We left the Big Easy behind

on a clear, sunny Saturday morning and took the coastal road towards Pass Christian. Josh, Dave and I had stopped there for lunch on our way into N.O, and I had so enjoyed the journey last time that I felt morbidly compelled to see how this part of the Gulf Coast had fared during Hurricane Katrina.

The devastation was evident even before we'd left the city proper. The highway ran along a thin strip of land with houses either side, and in most cases there was very little left of them. Dinghies, yachts and even what looked like some fishing boats were stranded along the road, along with piles of rubbish that on closer inspection appeared to be the entire contents of destroyed houses, up to and including the kitchen sink. Some plots had new buildings on them - most of them stilted like the Queenslanders prevalent in Brisbane - but far more just had trailers parked beside the remains of the previous home. The trees in the swampland that ran intermittently alongside the road were bent ragged by the wind, and piles of broken limbs cleared off the road still lay where they'd first been pushed. (Is this a problem of "small goverment"? Is it the case that someone will come back to tidy up the mess left after the first hasty clear-ups or is this part of the Gulf Coast destined to look like a landfill for years to come? Is it something so minor there are no tax dollars left to spend on it? I wish I knew, because the whole area desperately needs a shot in the arm and living amongst all this debris can't be particularly morale-boosting for the inhabitants...)

We reached Bay St. Louis and then Pass Christian, taking the long way round to avoid the road bridge we'd used last year, now in the process of being rebuilt after the hurricane. Both towns were, to be honest, a mess. I stopped at the beach where we'd gone swimming last year and took a couple of photographs of the damage: the wooden shower and toilet block had gone, leaving only the metal supports standing, as had the boardwalk around it and the bench where we sat in the sun to dry off. The slatted wooden bungalows that had faced the Gulf from behind Highway 90 were more or less all destroyed and had been replaced only by a couple of Waffle Houses. We drove on to Mobile, and I was relieved to see a town that hadn't been trashed beyond recognition.