New Orleans
Escape from New Orleans
Wednesday, September 7, 2005
>Our Escape from New Orleans
>
>Wednesday:
>
>They have shut off the tap water. They want to
>stem disease from drinking contaminated water,
>but at least if they gave us contaminated water,
>we could boil it. I feel panic welling up- why
>didn't I fill up more jugs when we had tap water?
> Since the water has been on a few days, we have
>grown complacent. We have been taking showers,
>so the bathtub is empty. I feel so stupid.
>
>Also, we sense that the situation in the streets
>has deteriorated. Fewer and fewer of our
>bohemian friends, and people in general, are
>left. Sinister young men walk down these mostly
>deserted streets. There is an ominous sense of
>abandonment.
>
>We decide we must get out, and try to contact
>everyone we know who owns a car, by telephone and
>walking. No one with a car is left in the city.
>We decide at least to relocate to Jimmy's
>apartment, which is more secure. We then see
>our new friends/neighbors, Niko, Melissa, and
>Rarig. They propose bicycling out of the city to
>Baton Rouge. It seems a ludicrous idea at first,
>but on second thought, sounds feasible. The
>distance is 80 miles, and if we bring a very
>large amount of water, we could leave early in
>the morning and arrive in Baton Rouge by
>nightfall. We plan to meet at Molly's at 7am the
>next morning to depart, a bicycle tribe.
>
>Back at Jimmy's, we tell him of our intentions,
>and he says he has heard of buses departing from
>major hotels. Jose and Jimmy set off in search
>of these chartered buses, and find that the Hotel
>Monteleone has chartered a fleet of 10 buses with
>state trooper escort to come in and evacuate
>their guests to Houston. There are 200 extra
>seats that they are selling to residents at $45 a
>seat (at cost). Jose on his way to pick up his
>forgotten green card and passport passes Niko,
>Melissa, and Rarig. He tells them about the
>buses and to get down there. Back at his
>apartment, Jimmy packs up in 15 minutes, taking
>mostly gold. They get in line. I'm completely
>tense. Then, victory! They have gotten tickets.
>Everyone is happy. I'm relieved, but still
>tense. I won't be able to relax until we are
>physically on the bus. The buses are scheduled to
>arrive at 6:30pm. Teddy, Jimmy's neighbor who
>decided to stay, will securely bar the front door
>to their building from the inside at 8pm. At
>that point, we won't be able to get back in.
>
>Waiting. 6:30pm comes and goes. 7:30pm 8:30pm
>9:30pm waiting for the fleet of 10 buses. It's
>getting dark, and scary. We have police with
>double barrel shotguns to guard us, and protect
>against a rush on the buses, but there are only
>four of them. The French Quarter is ominous at
>night; terrifying if away from the police escort
>with their double barrel shotguns. At this
>point, a cheer goes up, but instead of a fleet of
>ten chartered buses, a single Jefferson Parish
>school bus shows up. The driver gets out & talks
>with the hotel organizer. Jose hovers around
>nearby, discreetly listening. The buses have
>been commandeered by the police- the Monteleone
>paid for them, but they have been stolen by the
>state. (The state says they need them to
>evacuate the sick and elderly, but why can't the
>state get ahold of its own buses??? They should
>have a fleet of 100 buses taking people out, and
>should have had that fleet by Monday night, but
>instead they do nothing until a private party
>takes action to help itself, and then they steal
>the buses.) The hotel manager is livid & angrily
>but quietly decides to try to "negotiate" with
>the state. He is not letting on to the guests
>that the buses have been confiscated- no one
>knows except those like Jose that are discreetly
>but actively gathering information. Allan
>Toussaint and his wife coolly gather their bags
>and get on the school bus.
>
>Jose speaks to the bus driver. For $50 cash
>each, he will take us to Baton Rouge. I have
>$61, Jose has $14, Kip (Jimmy's neighbor, a
>transplant patient who needs regular dialysis and
>is already overdue) has $20, and Jimmy has $50.
>I ask desperately and ridiculously if they take
>credit cards or checks. Of course they don't,
>and in fact they say that no one in the state is
>taking credit cards, because of all the
>possibility of theft. Jose turns to me and says
>"baby, if you want to take this bus good luck to
>you" and I turn back "I won't leave without you."
> It's as simple as that. Then, I beg. I plead
>with the bus driver to take us- that our friend
>needs dialysis and that this is all the cash we
>have. I explain that we've already given $45 for
>the Monteleone ticket. He agrees to take what
>we have and we scramble on board. I love the
>feel of sitting on the hard metal floor of the
>stripped out bus. But I'm not relaxed yet. This
>bus, too, could be confiscated. (The police have
>tried twice to confiscate his bus, but he managed
>to escape.) I hold my knees close, and pray
>that we make it to Baton Rouge. The bus creeps
>along, silently taking back-streets out of New
>Orleans, over the Crescent City Connection
>(slight release of tension- we're officially out
>of the city) and out, through back roads, looping
>towards Donaldsville then over the Sunshine
>Bridge and then finally onto the I-10 just before
>Baton Rouge. At the city, I can hardly believe
>the familiar yet strange sight of lighted signs
>and streetlights. It has been pitch black in New
>Orleans since Sunday night. You can see the
>stars in the sky.
