Mike Cox The first time I visited New Orleans was in 1977. My brother and I left Tuscaloosa early one morning and arrived in the Big Easy around 10:30 am, desperately in need of food and drink. By 2 pm, I held a muffaletta in one hand and a sweet Abita Amber in the other. Every door on Bourbon Street beckoned; scantily clad women in one, unique food smells in the next, reverberating jazz the one after that. I was hopelessly and completely in love with the place.

New Orleans has been my mistress for a long time. Sassy and spicy, this great lady is a little wicked and always full of surprises. At every opportunity, I sneak down there using any excuse I can. After a few days, I slink back home tired, full, and satisfied. Almost immediately, I’m planning my next visit.

Bourbon Street and the restaurants get the attention, but there is much more to this city than topless Mardi Gras revelers and gumbo. New Orleans has a rich history, great museums, and natural beauty. A smorgasbord of cultural mixes gives the city a unique blend of language, food, and customs different from any other place, you feel like you are in another country.

New Orleans is the only American place with a soul of its own. If you can visit the Big Easy without smiling, you need a heart transplant. No other city I’ve visited has a feeling quite like this crazy collection of indulgence.

And now the great place is hurting, and hurting bad. Katrina blew up the levees and flooded NOLA with acrid water, destruction, and despair. The reports on 24 hour coverage were distressing. Lawlessness and looting were the primary pastimes, closely followed by finger pointing and political maneuvering. Hordes of people were gathering in public places and complaining because the government wasn’t doing enough. Things looked bleak for my mistress. There were suggestions the entire place be bulldozed and rebuilt in a more sensible location.

Then other stories began to surface. Johnny White’s bar was serving drinks and warm beer and providing those still stranded a place to go and hope. Several French Quarter hotels were cleaning the premises and ordering generators. The locals began to think about getting back to normal.

The soul of this extraordinary place began resurfacing. The despair and gloom began to recede as the flood waters did. The pulse of New Orleans is dim, but still evident. As soon as a sax breaks the silence, normality will be on its way.

A week ago, I worried what would happen to the place so special to so many. Things looked awful. I wondered if the Nevilles and the Brennans would ever go back, if I would ever listen to music at Tipitinas, or eat a biegnet at Café Du Monde. With each passing day, I feel more confident about New Orleans. Sooner than I think possible, I’ll once again sneak away and visit the enticing place I’m so enamored with. I’m already searching for a reason to go.