Poseidon may have tried to drown us, but with Hermes' blessing, Sarah and I made it to New Orleans last weekend. As it happened, we were on our way back to New Orleans, encouraged by the reopening of the city, when Hurricane Rita descended on the Crescent City. Our flight was interrupted in Memphis and Mayor Nagin, under pressure from federal officials, re-closed the city. Sarah and I were left reeling, pacing the corridors of Memphis International Airport, wondering which god had conspired against us now. We had already taken a risk in getting on the flight out of Boston to Newark to Memphis in the first place. What were we to do now? We were stuck half way across the country. So close, yet so far from our final and necessary destination.

But as all mortals must do when the Fates pull an unexpected string on the tapestry of reality, ever weaving unexpected lines of destiny, throwing a monkeywrench into one's best laid plans: we made a choice. We knew we could wait out the storm and fly down when the storm cleared. But how long would that be? 24 hours? 48? Our entire trip was only supposed to last 48. We could fly to a nearby city. We could rent a car right there. Had we been warned away? Were we on the wrong side of soon-to-be-history? All these obstacles in our path. My father would have said common sense dictated not even flying in the first place, let alone doing anything rash at that point. There was still this other hurricane approaching. Yet in the end, we did the only thing we could: a choice as inevitable as the rise and fall of hurricanes in the gulf from june to october. For the first time in weeks, we took matters into our own hands. We made a choice. We decided not to be passive victims of mother nature, fate, or the gods. We rented a car and drove south toward New Orleans.

Now, we were heading for the home of my parents' friends, near Houma, west of New Orleans. That gave us a base of operations. That was the good news. However, this hurricane was supposed to hit west of Nola (New Orleans, LA). That was the bad news. Because my car is a standard, and Sarah can't drive a standard, I drove up the country on our original refugee flight. So I made her start out the trip driving. Then, after a few hours, when the weather started to get bad, I took over. The clouds darkened the sky, and although we left at around 12:30 PM, we had little sun to guide our way. Our ultimate goal was to get there before nightfall; that was the true mission. Any less would leave us horribly vulnerable to getting lost or missing a sudden curve in the road. Intermitten squalls pounded us, making the road barely visible. I had to follow the impossibly straight road, and hope that it stayed that way and that no one stopped in front of me, because at that speed, I wouldn't have been able to stop. But we didn't have time to crawl forward at 30 mph: the storm was coming.

We made it. We beat the storm worst lashes. Although it sounded like our friend's home was going to blow away overnight, we made it, fitfully sleeping. Nervous about our prospects the next day. So we drove to Nola in the morning, full of trepidation. After all, Nola was closed. Emergency personnel and repair crews only. I don't want to get anyone in trouble, so I won't say where, but the first checkpoint denied us entry. We were upset. We had come all this way for what? To have the city closed out from under us? Sarah was determined, though. She said head for another checkpoint; I don't care if we have to try them all. And whether it was luck, fate, or maybe a bit of trickery from Hermes himself, the next checkpoint guard let us through. And there we were. In New Orleans.

Our home. Empty. Freaky. Creepy. Tree branches were down everywhere. I can only imagine the mess they must have made before they were pushed aside to let vehicles through. I heard they bulldozed the streets to push them all away. None of the stop lights were working. There was no traffic on what once was the busiest of streets. And freakiest of all, there were no people. The city was dead. Or dormant, I hope. Comatose. Because I know the people of Nola will be back and as vibrant as ever before long. But at that point, it was like a ghost town. Broken doors and windows and shutters banged intermittenly in the light wind. But other than that, nothing.

We were fairly lucky. My place was fine other than a ruined fridge and water damage in the basement. Sarah's place was not so lucky. It was eerie pulling up to it. Roof tiles were on the ground around the house, and her house had that creepy spray paint all over it, marking it as a place Guardsmen had been. (The back door had been broken in by would-be rescuers, looking for stragglers or abandoned pets.) Her place did not fare as well. Half of the building was collapsed, the roof giving under the weight of the storm. For a full pictography, visit my snapfish page. And for a richer detail of the exact operations, visit Sarah's blog at http://jedisluzer.blogspot.com. (It may be a few entries down now.) However, the roof over her room, which had been damaged during Tropical Storm Cindy, was about the only one to hold now. Most of her things were okay. The only bad news was, her walk-in closet, safe during that storm, and where she had placed many valuables, and all of her clothes, was collapsed. By some miracle, all of the disgustingly wet clothes were salvagable after a wash or two. Further, many of her larger picture frames, saved those under it. Eight hours in 90+ degree heat with no AC, a pair of workgloves, and two airmasks later, we had saved almost all of her stuff. Because we were lucky enough to get into the city.

Maybe we should feel luckier to have gotten out. As creepy as it was during the day, it was devastatingly so during the night. Were looters around the corner? Were trigger-happy Guardsmen going to take you out thinking you were a looter? And again with the creaking noises of a dead city. Flashlights and candles only invited trouble in a city bereft of light. And driving out? No city lights, no stoplights? I almost got lossed, so used to them as visual landmarks. (Thanks Sarah.) We stayed past the curfew, but we got everything done we came to do. In that sense, we were blessed.

Of course, we had to go to a laundromat. Have you ever tried to wash everything you own at once? It takes quite a while. True story. We did so in Raceland, LA. Half of the washers were broken. I think we lost at least $8 that way. Luckily, the people at Roush's Supermarket were kind enough to keep making us change. And get this, every single dryer at the laundromat was broken or out of service. It only took another $4 or so to figure that out. But my parent's friends, Ed and Jackie Gilbert, saving graces that they are, not only let us use their dryer all day, but called each of their neighbors and asked to use their dryers. These are all wonderful people, and we thank them all: Chad, Monique, and Tim/April. (I'm sorry if I can't remember all your names, but I can see all your faces and you are all in my hearts.) Not to mention the fact that we technically didn't stay at Ed and Jackie's house, but Ed's mother's house, which is on the same property. She is equally saintly, offering us a warm bed and food at any time of the day.

Did we spend a miserable two days in Louisiana moving every single thing Sarah owned from her ruined apartment to my intact apartment? Yes. Was it creepy driving back and forth on ruined and empty streets? Yes. Did we spend a frustrating day doing wash and little but? Yes. Did we have to delay our flight on the way home and then change it like 5 times on the way back north? Yes. Have we both broken out all over our bodies because of the horribly polluted air and water in Nola? Yes. But was it worth it? Yes. Have we achieved peace of mind? Yes. Are we ready to move on with our lives? Yes.

Did I raise a glass to Hermes or any other identifiable shard of divinity which may have aided our travels? Yes.