark W. Worthen, author of short stories "Old Hippies, Duct Tape and Tough Choices", "With Black Curtains" and more.
"I went to see Dean Italiano and Tom Monteleone read. Dean was great, reading a very touching journal entry from when he was stuck in New Orleans post-Katrina. There were few dry eyes in the room."
-- Nate Southard blog entry (August 2006), author of Just Like Hell
"I want to give a special shout out to Dean Italiano who read from his soon to be published (any publisher that doesn’t pick this up is either stupid or crazy) book about his and his husband's experiences at ground zero in New Orleans after Hurricane Katrina."
-- Robert Shuster from Sevancide.com
"It was such a good read that I lent out my signed copy and never got it back."
-- Shannon Jaklitsch
"I’m halfway through and can’t put it down. Just an amazing story! It’s also really good to read on the ipad as I can go on google streetview and look at the places as you describe them. I spent a couple of weeks staying with friends in New Orleans, so my images of that city run quite deep."
-- Bob Thompson
"I just wanted to send a little note to say I just finally read your book. I felt as though you took me there and I shared the experience with you and Giasone. It reduced me to tears at many points and I truly felt your pain. I hope you never have to endure something like that again in your lifetime. I hope I never have to as well. I hope you have found some closure by returning and although you will never forget this horrible experience, can move past it and find some peace with it."
-- Diane Manderson
"Just letting you know I received my copy of your book today. I had already decided beforehand that I would wait for a while to read it, because I know it will be an emotional journey. That being said, I'm on page 54. And I was only looking it over! I guess I'm as ready to take the journey as I'll ever be. I want to say that I'm looking forward to reading it, and yet that somehow doesn't seem appropriate, given the subject matter. It's more like I hear it calling me and I can't turn away."
-- Carolyn Kelly
"Your book arrived yesterday, which is amazingly quick. I didn’t go pick up the mail until about 6:00 p.m. and I was going to start it last night. Then I let (my wife) have a look and she gobbled it up. I haven’t seen her read a book in probably 5 or 6 years – she’s usually so busy or tired at night – but she ran off to bed and read the entire book front to back. She loved it, Dean, and told me to tell you how incredible she thought it was. She couldn’t stop or put it down until she knew the whole story. Now it’s my turn. I’ll hopefully get to it today and give you my thoughts soon too. Just wanted to get on here and let you know it arrived and what (my wife) thought."
-- Anonymous
"I'm enjoying reading your book so much I was up till 1:30 am and then couldn't sleep and read some more."
-- Angela Cameron
"I read Katrina and the Frenchman last night on a night shift, it was the first time in my life I've read an entire book in one sitting. It was truly incredible. I was in New Orleans in Oct 2006 and saw the aftermath a full year later and I can still only imagine the first hand experience. I wanted to thank you for sharing such a life changing story."
-- Patrick Gulka
"I read the book. You got me!! I read it in one sitting – I was going to bed and stayed up all night. Powerful! I felt I was there. Your intimate reactions brought life and reality to those of us who watched the aftermath via CNN news. You put a face and soul to the horror. KEEP WRITING!!"
--Teresa Toth
"Re: my comment about tough moments in the book. Wow, there were a lot for me: obviously, the moment with the woman and her dead baby, and the body revealed to Curious-Girl. I think some of the "offscreen" stuff, also, like when G. made you promise not to look into the Convention Center. It's weird, because I said your voice and tone carried me through the tough moments, but they also made them *worse*, because you form such a strong, compassionate bond with the reader--we hear things through your voice, see them through your eyes, but we're also watching YOU in the situation, and worrying about your own suffering. I think I especially identified with the physical issues (not sure if you could walk the distance; hanging onto the water bottle, etc.), and the insomnia scene--that weird kind of worry spiral that I sometimes have in even the safest moments. You really put us through the scenes WITH you. Such a compelling narrative."
--Norman Prentiss
Last but not least, the rejection that made me finally decide to self-publish and send donations back to New Orleans to help rebuild...
"I think you have created something powerful and important. It is not, however, something that O’More Publishing can print. ... The language is too harsh, for instance, for what we have worked on so far and what we plan on working on during the near future. BUT, the language reflects the story too closely to be changed; I could not ask you to change it."
-- Jessa R. Sexton, O'More Publishing
THE BEST POSSIBLE PLACE
THE WORST POSSIBLE TIME
On August 27, 2005, a Carnival cruise ship docked at the harbor of New Orleans. Amongst the arrivals were Canadian writer Dean Italiano and his husband, G, wrapping a wild 10-year anniversary celebration in a city they dearly loved.
But this was less than 48 hours before the levees crumbled, and the nightmare began.
Katrina and The Frenchman is a haunting, harrowing first-person account of the Hurricane Katrina disaster, seen from the perspective of two tourists trapped in a city gripped by terror, and coming apart at the seams. Repeatedly finding light in the darkness, and then watching the darkness swallow it whole. Finally forced to escape on their own, when the system broke down completely.
Mostly, though, this is a story about beautiful people, and what they become as their hope runs out.
“I love this book. It’s a riveting story, intimately told with skill, deep humility, startling honesty, and the kind of stark photographic recall most people only achieve when they find themselves suddenly slapped within an inch of their lives by death. Which is, of course, precisely what happened; and that profound revelation is delivered intact throughout the course of this beautiful, powerful work.”
-- John Skipp, bestselling author of Jake’s Wake and The Light At The End
Italiano is sharing their story so that donations from sales of Katrina And The Frenchman: A Journal From The Street can be made to Common Ground Relief, and to help the people of New Orleans.
**Update August 26th, 2009**
After the first two months I'd like to let you know that a donation has already been sent to Common Ground Relief.
Thanks to all of you who bought a copy of the book and helped make a difference.
Reviews/Comments:
"I just finished reading Katrina and the Frenchman...I burned through (it) in about 5 hours. That should let you know how much it blew me away. I’m still sitting here stunned at what I’ve read.
Your experience was so tremendously different than mine. A polar opposite in many ways. I went in not only voluntarily, but totally prepared both mentally and physically for what I was about to experience. I’d been chasing tornadoes for about five years at that point so I had a pretty good understanding of what these systems can do. We had lots of water, food and gas and we were able to set up in a location that gave us maximum protection from the wind and water.
