It's bittersweet to be back in New Orleans.  Our last visit was in 2005, a few months before Katrina.

I'm writing from the funky guesthouse in the Lower Garden District where we'd stayed several times in the past, when our boys were young.  It's the same--and not.  I can still see signs of storm damage.  

Ruby, an older African American woman who presided over the breakfast (good, though minimal : coffee, juice, and biscuits) thought we were here as volunteers.  They have a lot of them who stay here, because it's an inexpensive European-style pension.   No, I said, thinking I should be.  She thought she recognized my husband from past visits. Not me, though. 

When I explained why we were here,  she said good for you, seemed interested.  Said they'd had another author here awhile back, "a black girl" from the Midwest, I think it was,  who was researching her family.   

She also warned us about crime.  Be careful in the French Quarter, and on Magazine Street.  And if someone approaches you, offering you a tour--walk away.

 We've done lots of walking.  All over, there are signs:  Be Nice Or Leave.  They are really trying so hard here. 

We did lots of traditional eating:  Muffalettas, gumbo, chicory coffee and beignets.  

Much of the French Market in the French Quarter-the best part, the food section--was torn down, in the midst of renovation. 

Yesterday was Easter.  Holidays can be alienating if you are away from home, doubly so if it's a holiday you don't really observe.  (We'd just had a Passover Seder before we left California.)  I figured everything would be quiet, everyone would be in church, restaurants all closed.

But this is New Orleans.  There were five parades, complete with floats and throws.  I caught a plush bunny and some candy--and beads.  Much tamer than Mardi Gras, but still....

Then in the early evening we went to Tipitina's, the fabled club with the bust of Professor Longhair as you walk in, for the traditional Sunday Cajun fais-do-do.  Friendly folks, introduced themselves.  The dance teacher invited us to a dinner for the folloiwng night.  Dancing to the music of well-known  accordionist  Bruce Daigrepont--who lost his elderly parents last fall, when they were all evacuating in advance of Gustav, caravaning.   He watched from behind as their car went off the road.  One of the dance regulars who is a friend of his pointed out the empty spot where the couple used to sit. 

In this city, they laugh so they don't cry.  It's always been that way, I think.  

Last night there was a tornado warning.  The dance teacher told us not to worry.  Tornados don't do much damage, he said, they just touch down in a small area.  And you have a warning, not like with earthquakes, he pointed out. 

I feel sombre as I get set for the bookstore reading tonight.

Our first visit here, 19 years ago, we came away with matching silver rings we bought as souvenirs.  We still wear them.

This time we have matching black rubberized bracelets with a Fleur de Lys and the inscription "SAVE NOLA"  (It's the name of a relief organization.) 

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Meanwhile, another lovely newspaper review, in the Lafayette paper, where we head tomorrow.

http://www.theadvertiser.com/article/20090412/LIFESTYLE/904120344