>
>We are dropped off at the airport. I ask the bus
>driver for his address, so I can send him the
>difference. He declines (of course; this is
>obviously a pirated bus), and I thank him
>profusely. He will return to New Orleans
>throughout the night to rescue people wanting to
>escape.
>
>Finally believing that we have really escaped, I
>can sigh in exhausted relief. The airport, full
>of refugees sleeping on the floor, is a wonderful
>place. We plug in our cell phones, and call
>Andre & Laura. They are there in minutes with
>their car to pick us up. Their house is
>luxurious, and Andre even cooks up some eggs and
>toast, with sliced tomatoes, for us. It is like
>heaven to be here, truly heavenly.
>
>As the stories come spilling out of us, my
>happiness is marred only by a terrible sense of
>sadness for the others left behind, in the terror
>of a city steadily evacuated by bohemians and
>working class people and taken over by criminals
>and soldiers. The worst are the people still on
>their roofs, sitting there without food or water
>for days on end, or drowning. Also, the animals.
> Our neighbors, in a move of supremely cruel
>irresponsibility, left their dog in their
>apartment, locked in there. They told us nothing
>when they evacuated, did not give us a key, and
>we had no way of getting in. We heard the dog
>desperately scratching against the wall on
>Tuesday night, but were afraid to go outside to
>do anything about it. Wednesday, we heard no
>more sound from him. I feel incredibly guilty
>for not breaking a barred window to at least give
>him a chance to get out, in case he was still
>alive. I only hope that perhaps they left a long
>term supply of food and water, and that he is
>alive and only quiet, and will survive until they
>get back. I wish that I could go back, in an
>official vehicle loaded with water and supplies,
>to just drop off supplies and pick up people,
>taking them back and forth to Baton Rouge. But
>they are letting no one in to help. People
>outside the city want desperately to come in and
>rescue their friends and family members, and I'm
>sure many are willing to drive in supplies. If
>the government were competent to take care of the
>situation, then they could indeed take over. But
>they are NOT. (It is just one example that they
>can't get their shit together to get their own
>buses, just confiscating the buses of those who
>are more competent than they.) They NEED to LET
>PEOPLE BACK IN so they can help the residents
>trapped in the city.
>
>Wednesday:
>
>They have shut off the tap water. They want to
>stem disease from drinking contaminated water,
>but at least if they gave us contaminated water,
>we could boil it. I feel panic welling up- why
>didn't I fill up more jugs when we had tap water?
> Since the water has been on a few days, we have
>grown complacent. We have been taking showers,
>so the bathtub is empty. I feel so stupid.
>
>Also, we sense that the situation in the streets
>has deteriorated. Fewer and fewer of our
>bohemian friends, and people in general, are
>left. Sinister young men walk down these mostly
>deserted streets. There is an ominous sense of
>abandonment.
>
>We decide we must get out, and try to contact
>everyone we know who owns a car, by telephone and
>walking. No one with a car is left in the city.
>We decide at least to relocate to Jimmy's
>apartment, which is more secure. We then see
>our new friends/neighbors, Niko, Melissa, and
>Rarig. They propose bicycling out of the city to
>Baton Rouge. It seems a ludicrous idea at first,
>but on second thought, sounds feasible. The
>distance is 80 miles, and if we bring a very
>large amount of water, we could leave early in
>the morning and arrive in Baton Rouge by
>nightfall. We plan to meet at Molly's at 7am the
>next morning to depart, a bicycle tribe.
>
>Back at Jimmy's, we tell him of our intentions,
>and he says he has heard of buses departing from
>major hotels. Jose and Jimmy set off in search
>of these chartered buses, and find that the Hotel
>Monteleone has chartered a fleet of 10 buses with
>state trooper escort to come in and evacuate
>their guests to Houston. There are 200 extra
>seats that they are selling to residents at $45 a
>seat (at cost). Jose on his way to pick up his
>forgotten green card and passport passes Niko,
>Melissa, and Rarig. He tells them about the
>buses and to get down there. Back at his
>apartment, Jimmy packs up in 15 minutes, taking
>mostly gold. They get in line. I'm completely
>tense. Then, victory! They have gotten tickets.
>Everyone is happy. I'm relieved, but still
>tense. I won't be able to relax until we are
>physically on the bus. The buses are scheduled to
>arrive at 6:30pm. Teddy, Jimmy's neighbor who
>decided to stay, will securely bar the front door
>to their building from the inside at 8pm. At
>that point, we won't be able to get back in.