And it was still the single most intense experience in my life
...The writing is incredibly personal and powerful. I keep coming back to how different it was from what I went through and that makes it so important to me to read it. I got the worst part of the storm, but the easy part of the story. We were able to escape in minutes after the wind died down and because we had cars and lots of gas. Man, if I’d known what was going on in the city, we would have headed straight into New Orleans and started giving rides to get people out of there...We didn’t meet that many people in the storm and I think that’s what makes your story so powerful.
The ironic part of this is that I’m writing this on the plane as I head to Fort MacMurray, another major disaster zone. Your book made a huge difference in how I’m going to approach the story that I’m heading into, so I have to say thank you in a major way."
-- exerpt from an email (with permission) from Mark Robinson, StormHunter and Meteorologist at The Weather Network
"KATRINA AND THE FRENCHMAN: A JOURNAL FROM THE STREET is a compelling personal account of a national tragedy. Harrowing, vivid and incredibly touching, it will open your eyes to the catastrophe that befell New Orleans."
-- Christopher Golden & Tim Lebbon, authors of Mind the Gap and The Map of Moments
From Bev Vincent:
“Novelists have often written about what might happen if a city becomes cut off from the rest of the world. They speculate about how humanity will react under these conditions. Picture scenes from Stephen King's THE STAND where New Yorkers struggle to leave the island after it is devastated by an epidemic. Disaster brings out the best and the worst in people, but we don't often have anything from the real world to decide if the fiction writers got it right or not. In August 2005, nature handed us such an example.
“Hurricane Katrina was one of those events that people watched around the world in real time. In Katrina and the Frenchman: A Journal from the Street, Italiano offers a first person account of what he and his husband experienced from the day before the storm struck until they were ultimately able to escape from New Orleans many days later. Those of us who watched on television only got part of the picture--we could never truly appreciate the horror of the situation from the comfort of our living rooms--but at times we knew a lot more about the "big picture" than those on the ground. Italiano takes us through each day, from the point of no return after which people were forced to remain in the city regardless of their desires, through the harrowing hours of the storm itself and the aftermath, which was in many ways worse than the hurricane. Food and water became luxury items, as did information. Rumors swept through the city like flood waters. Another hurricane was coming. Walls of water were bearing down on the city. Buses were coming. Buses weren't coming. Much of the information received by those who were stranded was either wrong, misleading or useless. Invocations to abandon the city now, issued long after the point where that was still possible. Faulty directions. Lack of organization at all levels.
“Italiano introduces us to a small group of survivors, referring to them by colorful nicknames--a city of origin or a distinguishing feature. He takes us through the tedium of waiting and not knowing, their gradual loss of faith that they might ever get home again. His book is intensely personal. He reveals his anguishes, both physical and emotional. Having to decide what belongings were worth keeping and which ones could be jettisoned when they were forced to lighten their loads. Anger at the unfairness of the situation, and grievances over small issues that were magnified out of proportion due to the stress of the situation. And, ultimately, the terror didn't end when they were on a bus headed to Houston. Their escape was fortuitous and he recounts a combination of survivor guilt--when he became one of us, watching the disaster continue to unfold on her own television--and post-traumatic stress reinforced by the pervasive curiosity of everyone they talked with in the weeks after they returned to Canada. His anguish as he watched friends try to decide what to do when Hurricane Rita materialized a few weeks later. Even nature took a jab at them, sending the remains of Rita to tumble the gazebo in their back yard.
“KATRINA AND THE FRENCHMAN: A JOURNAL FROM THE STREET is a fast read, constructed in the form of a personal diary or a blog, but it will have a lasting and profound impact on readers as they are escorted on a guided tour of the closest thing to hell this continent has experienced in a long time.”
-- Bev Vincent, author of The Road to the Dark Tower
"I devoured this book in one weekend... This book is part therapy, part journal and part history. It is a painful yet useful read to experience such an 'unfair' and horrific storm. Thank you, Dean Italiano..."
-- Cindy Matthews in her review in The Record
“It was incredibly powerful and utterly gripping, for sure. I read it in one sitting, with breaks to just cry. Oh, hey, I'm going to cry again now just thinking about it.”
-- Mehitobel Wilson, author of the collection Dangerous Red
"Everyone knows that bad things happened to New Orleans four years ago. If you read this book, you'll realize that you had no idea how bad those things actually were, and what an atrocity it is that the city was ignored, left to die, and when it survived, never given a fair chance to recover. This book has more amazing characters than any novel you've ever read, with the possible exception of War and Peace, and every one of them is real. They are heroic, terrified, good, evil, desperate, caring, uncaring and any other human quality you can imagine. Buy the book. Read the book. Trust me on this."
-- Dave Hogg, Associated Press Sports Writer - Here's a full Goodreads review.
"In Katrina and the Frenchman: A Journal from the Street, Dean Italiano gives us a front-row view of his nerve-shearing personal voyage through one of the most horrifying disasters in recent memory. Written while the ragged wound in his emotions still burned fresh, it's of the most disturbing reads I've ever picked up."
-- Mark W. Worthen, author of short stories "Old Hippies, Duct Tape and Tough Choices", "With Black Curtains" and more.
"I went to see Dean Italiano and Tom Monteleone read. Dean was great, reading a very touching journal entry from when he was stuck in New Orleans post-Katrina. There were few dry eyes in the room."
-- Nate Southard blog entry (August 2006), author of Just Like Hell
"I want to give a special shout out to Dean Italiano who read from his soon to be published (any publisher that doesn’t pick this up is either stupid or crazy) book about his and his husband's experiences at ground zero in New Orleans after Hurricane Katrina."
-- Robert Shuster from Sevancide.com
"It was such a good read that I lent out my signed copy and never got it back."
-- Shannon Jaklitsch
"I’m halfway through and can’t put it down. Just an amazing story! It’s also really good to read on the ipad as I can go on google streetview and look at the places as you describe them. I spent a couple of weeks staying with friends in New Orleans, so my images of that city run quite deep."
-- Bob Thompson
"I just wanted to send a little note to say I just finally read your book. I felt as though you took me there and I shared the experience with you and Giasone. It reduced me to tears at many points and I truly felt your pain. I hope you never have to endure something like that again in your lifetime. I hope I never have to as well. I hope you have found some closure by returning and although you will never forget this horrible experience, can move past it and find some peace with it."
