The Trip from Baton Rouge to New Orleans After Katrina

Upon arrival in Baton Rouge the bus station looked like a parade or a mob, I'm still not sure how to classify it but there were people everywhere. People asking for help and/or money and people looking to take advantage of help or money, it was hard to tell the difference. Somebody had gotten ripped off, another person couldn't find who they were looking for, but most just looked stuck. The one thing I did know was the sun was going down and I didn't want to be there alone after dark. I called the company and in all of the confusion I had been lost as a ride had not been sent for me as promised. I was just told to get to the Crowne Plaza Hotel on Canal Street in New Orleans.

The first cab I found was from New Orleans and the driver wanted $180 cash per person to go. At first I refused, I was used to getting ripped off by cab drivers in Mexico but not in the United States. Some guys that had a car were offering to go for fifty dollars but it seemed better to ride in something with a company sign on it even if it was stolen. Two black guys came along and filled the rest of the trunk and rode all the way with an offshore ice chest with duct tape all over it in the back. They were pinned against both doors with this big cooler in the middle. Though they didn't look like they had a dime they paid the cabbie or guy who found a cab with less resistance than me.

I was put up front and told to show my paperwork in case we were stopped or hit a roadblock which was more likely. The driver was running in high gear, and it wasn't just the car. Usually I would have taken it as being cocaine or some type of crack but I think it was just adrenaline. Another reason he was in a hurry was that curfew was still in effect even if it was hard to enforce. The road to New Orleans was full of traffic and night fell fast on the trip. The trip was a blur of traffic, blue lights of police cars and military vehicles. I asked the others what was going on in New Orleans and the guys in the back didn't say much but the cab driver made up for their silence. His stories were erratic and didn't offer much except every third sentence included "It's f-ed up man!". Even though I didn't get much useful information I felt that if he kept talking and every sixth sentence from me was "I came to help" I was less likely to get rolled and left for dead somewhere. Don't get me wrong, these guys weren't bad but everybody looked so hot, irate, tired and desperate that I was about as sure of them as I was of a scared dog I didn't know. It didn't help that I didn't fit in dressed like I was going to a job interview.

When we hit the long bridge with the city on the other side there were only a few lights and the rest was pitch black. The only time I had seen such darkness was offshore a few hundred miles from land. Even way out in the country you can usually see a glow or light somewhere. Since I was the "official passenger" we went to drop the two guys off first. Not really what I wanted to do but what choice did I have. When we got into New Orleans the streets were clear but all the debris was piled in mounds on the side of the road. There was no way of telling where we were because there were few road signs. Plus at this point I was just holding on as the impala barreled through the empty streets as the only car on the road. There were no police on the streets or even National Guard troops, it was like they had all stayed on the other side of the bridge. The driver was constantly flicking the lights off and on to detect other cars as he made it clear stopping was more dangerous than running a stop sign.

We made it to the other passengers destination the cabbie moved with the speed of a Vietnam chopper pilot trying to get everything off in the LZ so he could take off again. I was helping the guys get their baggage out when a pair of headlights appeared on the street. I heard "Get down man!"and looked back and all three of them were behind the car and the cab driver had a pistol drawn. I jumped back with them as I looked like Casper the friendly ghost in my white button up shirt. Though it was scary at least I knew I didn't have to worry about these guys.

All of us watched the car go down the street and turn away and even waited for a few seconds to hear if they were doubling back. I got up to thank my now realized friends but only caught a quick glimpse of them running with the cooler and their duffel bags. About that time the cab driver whispered that we needed to go now. I was back in the car and flying through the streets again and we didn't slow down until we got to Canal. I thanked him and he was off like a rocket again.

Since my eventful trip was over and things seemed a little safer and better lighted I had a chance to take it all in. There was damage here and there, but the cars and trucks parked all over Canal street and the median was more prominent. Except for the cars in the road and damage the scene was much the same as I had remembered from my trip to Mardi Gras four and a half years earlier. Of course the streets weren't packed the way they were then and the crowd was all construction workers. After a moment of reflection I went inside to have my moment of truth and see if I had been lured down with empty promises.