On the way into New Orleans on the Greyhound I looked for signs of what had happened almost 2 years back. I saw the Superdome. I remember that. Next was a fenced off and unoccupied office building and a street sign bent at a strange angle. Little clues in an area that got about a foot of water I was told. It rains a lot here off and on, big raindrops with lightning and thunder.
Then next welcome was our arrival at the Greyhound Station. It was a familiar scene from Walidah’s Documentary “Finding Common Ground” that moved me to think of coming on the trip. When I saw the Amtrak train behind it, I realized that I had arrived at what was the makeshift prison for the New Orleans after Katrina.
Being inside the station listening to Frank Sinatra and his friends as background on the PA system was such a strange experience. Then and now.
I stopped into a small café and tried to get a New Orleans breakfast. It was pretty standard bacon with eggs scene except for the big pile of grits. The Vietnamese shop owner warned me about riding my bike on smaller streets because he thought I would get jumped and my bike stolen. Since then individuals have been fascinated by my folding bike, but not as motivated as the shop owner warned. I was riding last night about midnight on quiet and calm streets and one man called out “Hey, give me your bike!” in a commanding voice and with a big smile. I smiled back, waved and said “Hey Man! (Hello) and kept riding. Unlike what I had feared, it was an absolutely friendly interaction.
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