-- Diane Manderson
"Just letting you know I received my copy of your book today. I had already decided beforehand that I would wait for a while to read it, because I know it will be an emotional journey. That being said, I'm on page 54. And I was only looking it over! I guess I'm as ready to take the journey as I'll ever be. I want to say that I'm looking forward to reading it, and yet that somehow doesn't seem appropriate, given the subject matter. It's more like I hear it calling me and I can't turn away."
-- Carolyn Kelly
"Your book arrived yesterday, which is amazingly quick. I didn’t go pick up the mail until about 6:00 p.m. and I was going to start it last night. Then I let (my wife) have a look and she gobbled it up. I haven’t seen her read a book in probably 5 or 6 years – she’s usually so busy or tired at night – but she ran off to bed and read the entire book front to back. She loved it, Dean, and told me to tell you how incredible she thought it was. She couldn’t stop or put it down until she knew the whole story. Now it’s my turn. I’ll hopefully get to it today and give you my thoughts soon too. Just wanted to get on here and let you know it arrived and what (my wife) thought."
-- Anonymous
"I'm enjoying reading your book so much I was up till 1:30 am and then couldn't sleep and read some more."
-- Angela Cameron
"I read Katrina and the Frenchman last night on a night shift, it was the first time in my life I've read an entire book in one sitting. It was truly incredible. I was in New Orleans in Oct 2006 and saw the aftermath a full year later and I can still only imagine the first hand experience. I wanted to thank you for sharing such a life changing story."
-- Patrick Gulka
"I read the book. You got me!! I read it in one sitting – I was going to bed and stayed up all night. Powerful! I felt I was there. Your intimate reactions brought life and reality to those of us who watched the aftermath via CNN news. You put a face and soul to the horror. KEEP WRITING!!"
--Teresa Toth
"Re: my comment about tough moments in the book. Wow, there were a lot for me: obviously, the moment with the woman and her dead baby, and the body revealed to Curious-Girl. I think some of the "offscreen" stuff, also, like when G. made you promise not to look into the Convention Center. It's weird, because I said your voice and tone carried me through the tough moments, but they also made them *worse*, because you form such a strong, compassionate bond with the reader--we hear things through your voice, see them through your eyes, but we're also watching YOU in the situation, and worrying about your own suffering. I think I especially identified with the physical issues (not sure if you could walk the distance; hanging onto the water bottle, etc.), and the insomnia scene--that weird kind of worry spiral that I sometimes have in even the safest moments. You really put us through the scenes WITH you. Such a compelling narrative."
--Norman Prentiss
Last but not least, the rejection that made me finally decide to self-publish and send donations back to New Orleans to help rebuild...
"I think you have created something powerful and important. It is not, however, something that O’More Publishing can print. ... The language is too harsh, for instance, for what we have worked on so far and what we plan on working on during the near future. BUT, the language reflects the story too closely to be changed; I could not ask you to change it."
-- Jessa R. Sexton, O'More Publishing
Why I wrote the story...
The reason why I wrote this story is different from the reason why I'm sharing it with you.
First and foremost, I am a writer. I often think that without taking the time to write things down I would lose the ability to make any sense of this world. Not that I always succeed, but it helps. There is a scene in the movie “Twister” where Joe (Helen Hunt) and Bill (Bill Paxton) lose their truck and hide from a tornado under a bridge. When asked what it was like, Joe said, “It was windy.”
Until I sorted through my own thoughts (because I didn't know where to begin), when people asked what it was like I'd say something like, “It was wet and windy. Mostly wet.”
I couldn't process more than that, there were no words coming to me that could even begin to describe what we went through and saw. All I had was a little notebook full of frantic notes.
I had days when I would just cry and scream, unable to tell anyone why... until I wrote it down.
I also needed to mourn. Things happened so quickly after the initial storm. When you're in survival mode, your brain turns into a different animal and you shut off the grieving process until you either escape the situation, or break down completely. There were so many moments to mourn. I needed to go back and relive them, feel them, and let my heart tear in two as if those events had happened in my normal life. I needed to understand the fear and what it can do to a person. I needed to rid myself of the sheer desperation that I brought home with me.
Friends suggested that I see a professional, to let someone help me work through it. I doubted anyone could ever understand what happened, and I doubted my ability to accurately describe anything in person. I turned to writing and self-council. If that was all I needed, I would have kept a diary and locked it in my bedside drawer. But I had to share it with you. I needed you to know.
When we arrived home, I wanted to get in my car and drive right back to help the people still in New Orleans. I wanted people to know how bad it was and to HELP THEM. The news didn't show the truth, they didn't see what was really happening, and people needed to know. I was interviewed on the local radio station and said just that, and I'm not sure if anyone really understood.
It's been a few years and I still need you to know. New Orleans still needs help. This is the only way I know how to help them. I can share my story and send back donations to help the people still living in New Orleans. I can give them an extra voice, I can tell people what it was like during the catastrophe, and the events that lead up to the time when people were allowed back to find out that they too, lost their homes.
You've heard the crying, but you didn't hear the scream.
I ask you to understand what happened, so that you can take away a small part of their pain by carrying it with you.
To those that already do, or have read the story, I wholeheartedly thank you.
I'd like to show you the following (original) video that was taken FIVE HOURS AFTER Katrina came to New Orleans. The wind was still very strong, it was still raining heavily, and it was difficult to film anything to the left... but I did catch a tree struggling against the wind, and a woman determined to walk her dog.
That's life in the Big Easy.
The reason why I wrote this story is different from the reason why I'm sharing it with you.
First and foremost, I am a writer. I often think that without taking the time to write things down I would lose the ability to make any sense of this world. Not that I always succeed, but it helps. There is a scene in the movie “Twister” where Joe (Helen Hunt) and Bill (Bill Paxton) lose their truck and hide from a tornado under a bridge. When asked what it was like, Joe said, “It was windy.”
Until I sorted through my own thoughts (because I didn't know where to begin), when people asked what it was like I'd say something like, “It was wet and windy. Mostly wet.”
I couldn't process more than that, there were no words coming to me that could even begin to describe what we went through and saw. All I had was a little notebook full of frantic notes.
I had days when I would just cry and scream, unable to tell anyone why... until I wrote it down.
