Gliding along the rails of the narrow causeway, no guardrails in sight, The Crescent seemed to hover over silvery Lake Pontchartrain.
It was 7 p.m., and the conductor, a longtime New Orleanian, walked up and down my car and warned us passengers about drinks on Bourbon Street like the hurricane and the hand grenade.
“My advice is drink them slowly.” He repeated, “Slowly.”
My goal was to hear some good music, eat some decent food and hear about the changes in the city 10 years after Katrina. I wanted to hear and see for myself where things are.