December in New Orleans

By Dan Bigman

updated 4:13 p.m. ET Dec. 13, 2005

I'd never been to New Orleans. Figured it was time I went. And after a weekend down there, I urge you to go, too.

What's it like now? Through first-time eyes, it is quiet and melancholy, beautiful, wounded, tired but hopeful. And yes, it was fun. If you're looking for a place that's happy to see you, this is it.

My wife and I were the first tourists our cab driver had picked up at freshly carpeted but empty Louis Armstrong airport since Hurricane Katrina. Pre-K, as they say there these days, December was a bit slow. But now, nothing. The hotels are filled with insurance types, FEMA guys and roofers from Texas. No one takes a cab.

"Not one tourist," our cab driver said as we flew down empty I-10. "Not one person come down here for fun." An exaggeration to be sure, but not much of one. For New Orleans, that's another disaster in the making. The convention and visitor's bureau estimates that each household in Louisiana would have to spend an additional $2,969 annually if the New Orleans travel industry did not exist. In 2004, the city hosted 10.1 million visitors who spent $4.9 billion. Since the hurricane, there's been little to displace the aftermath's horrific images, leaving the impression that there's nothing left down there but twisted buildings and mud, and little reason to go.

Untrue.

While many of the city's more than 38,000 hotel rooms are shuttered, and many of the 18,000 that remain are filled with workers, there is vacancy. The Soniat House, a member of the Small Luxury Hotels of the World, where we stayed, was charming and quiet. Hidden away in the French Quarter, which remained high and dry, the 19th century hotel showed no signs of damage. A number of locals were staying there, although we never saw them.

Wrapped around two tropical courtyards, the antique-filled rooms have towering ceilings and simple elegance (and, blessedly, after a long day walking around this ruined city, an oversized Jacuzzi). Service is understated and friendly. Breakfast in the room was thick coffee and fresh buttermilk biscuits with sticky strawberry-honey spread. We licked our fingers and read the papers and lingered for hours each morning.

Dinner was easy. Lots of restaurants have reopened in the Quarter. Reservations? No problem. Try the rich sweetbreads at Bayona on Dauphine Street or go to Peristyle, on Dumaine, an upscale bistro with a cozy bustle (locals all, we were told), good wine and a juicy pork loin thick as your wrist. We were the first diners to arrive (a pattern--our stomachs never got off East Coast time whereas the Big Easy is a nocturnal city), which gave us a chance to chat for a while with the bartender there. He asked if anyone up North was talking about them. Was New Orleans still front-page news? I lied a little and said it was.

The city, he explained, is holding its breath. Would the levies get rebuilt stronger? If not, who will move back to a place that will only get flooded again? Just as bad, what if only a few people move back to the devastated neighborhoods?

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