I also needed to mourn. Things happened so quickly after the initial storm. When you're in survival mode, your brain turns into a different animal and you shut off the grieving process until you either escape the situation, or break down completely. There were so many moments to mourn. I needed to go back and relive them, feel them, and let my heart tear in two as if those events had happened in my normal life. I needed to understand the fear and what it can do to a person. I needed to rid myself of the sheer desperation that I brought home with me.
Friends suggested that I see a professional, to let someone help me work through it. I doubted anyone could ever understand what happened, and I doubted my ability to accurately describe anything in person. I turned to writing and self-council. If that was all I needed, I would have kept a diary and locked it in my bedside drawer. But I had to share it with you. I needed you to know.
When we arrived home, I wanted to get in my car and drive right back to help the people still in New Orleans. I wanted people to know how bad it was and to HELP THEM. The news didn't show the truth, they didn't see what was really happening, and people needed to know. I was interviewed on the local radio station and said just that, and I'm not sure if anyone really understood.
It's been a few years and I still need you to know. New Orleans still needs help. This is the only way I know how to help them. I can share my story and send back donations to help the people still living in New Orleans. I can give them an extra voice, I can tell people what it was like during the catastrophe, and the events that lead up to the time when people were allowed back to find out that they too, lost their homes.
You've heard the crying, but you didn't hear the scream.
I ask you to understand what happened, so that you can take away a small part of their pain by carrying it with you.
To those that already do, or have read the story, I wholeheartedly thank you.
I'd like to show you the following (original) video that was taken FIVE HOURS AFTER Katrina came to New Orleans. The wind was still very strong, it was still raining heavily, and it was difficult to film anything to the left... but I did catch a tree struggling against the wind, and a woman determined to walk her dog.
That's life in the Big Easy.
The ending... (Throughout there are mentions of pictures that are in the gallery at the bottom of the page.)
Over the last six years, many people have told me that my book Katrina and the Frenchman: A Journal from the Street (KATF) had no real ending. I would answer, "Because it didn't end." The pain continued and our New Orleans experience didn't have closure. It's almost six years later, and we are now home from our March Break trip to New Orleans. I'm happy to say we left the city unharmed.
I will be making references to the KATF book, so if you don't have one I suggest you buy one first. But now, just as I took you through the pain, I will share our healing with you over the following several pages...
March 14, 2011 - Travel day
We were seated in the last row, (lucky?) row 13 on the flight from Buffalo to Washington, which was absolutely nauseating. Thankfully the stopover was long enough to allow us to recover before the much nicer flight into Louisiana. We were anxious, nervous, and excited. Would it be like our first, touristy trip in 2003? How much has changed? Will we be able to get over the pain enough to still have a good trip? Tommy’d had the flu the week before and we dropped off a flu-sick Kaden at Grandma’s. It was horrible leaving him like that, and we just hoped he would feel better quickly. It was our first time away from the kids for more than a night. We travelled light, one personal item and one carry-on each. Not having to wait for luggage when you land, or worrying where it'll end up is much easier. I took a picture for the kids. I wanted them to see what it looked like above the clouds.
We took a cab to the hotel. (Note: If you have more than two people the shuttle is cheaper, for two people it's the same price and it's a direct route.) We didn’t know who we’d see at the front desk. Part of us did, and part didn’t want to see Chester. He wasn’t there. We got checked in by a very nice lady and went to our poolside room. Double bed and "Chat Noir" over our heads.
We didn't remember the rooms or bathroom being so small. The shower drain was broken and the water took ten minutes to heat up. Our knees hit the wall when we sat on the toilet. The hot tub wasn't working. There was no remote for the TV and the air conditioner was very loud.
We went to Montrel’s for dinner. They were short-staffed and food was very slow coming out. Some people were even leaving, but we were in no rush and sat with a glass of wine. Our food was okay and we went back to crash at the hotel.
Being the trusting Canadians that we are, we failed/forgot to lock our door. At 2:30am a girl walked into our room. G sat up with the C-PAP mask still on and scared the shit out of her. He locked the door and tried to go back to sleep. He could hear the nearest bar’s karaoke until 3am. He had to turn the AC off as well. We both found the mattress too soft, and it just wasn’t a relaxing night. Such a shame.
The next day...
March 15, 2011 - Common Ground Relief
The continental breakfast spread was very nice, several cereal dispensers, donuts and breads for toast, yogurt on ice. I grabbed a coffee and an apple. I asked the girl at the front counter if Chester or Vasonda still worked there. She looked at me funny. I told her our story. She said that about six months after the storm all of the staff moved on, there's nobody left from that time. I felt an instant separation. It felt less like coming home. It was just a hotel again.
G went for supplies (like toothpaste) and when he came back he told me that there was a fistfight between some of the homeless people across the street, and then one of them tried to get into the corner bar (yes, it was open) and the guy was kicked out. The neighbourhood had changed.
When we last left New Orleans we felt like locals. We were treated like locals and felt pain with the locals. But the more I was made to feel like a tourist, the better. We saw the balcony where the upcoming storm was discussed in KATF. (Pages 27-28)
G's coffee on the roof before we left. A view from the rooftop, much different from what we saw before on page 51.
We decided to get ourselves in gear and call Thom Pepper at Common Ground Relief. Not only did he offer to pick us up, but he gave us a WHOLE TOUR of where their work has touched people’s lives. He showed us where there was ten, twelve, or eighteen feet of water when Katrina hit. Looking around, that was higher than all the houses we were passing. He showed us the school where they set up emergency food and services after the storm. We slowed in front of the house they are presently building for Mrs. Sanchez. They knew who they were building for, I'm not sure why that stunned me so much. Maybe because it was so... personal.
CGR is close to being done building and fixing houses for people who returned to the Lower Ninth Ward. There are still a lot of abandoned, boarded up homes. He said that a lot of them were rented out, not necessarily well kept, and the owners had cut their losses. Now they’re going to go through the legal process of moving towards demolition so that they can build new homes for more families. They’re fixing it. My heart swelled with the thought. They’re doing everything they can to fix it.
“We run a diverse range of projects, from New Home Construction, to a Free Legal Clinic, to Wetlands Restoration, Community Gardening and the education of school children about Food Security and Environmental Science with our Garden of Eatin' Program.”