>
>Waiting. 6:30pm comes and goes. 7:30pm 8:30pm
>9:30pm waiting for the fleet of 10 buses. It's
>getting dark, and scary. We have police with
>double barrel shotguns to guard us, and protect
>against a rush on the buses, but there are only
>four of them. The French Quarter is ominous at
>night; terrifying if away from the police escort
>with their double barrel shotguns. At this
>point, a cheer goes up, but instead of a fleet of
>ten chartered buses, a single Jefferson Parish
>school bus shows up. The driver gets out & talks
>with the hotel organizer. Jose hovers around
>nearby, discreetly listening. The buses have
>been commandeered by the police- the Monteleone
>paid for them, but they have been stolen by the
>state. (The state says they need them to
>evacuate the sick and elderly, but why can't the
>state get ahold of its own buses??? They should
>have a fleet of 100 buses taking people out, and
>should have had that fleet by Monday night, but
>instead they do nothing until a private party
>takes action to help itself, and then they steal
>the buses.) The hotel manager is livid & angrily
>but quietly decides to try to "negotiate" with
>the state. He is not letting on to the guests
>that the buses have been confiscated- no one
>knows except those like Jose that are discreetly
>but actively gathering information. Allan
>Toussaint and his wife coolly gather their bags
>and get on the school bus.
>
>Jose speaks to the bus driver. For $50 cash
>each, he will take us to Baton Rouge. I have
>$61, Jose has $14, Kip (Jimmy's neighbor, a
>transplant patient who needs regular dialysis and
>is already overdue) has $20, and Jimmy has $50.
>I ask desperately and ridiculously if they take
>credit cards or checks. Of course they don't,
>and in fact they say that no one in the state is
>taking credit cards, because of all the
>possibility of theft. Jose turns to me and says
>"baby, if you want to take this bus good luck to
>you" and I turn back "I won't leave without you."
> It's as simple as that. Then, I beg. I plead
>with the bus driver to take us- that our friend
>needs dialysis and that this is all the cash we
>have. I explain that we've already given $45 for
>the Monteleone ticket. He agrees to take what
>we have and we scramble on board. I love the
>feel of sitting on the hard metal floor of the
>stripped out bus. But I'm not relaxed yet. This
>bus, too, could be confiscated. (The police have
>tried twice to confiscate his bus, but he managed
>to escape.) I hold my knees close, and pray
>that we make it to Baton Rouge. The bus creeps
>along, silently taking back-streets out of New
>Orleans, over the Crescent City Connection
>(slight release of tension- we're officially out
>of the city) and out, through back roads, looping
>towards Donaldsville then over the Sunshine
>Bridge and then finally onto the I-10 just before
>Baton Rouge. At the city, I can hardly believe
>the familiar yet strange sight of lighted signs
>and streetlights. It has been pitch black in New
>Orleans since Sunday night. You can see the
>stars in the sky.
>
>We are dropped off at the airport. I ask the bus
>driver for his address, so I can send him the
>difference. He declines (of course; this is
>obviously a pirated bus), and I thank him
>profusely. He will return to New Orleans
>throughout the night to rescue people wanting to
>escape.
>
>Finally believing that we have really escaped, I
>can sigh in exhausted relief. The airport, full
>of refugees sleeping on the floor, is a wonderful
>place. We plug in our cell phones, and call
>Andre & Laura. They are there in minutes with
>their car to pick us up. Their house is
>luxurious, and Andre even cooks up some eggs and
>toast, with sliced tomatoes, for us. It is like
>heaven to be here, truly heavenly.
>
>As the stories come spilling out of us, my
>happiness is marred only by a terrible sense of
>sadness for the others left behind, in the terror
>of a city steadily evacuated by bohemians and
>working class people and taken over by criminals
>and soldiers. The worst are the people still on
>their roofs, sitting there without food or water
>for days on end, or drowning. Also, the animals.
> Our neighbors, in a move of supremely cruel
>irresponsibility, left their dog in their
>apartment, locked in there. They told us nothing
>when they evacuated, did not give us a key, and
>we had no way of getting in. We heard the dog
>desperately scratching against the wall on
>Tuesday night, but were afraid to go outside to
>do anything about it. Wednesday, we heard no
>more sound from him. I feel incredibly guilty
>for not breaking a barred window to at least give
>him a chance to get out, in case he was still
>alive. I only hope that perhaps they left a long
>term supply of food and water, and that he is
>alive and only quiet, and will survive until they
>get back. I wish that I could go back, in an
>official vehicle loaded with water and supplies,
>to just drop off supplies and pick up people,
>taking them back and forth to Baton Rouge. But
>they are letting no one in to help. People
>outside the city want desperately to come in and
>rescue their friends and family members, and I'm
>sure many are willing to drive in supplies. If
>the government were competent to take care of the
>situation, then they could indeed take over. But
>they are NOT. (It is just one example that they
>can't get their shit together to get their own
>buses, just confiscating the buses of those who
>are more competent than they.) They NEED to LET
>PEOPLE BACK IN so they can help the residents
>trapped in the city.