N'awlins

N'awlins - 29°57'16.00"N 90° 4'30.00"W

That's how you pronounce New Orleans if you live there. The southern accent is crazy over here, but it's weirdly addictive to listen to. I could have got some of the people I met to read the phone book and not be bored by it.

The last post was from San Francisco at the end of my drive up the west coast. Just after I finished posting on here (from there) I nipped out to buy something to eat. It was only then, whilst walking in the dark and the rain, that I realised exactly what a horrifically crap and unsafe part of town the youth hostel was in. I witnessed 3 crack coccaine (I'll explain later Grandma) deals take place right in front of me, one of which I was told to stop for whilst the deal took place before I was permitted to walk past. I ran back to the hostel and did my laundry!!

Anyway, so it was only a brief stop in San Francisco and first thing Sunday morning I was back at the airport to catch a flight to New Orleans. It was a long day travelling and I had to fly via Charlotte in North Carolina. What made the day even more stressful was that I really didn't have much of an idea where I was going once I got to New Orleans. The people that I met with at the university of Utah had suggested a volunteer project for me to hook up with and I'd called a lady called Sarah to see if it was o.k for me to show up. Sarah had given me an address and told me to make my way there when I arrived.........I could have been going anywhere.

From New Orleans airport I jumped in a cab and headed for the address that I'd been given. It was dark so I had no idea what the city around me looked like, but the houses gradually got larger and larger until I was convinced that I was in the wrong place. Eventually the cab driver pulled up outside a huge house and told me that this was where I got out. It didn't look like a volunteer shelter, it just looked like somebody's oversized home, but the lights were on and I could see people moving around inside. So I walked up onto the porch, past a bank of Louisiana style rocking chairs, and rang the bell.

Within minutes I'd been shown to my bunkbed, introduced to about 25 people, had a sandwich made for me for the next day and given a glass of wine........red.........NON ALCOHOLIC!

Something was amiss here and I couldn't quite put my finger on it, until it was explained to me that the project that I was working with was run through the Presbyterian church that was next door, and that the people I was now living with for the next week were on church mission trips from other parts of the country. In fact there were two groups, one from Delaware with whom I was now chatting, and another from Myrtle Beach South Carolina who were nowhere to be seen..........

So I went to bed, safe in the knowledge that I probably wasn't going to be robbed whilst I slept.

In the morning I was told to be on the porch and ready to go at 8am, so I made my way through the house towards the front door. I'd nearly got there, when, from somewhere to my right a loud voice began hollering "NEW PERSON, NEW PERSON, HELLO, UHM NEW PERSON". Assuming this was meant for me I turned around to find a good looking lady with a big smile on her face waving her finger at me wildly - "NEW PERSON, WHO ARE YOU NEW PERSON?"

"I'm Matt"
"and where are you from Matt"
"England, from a city called Nottingham"
"Yes, yes you are"
"and you are?........"
"Julie, from Myrlte Beach, and you Matt are going to be spending the week with us!"

Unknown to me at this time, Julie had just hooked me into the most amazing group of people that I'm likely to meet during this entire trip, and a group that took me under their wing and me me feel like family in no time at all. The Delaware crew, despite their kind and elderly sandwich making efforts, were now off limits as far as the Myrtle Beach gang were concerned.

Their leader was a "bloke" called Howard, an ex fighter pilot, local politician and anti British extremist (just kidding Howard).

Accompanying Howard in the Myrtle Beach gang were:

Jeff - AKA Mule, the banadana wearing smoker of the tribe who was dining out on a serious casino win from a Saturday night in New Orleans.
Wanita - That's not her real name but she's aked that her identity be protected because she's an attorney and will soon be a judge. We know she's going to be a judge becase a voodoo man that read her palm on Bourbon Street told her so.........despite being an occasional loser.
Natasha - New Orleans volunteer project veteran embarking on her 4th trip. You wouldn't have guessed it though by the state of her finger nails..........
Julie - A Myrtle Beach realtor that liked to talk smack (that's kind of gossip and bullsh*t all thrown into one......I think, and not Heroin). Julie doesn't eat food that still has a face, like shrimp or crawfish.
Karyn - Health, fitness and soccer enthusiast who likes to run before dinner so that she can take an extra helping of Peach Cobbler. She also attempted to teach me how to eat Crawfish.......but that didn't stop me piching the wrong bit and showering people with crawfish brain!
Richard - Beach bum that owns his own watersports company at Myrtle Beach. He's told me to let all my friends know that you can visit him and get as many free parasail rides as you want all day long (just kidding).
Anne - Another attorney, but she don't believe in no crazy voodoo talk, so we don't know if she gonna be a judge!
Jonathon - I can't be sure, but I've a feeling that he's a retired cab driver from New York.
Lynn - Restauranteur, tequila drinker before 5pm and anti Delaware enthusiast.
Allison - Sunday School teacher, web geek and practising comedienne who made me laugh far too much at inappropriate comments and moments!

Living and working with these people for a week was incredible once I got used to saying Grace before lunch and dinner. Every single one of them was kind to me and made me feel so welcome that I was sad to say goodbye by the time the end of the week came.

The work we were doing in New Orleans consisted of going into flood damaged homes, of which there are still thousands, and gutting them to make them ready for rennovation and hopefully habitation again. We swung hammers and crow bars, knocked down sheet rock, dry wall and plaster, ripped up floors and took down doors, carried couches, ovens and fridges and piled it all up on the street outside.

It was heartbreaking to see some homes with all the possessions still in there 16 months after Katrina came and went. I saw houses that had been picked up, spun through 180 degrees and parked on the side of another house. Cars that were turned over, boats piled on top of each other and miles and miles of FEMA (Federal Emergency Medical Association) trailors on the front lawns of all these flood damaged homes in which people are still living.

It's only through the efforts of groups like the one I was working with that any real rate of progress is being made, and even then only the surface is being scratched. Given the opportunity I'd gladly go back and volunteer there again like I know so many people like the Myrtle Beach gang who live over here are doing.

The week in New Orleans was the most amazing time I've spent out here yet and I don't say that lightly considering all the fantastic things I've done and the people that I've met along the way since I arrived in the USA. I learnt a lot, saw and did some awesome things and made some great friends.

Final lesson learnt? - I'd rather be from Myrtle Beach than Delaware.

On Saturday I flew to Philadelphia.

M