Thom Pepper took us to the CGR headquarters:
The model home beside their main building is full of bunk beds where the volunteers stay. It's a very nice, modern house. He showed us where they have meetings, how some of the landscaping is shaped like ponds, and he brought us across the street to explain the garden. They have partnered up with all kinds of experts to make sure what they do will have maximum benefit. So, the trees and long grasses originate from a marsh area and absorb a lot of water. This will help during heavy rains so their yards won’t flood. I asked him how he knew all of this, and what he did for a living.
He’s a real estate guy from Florida. He came to help with land ownership and never left. He started with emergency supplies and stayed for the duration. The needs keep changing, and he’s partnered up with some of the most knowledgeable people around. So, he’s learned about Wetlands Restoration, construction codes, job training, etc. It is incredibly impressive. My admiration kept growing.
G and Thom Pepper, Thom and me, Thom explaining how the trees and grasses can help with heavy rains.
Marsh grass. But wait... what is THAT in the background?
Brad Pitt is building homes in the Lower Ninth. The Make it Right Foundation is: “Beyond building new homes for residents who lost everything in Hurricane Katrina, Make It Right is a unique laboratory for testing and implementing new construction techniques, technologies and materials that will make green, storm resistant homes affordable and broadly available to working families in communities across America.”
I’m sorry, but I couldn’t help but laugh when I saw these houses. Brad Pitt house beside a "regular" house. It's very... slanty. And it's very narrow... but on stilts! A few in a row, we might have seen as much as eight in this area. All very slanty. Brad Pitt’s houses have also forced water, electrical and other lines to be reconstructed and put into place, and that benefits the whole area. I’m sure they’re gorgeous inside.
Thom explained that although there is some great work being done, if you’re not local you might miss some things. In New Orleans you need high ceilings, especially in the summer, and large windows that stay open for the rest of the year. Sometimes there are multiple generations living in a house, so expandability is often a necessity. In most cases, a rebuild cannot extend square footage. So what Common Ground Relief is doing with some houses, is moving the living space up above a garage. That way the house can be expanded if needed in the future, square footage is the same but it’s still about ten feet higher. Very smart.
He also explained that some of the building codes are different from other states (or cities) and sometimes when a contractor came down and offered to help, they had done a few things that were not up to code. It actually cost more to fix. He also said that some volunteers who spent three days training and one day building before leaving again, took up a lot of resources. If you’re going to volunteer, please be smart about it. Ask what would be best, find out what they need. That’s something I’d never thought about before.
I reached into my bag and pulled out a copy of KATF for Thom, and signed it. It was the least I could do.
I know there have been a lot of tragedies around the world, and people can only give so much. But if you could please consider helping out Common Ground Relief, they are doing some truly amazing work. If you can’t send money, check out their WISH LIST for truly helpful items.
When Thom brought us back to the hotel I gave him a big hug before we got out of the truck. We returned to our room and I cried. I cried hard for what happened in the past, and I cried tears of joy for being able to see such awesome work. Many thanks to Thom Pepper and Common Ground Relief.
We called home to find out that Kaden was feeling better, another relief. We got ready to set out on foot to do our very hard tour of the French Quarter.
March 15, 2011 - Walking tour
We knew our big stops. They would take us all around the Quarter. But first, we needed lunch and there was no way we were going to miss the chance to have a Muffaletta. We walked to the Central Grocery shop on Decatur. There’s always a line-up, a good sign that you’re going to get something really good. While we waited I took pictures of the funky hot sauces.
G snuck out of line to see what kind of beer they had in the fridge and came back. I just wanted water. When we got to the counter, a very angry looking, large guy asked G, "Haven't you already been to the counter!?!" No! Just checking the fridge! Know what you want, have your money ready... and we had both forgotten how BIG the Muffaletta is. As big as a pizza! But oh, soooo gooood.
When we were done, we went up to walk along the Mississippi. (We also noticed that Coop's Place had a lineup out the door, good for you, buddy. (Page 74)
The sun was hot, there was a little bit of a breeze, and I could feel myself getting a sunburn. Canadians don’t always think about bringing sun lotion with them in March. As we approached the Riverwalk Mall, I could feel myself getting a little tense. Once inside, we realized it was pretty much the same as what we saw in 2003 during our first trip. G went to an internet café and I went to pee. BECAUSE I COULD. (See pages 174-175) When I came back, G told me that the Holiday Inn by Canal had very close rates to the Frenchman, and asked if I wanted to switch. I did. I was done at the Frenchman. I didn’t like being in the lobby again, there was no staff that we knew, and what used to make it quaint was no longer suited for us. We sat and made some calls back and forth, but the late checkout fee was not worth paying, and we had more important things to take care of before hauling luggage across the Quarter. We decided to spend one more night at the Frenchman and then switch.
We walked out towards the Aquarium and we both had to catch our breath as we exited and saw that walkway, that mural...
How we hated that mural. (Page 175) But there were no helicopters.
The parking lot, the walkway.
This is where we had stopped. Where I slept on my suitcase, where G got poked in the chest, where we lost hope.
A quiet parking lot. That FUCKING mural. We decided we never want to see it again.
There were no tanks driving out from behind the pathway.
We sat on a bench on Convention Center Boulevard. I said to G, "Look! Cars!" There were tourists, people walking quickly to their next destination, and CARS on the street. I wept, took a minute to find the camera in my purse and wept some more as I started snapping pictures. I wanted to remember this new scene so much more than the old one...
But the memories... they were so strong...
The memories were more than mental images. They were phantoms that walked before me.
I desperately tried not to see that woman with her baby, but I could see and hear her screaming again. And then she disappeared.
Clean streets, empty corners.
That bridge, I tried not to look for buses through the crowds of phantom people. I saw cars. (Page 149)
I tried to not see the people stationed on this curb six years ago. (Page 148)
Green grass, clear sidewalks.
This is where we sat when we first arrived that awful morning. (Page 136) That sidewalk by the hedges. I cried again. "FUCK YOU, DEAD BIRD. FUCK YOU!" I didn't care if anyone heard me. Just as I said it, a few birds took flight and were chirping. It was a moment right out of a movie. There were probably birds chirping all week, but those ones I needed to hear. The sound of life.
There was no man walking up the street with a cooler full of ice (page 145) and there was no camera with Harry Connick Jr. walking by.
One by one I pulled those talons of pain out of my heart and soul. Every vision I had, every memory that I’ve kept with me for years, I let them all stay where they came from on the pathway, on the street, on the sidewalk. I cried again as we got up from the bench. I left them all behind as we walked away. I will never forget, but I didn’t want to live with them anymore.
***
We started walking up some side streets with the intention of bumping into Canal St. and finding the Superdome. We didn’t remember the route we took before, and it’s just as well, because we would not have met the Doorman.
We took a wrong turn and looked confused. I told G to ask the Doorman at one of the out-of-the-way hotels. This very pleasant man pointed us in the right direction. He asked if there was some event going on that he didn’t know about. We said there was not.
He said, “Soooo, you’re just going to look at it?”
We said, “Yes.”
When he looked at us like we were completely insane, we briefly told him our story.
He smiled and said, “I ain’t never met anyone who was STUCK here during the storm!”
We wondered how that was possible and chuckled with him. I told him about my book, and the tour we'd had that morning. He told us that THAT was where he grew up, in the Lower Ninth! He didn’t look like he’d even heard of Common Ground Relief. Doorman thanked us for coming back, understood why we wanted to "just look" at the Superdome and wished us luck. I refrained from hugging him and we turned around. A helicopter flew overhead. It gave me shivers. No thank you.
We found the Holiday Inn off of Canal on Royal St. We made arrangements for the next day.
***
We found Canal St. leading to the Superdome. It was dry. I found those steps I'd gone up after wading in the waist-deep water, happy to have some solid footing when I heard that woman yell out from this bench...
"Ain't NO fucking WHITE bitch getting on NO fucking bus befo- me!"
And then she disappeared, and the sound of cars passing by filled my head.
We came around the corner and I looked for the ramp. That awful ramp where we left Sharon and her Auntie. Where I saw thousands of people lined up back to back in killer heat and Stash trying to find out what was going on. I remembered why people say things three times, and I remember Sharon telling me, and making me repeat three times, “We’re going to be all right, baby.” (Page 193)
But the ramp wasn’t there. We saw A ramp, but not THE ramp. I was confused. Were we on the wrong side? No, it was definitely on the left when we stood on the street. I took a picture.
But that's not it.
It was MUCH wider, and on the left, and bent further...
One of the guys working construction on that corner asked if he could help us. (What a nice man!) We very briefly told him our story and he smiled. “That ramp is gone.” They tore it down, rebuilt some of the adjacent building, and the whole area looked different. I nearly hugged him, too. It’s GONE! I was so surprised and elated I took another picture. That's not the ramp you're looking for...
My mind's eye took one last moment to remember what it used to look like,
and could imagine the construction trucks smashing it down.
Part of me wishes I could have been there to watch.
There were no cops with rifles, and there were no reflections in the water.
This was the part of the street I waded in to get to the ramp. (Page 189-191)
We were done with the Superdome. It was time to make our way across the Quarter again to the La Mothe. Somewhere along Bourbon St, G stopped and said his foot really hurt him. We weren’t sure what he’d done to it. I was getting blisters on my feet and we were both hot. He suggested that we stop for a bit and sit, but there was only one more thing to do and if I stopped I didn’t know if I’d want to continue. All we had to do was go a bit further and then the La Mothe was right by the Frenchman and we’d stop and have drinks in our room. He agreed and we continued.
We turned on Esplanade and there were no trees lying on the street. We came up to the hotel and I walked out onto the boulevard to get a better look. Second floor, two shuttered doors on the right behind the flags. The shutters I wasn't supposed to close. (Page 87) That was the balcony where I waited, read, and talked to Kaitlin.
Kaitlin. She would be a teenager now, she wouldn’t be there. I could just feel that she was not there. It seemed as if nobody was there, it felt so empty. It was just a balcony, just a room, and I had no desire to see it again. But then I noticed one more thing...
There was an extended gate on my balcony. A blockade where I stood, between Kaitlin and I, we would not have handed clothes and shoes around that, probably would not have talked as much without seeing each other so clearly. And I won’t see her again. Somehow that gate put up a barrier between me and the time I spent leaning on that railing. Good. That too, was done. I quietly wished Kaitlin well and decided I was done.
***
G and I went back to the Frenchman and sat by the pool with our room door open. I was glad to drop my heavy bag with the notebook, camera, wallet, etc... I sat with my feet in the freezing cold water and sipped on my wine. G had whiskey. We talked, cried, I made notes. We’d been walking for four hours. In the past when my Fibro caused me constant pain, I could not have done that walk. G was proud of me. I was proud of us. We were happy with our walk and how much we were able to leave behind.
And then we realized, we have no kids, the city never closes, we can sleep and eat and drink whenever we wanted. So in our cathartic moment we decided to just sit and have wine and whiskey and get a little giddy – something we don’t get to do anymore. I made note of the time, it was “4:30pm. Getting drunk poolside @ the Frenchman. Damn straight.”
Before long, we took a nap. Because we COULD.
When we woke up we showered and had dinner at Mojito's for a late dinner. It's next door to the hotel; we wanted to eat close by because G's foot was really sore. We listened to a great Blues Band. Our food was slow to come out and there wasn’t much for me to choose from without risking feeling sick. When we were done we looked around the corner and saw a bar called the Dragon’s Den full of punk rock, and punk rockers. If we were younger we would have joined them for a drink but we were feeling old and tired and sore, and just went back to watch TV.
March 16, 2011 - Chillin'
We woke up, had breakfast and tried to call our friend Louie. He wasn’t going to be home until we’d changed hotels, and I had a feeling that by leaving that side of town we were lessening the chances of seeing him.
I wanted to go to the French Market before we headed to the other side of the Quarter. It was one block away and I wanted to bring back souvenirs. We found magnets, t-shirts for the kids, stuff for my Mom and Aunt, and G found a hot sauce that he’d taste-tested and wanted to bring home. We struck up a conversation with that shop owner, who told us he’s from Montreal, and even showed G a bank machine that had a lower withdrawal cost. We didn’t take long, we’re very efficient shoppers.
Back at the hotel I was able to put EVERYTHING into our little suitcases including winter coats and shoes, because I am the packing mastah.
But I left one thing behind. I pulled the washcloth out, the one that had been given to me by Vasonda on Convention Centre Boulevard. (Page 158) I put it on the towel rack, we grabbed our bags and walked out.
I am not used to hauling luggage up and down different levels of curbs and around crowds of snail-people. My shoulders were sore and my flip flops were tearing. G's foot was sore, and I promised him we'd take it easy the rest of the day once we got checked in. We stopped at Jackson Square for G to take pictures and I watched the fortune tellers and Tarot Card readers.
Tourists, musicians, fortune tellers and homeless all on a beautiful day.
We continued on until we arrived at the Holiday Inn. It was too early to check in, but they did let us store our luggage and I could use the bathroom to get changed out of my sweaty clothes into the only outfit I had not shoved in the suitcase. I contacted Louie and told him we were going to the Green Goddess for lunch. He said he’d try to meet up with us after dinner, but to say hi to (chef) Chris for him! I also contacted our chef friend Liam who was a friend from our University days! He would meet us after lunch.
There was a line up again, about 45 mins, we gave our name and got in line. There’s a difference between a place where you get seated and wait 45 mins, and a place where you wait 45 mins to get in. People know...
I had a sparkling wine and G had water while we waited at our outside table in partial shade from the planted trees. There was a slight breeze, and we had a relaxing, wonderful moment. This is what we had (copied from their website menu):
I had Sparkling wine (How can you pass up “dinosaur wine”??)
Clavelin, “Tête de Cuvée,” Cremant de Jura
Fueled by ancient limestone fields littered with fossils, (yes, the Jura in Jurassic refers to this patch of France where dinosaur bones were discovered) this dry sparkling wine displays a long, clean taste $10 glass/$39 bottle
Louisiana “Bangers & Mash”
Marciante’s duck sausage with mashed Louisiana sweet potatoes, finished with Steen’s cane syrup and an arugula side salad. $12
G had:
BBQ Pork & Corn Flapjack
Smoky pulled pork with bbq gravy & creamy slaw on top of a corn-jalapeño pancake. $12
All of the food was amazing. I highly recommend the Green Goddess. Sadly, Chef Chris was not working the lunch shift and was only going to be there at night. Opportunity missed.
We went back to the hotel and got settled in just as we were able to meet up with Chef Liam. I’ve been trying REAL HARD not to use his old nickname, Poki, but it’s a hard habit to break. I gave him a copy of my book and we went across the street for coffee. We had a lot to catch up on, a lot to talk about. He told us that if he had known we were in the city, he would have driven us out before Katrina hit. I totally believe he would have, if we had known about each other being in the city, but it was really strange to hear six years later. He asked about our plans for the next day and told us about a block party uptown. We decided to meet up again, which was a special bonus for us all.
Back at the hotel, G said his foot was still sore, but he also had a headache and was feeling a bit sick. We were both scared all week of bringing the kids’ flu with us to NO. I told him to nap and see how he felt while I went for a swim.
Right on the corner of Royal by our hotel, Mr. B’s was all covered with huge lights outside and people crowding all four corners. They were shooting a movie! The name of the movie on the name tags I saw everyone wearing was "Cogan's Trade."
I talked G into going into a foot massage shop; there are a few on Canal St. It couldn't make his foot any worse, and I needed to buy new shoes to get through the rest of the week. I did a quick skip up a few streets but most of the shops were closed. Most of them also had fancy or designer shoes that I wasn't interested in anyway. I finally found a little "hippie" shop right beside the foot massage place. The entire back of the store was lined with "smoking" paraphernalia. It made me chuckle, so did the signs asking for "no photos please." There were some baskets full of rope sandals, something I'd never seen before. A girl beside me swore by them, how comfortable they are, very durable and easy to care for... I was sold. The guy at the counter said that if a rope ever broke I could use a lighter to melt it back together. HA! I asked him to throw my old pair out behind the desk. They felt great right away!
G walked in just as I was paying up. As we headed back around the corner for dinner he handed me his wedding ring. "I'm going to have to marry that Chinese man who massaged my feet." Apparently it was almost orgasmic, and yes, his feet felt a little better, too.
We went to the Checkered Parrot attached to the hotel, and G was still limping a bit to get that far. He didn't look very good, wasn't sure if he could eat but would try. I asked if he could call Louie for me, it was getting later than I expected (I wanted G to sleep as long as he could before dinner). Plus, with my new hearing aids it was really hard for me to cut out the music and background noise of the place, so I asked G to call and see if we could get together. He said yes to everything and when I found out that Louie was on foot as well and asked to meet us halfway, I had to cancel. I HATED doing it but there was no way G could make it that far. I was really upset.
G was too sick to eat his chicken wings. I wasn’t enjoying my jambalaya. (The jambalaya I made at home the week before we left was better anyway.) By the time we went back to the room I was putting cold cloths on G’s head and I just KNEW he was suffering from heat exhaustion. He couldn’t stay warm but was sweating, he was nauseous, had on and off headaches, and he was really tired. Tums helped his stomach a bit and we crashed out.
March 17, 2011 - St. Patrick's Day
I woke up with the sun and went to check G's symptoms on the free internet console, and to see if there was any Tylenol behind the front counter. A staff member told me they were out but gave me cash out of his pocket to get some across the street. G took it for his headache and went back to sleep. I was right, it was heat exhaustion. Tallying up the heat and sun time vs the lack of rehydration, it made sense.
When we woke up again at a nicer hour, I asked G if he wanted to eat breakfast. He held my head on his shoulder and told me to, “Shh. Stop.”
I have been looking forward to a late morning where I could just relax and let my mind rest. Apparently, this is hard for me to do. But it was our vacation, and that’s exactly what I needed to hear. I needed to just... stop.
When G was feeling better we went to Checkered Parrot again for a little lunch. G was feeling well enough to have a PoBoy and I had a salad (which had lots of lunch meat to make it more of a meal). We knew Louie had a window between work and the 7pm parade, but had no idea how the day was going to play out. We called Liam back and he came to pick us up in front of the hotel.
While we waited, James Gandolfini drove by in the passenger seat of a white van. I smacked G’s butt to get his attention. That’s someone you don’t see everyday.
Liam not only took us to the Garden District, we got a whole tour of the area with details about some of the buildings including the university, library, other mansions...
I'm a "lazy, half-assed tourist" because I didn't even roll down the window to take a pic.
Borders book store is closing. Something a writer never wants to see.
The Mississippi from an (army?) base in the District.
Everyone should see the Garden District. It’s a gorgeous part of New Orleans and made me realize again how little I know about the city. After the tour, we drove to the block party Uptown. Liam saw a few friends there. But, you know... we’re not locals who know everyone, we’re not twenty-somethings who start drinking at noon, and our host wasn’t drinking. G and I had one plastic cup each to get into the spirit but we couldn’t even hear each other over the music. Especially with my new hearing aids, this was not an easy atmosphere for me. I took a bunch of pictures...
A massive, middle-of-the-street boom box.
Drunk or dork? This guy standing on the cooler ended up spilling the whole funnel on the girl to the left before drinking dude could drink it.
G and Liam chatting in the sun. WITH hats on. Two cool dudes. You're even cooler when you lean in. Buncha Irish (or not) folks getting sunburns and drinking. All in green. We ended up walking to a nearby side street and getting caught up. I told Liam about the new hearing aids and Fibro pain being lifted, we told him about our trip to NY during the blackout, and more about our kids and work. He told us more about how he came to be a chef in New Orleans, about his kids, and where life has taken him. And then, our host went even further to invite us back to his house to meet his family before taking us back to the Quarter. So off to his house we went. His kids are adorable and they showed us everything from their Buzz Lightyear stuff to the jewelry tree. The kids wanted us to stay and play Wii with them, but we really had to head back.
Liam came to dinner with us. Chefs have a high standard and I know that the place on Bourbon Street didn’t meet his standards, but I was about to fall over and just wanted something decent that wouldn’t make me sick. We went to Arnaud's remoulade (despite being on Bourbon St.), but my blackened catfish rocked, Liam had a burger, and G had great looking steak. Now keep in mind... I’m used to being on Ontario time, where a 7pm start MEANS a 7pm start. I didn’t want to rush through dinner, and I didn’t want to miss the St. Paddy's Day Parade.
I really wanted to see the parade, to be a tourist and catch some beads. It was more important to me than I could have explained to anyone at the time. I needed a piece of that first New Orleans trip we had years ago. The joy of being silly and carefree and even childish. To reach out and try to grab beads, because in that moment there’s nothing better than the party in front of you.
I spoke to a guy waiting out on the street with us. His name was Eugene, an older guy who traveled alone. He’d been to the Philippines for fifteen years in a row and this year he chose New Orleans instead, on a whim. He told me about the beauty and the poverty in the Philippines. He also told me a story about a sewing machine that basically came down to the message... have faith in people.
I had to see Big Al Carson and hear some really good blues. When the three of us got to the Funky Pirate – another stop we had to make because of previous happy times – a man over by the wall showed us two stools available beside him. How nice! I went over to grab one while the guys scouted for a table. I started chatting with Wall Guy about the city and he told me it was his first time there.
Apparently, Liam said to G, “Dean really can just strike up a conversation with just about anyone, can’t he?”
When they looked up, I was giving Big Al a hug up on stage. G said, “Yup, case in point.”
I had a chance to talk to Big Al, who is a SUPER nice guy. I told him about our trips to NO and why we were back to see him. He said he wanted to hear my blues song and I gave him my website address. Not that I expect him to, but if he does visit I’d be thrilled.
It was hard saying goodbye to Liam that night, but it was getting late for him to drive back. Big hugs all around. Many thanks again, Liam, for a wonderful tour, for introducing us to your family, and for wonderful company. I’m so glad we got caught up. Let’s not wait so long next time, okay?
During the rest of the night we had some hand grenades, wine and beer. We danced, and chatted with the table full of girls next to us. I talked with the people behind me – super nice people – I have their email address, must get to that. I DID get to see some of the parade and catch a few beads and be a part of the festivities when they passed by... at TEN at night. (Sheesh!) I also met a JetBlue Captain who came over to sit with G and me. I passed around Big Al's tip bucket. Oh and... In case you’re wondering, we did not see the waitress who smiles when she serves you but looks sad when she walks away. Perhaps it was her night off, or perhaps she’s moved on to something that made her happy. I hope it’s the latter.
Thank you, Big Al and the Funky Pirate. Thanks to all the nice people I met. What a great night. G and I had fun, hope you all did, too.
March 18, 2011 - Going Home and Epilogue
Any morning after St. Patrick's Day comes far too early. Having to catch a flight does offer some incentive to haul ass. After three scans of the whole hotel room and bathroom, we picked up our bags and the Holiday Inn grabbed us a cab.
G's hot sauce was confiscated at the airport. You can't have that much liquid in a carry-on, and we had no luggage to check. That's what we get for travelling light? I still had the hotel room key in my pocket.
As the plane pulled away from the airport I heard a mother behind me point out to her daughter, “Look at all the big ships in the Mississippi!” It did look kind of cool. I reached down for my purse and by the time I got my camera out and turned it on... I missed the shot.
I heard them say behind me, “Goodbye, Mississippi.”
I said, “Goodbye, New Orleans.” Words cannot convey how complete that goodbye really was.
Epilogue...
We'd stayed at G's Mom's with the kids for the night. It was a wonderful reunion. The boys bypassed the T-shirts and wanted the "real" presents. The plastic alligators were a hit. I'd lost at least three pounds and G lost even more than that. (Who LOSES weight in New Orleans??) We came home to Waterloo the next morning and G ran for a few groceries. Because I enjoyed it so much at the Green Goddess, he bought me a sample-sized bottle of sparkling wine.
That night after the kids went to bed, we sat and finally relaxed again. We shared the sparkling wine and about half way through I told G that I’m not sure I’ll want to go back to New Orleans. I mean, never say never, but what would we go back for now? We’ve done the tourist thing, the tragedy thing, and the healing thing. We’re not “just tourists” anymore and we’re not locals. It’s not home, it shouldn’t feel like home. And besides, there’s the rest of the whole world we still want to explore.
He was relieved I felt the same way. And then together, we said goodbye to New Orleans. That is the real end to our story.
I’d like to go back to complaining about trivial, mundane things again, because that means that everything else is okay. But I can’t yet, G’s cousin just got his family out of Sendai, Japan.
