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One of the pleasures of New Orleans was that the city changed very slowly, if at all. This was a city that objected strenuously when a certain decades-old restaurant dared to switch from hand-chipped ice to machine made. This was a city where 10 years could go by between visits, but your favorite bookstore would still be in business when you came back, and your favorite bookseller would still be behind the counter, possibly with a volume he had been holding for you until the day you finally returned. Still, change is the one constant in life, and yet we never think about it applying to an entire city, an entire culture, an entire way of life.

On August 29, 2005, New Orleans changed forever. In the wake of Hurricane Katrina, which was not quite as strong as the direct hit originally predicted, at least three of the levees designed to keep the below-sea-level city safe from the waters of Lake Pontchartrain either broke or were breached, with the result that 80% of one of the most charming and historic cities in America was under water. The water remained for weeks -- months in certain places -- and by the time it was done, the landscape of New Orleans was forever altered.

Throughout that time there were impossible images. Faces massed in the Superdome and the Convention Center, stranded for days without sufficient food or water. People stuck on rooftops, baking in the hot sun, waiting for rescue. Lacy wrought-iron balconies, stately oaks, and street signs with unbearably ironic names like Flood, all now hovering inches above water. People wading through a fetid stew, carrying a few meager possessions. As the floodwaters were pumped out, more shocks followed. There was the ravaged Lower 9th Ward, where house after house was reduced to a rubbish heap of piles of random lumber, unrecognizable as anything, much less someone's home, while other houses were pushed into one another, once lined up in an orderly row, now smashed at various angles into each other, sometimes, incredibly, sitting on top of one another. Vacant lots materialized as homes had literally been blown away. Sometimes, concrete pilings were left behind, making the lot look like a cemetery, which it was, in a sense: a graveyard of hopes and a certain way of life. Sometimes just the front steps were left, leading to nowhere, a metaphor that doesn't bear explication. Across town, in Lakeview, homes appeared fine outside, but inside, furniture lay out of place in careless heaps, like the contents of a snow globe shaken by a giant, the consequence of floating in 10 feet or more of water for weeks on end. And everything, from stuffed toys to pianos to pictures on the wall, was covered in thick fuzzy mold; family homes, rotten to the core. And adding to the brokenness of it all was the color: Verdant, tropical New Orleans was brown, gray, and dusty. The vegetation itself had drowned. The official death toll will likely never be known, because many remain missing, and such death counts do not cover those who died after the storm, during evacuation and exile, from stress or illness, or even suicide and despair.

It takes a long time to come back from something like this. But New Orleans was given two gifts. The first was that the narrow band of land that did not flood at all included the most historic and best-loved areas: the French Quarter and the part of Uptown that included the Garden District. New Orleans is considerably more than those much-photographed neighborhoods, make no mistake, but what the average visitor imagines when he or she thinks of New Orleans remains much as it ever did. One can walk through those areas and not know anything of the magnitude of the disaster ever came close.

The second is the spirit of the people of New Orleans. Within weeks of the catastrophe, intrepid remaining citizens threw a jazz funeral, complete with an exalting, rejuvenating second line for the disaster, for its victims, and for its citizens. Then they got their hands down in the muck and began to clean. Restaurants and clubs reopened even when it meant grilling on the sidewalk and keeping the beer cold with a generator. Plans were made for Mardi Gras and pleas were made for the return of Jazz Fest, because this is a city that loves its parties, and what's a party for except to celebrate life and survival? And sure enough, Mardi Gras parades rolled, and many contained floats openly mocking the terrible thing that had happened just 6 months before, a thumbing of the nose at events that may have left the city broken but not bowed. An only slightly truncated Jazz Fest went on during its usual weekends, featuring headliners such as Bruce Springsteen, and attracted as large a crowd as usual. Mardi Gras 2007, though still not quite as crowded as pre-Katrina days, was otherwise unremarkable, which is as it should be -- the past is done and celebrants were embracing the present. Jazz Fest 2007 was as crowded, musically, and attendance was, as ever. The refurbished Superdome reopened on Sept 25, 2006, with a bang-up party including performances by U2 and Green Day, and the usually hapless Saints responded with a winning season that saw them one victory away from their first Super Bowl appearance ever. To help aid the recovery of the vital music and cultural scene, the prestigious Thelonious Monk School of Jazz is relocating from Los Angeles to the campus of Loyola University. The movie business continues to be loyal -- every time you turn around, it seems you stumble on some movie or TV crew. When the Brad Pitt starrer The Curious Case of Benjamin Button was shot here in late 2007, the movie star, along with his romantic partner Angelina Jolie, demonstrated his loyalty to the city by purchasing a house right in the French Quarter. (And yes, locals saw them hanging out around the place, just like they were everybody else.) Even Donald Trump is getting in on the act, with a planned massive development in the heart of the CBD.

But over all, recovery is slow going. All manner of important things are, maddeningly, no closer to being resolved than in the early days after the storm, while the fate of many citizens and establishments remains in question. Crime is notably on the rise, and is a serious problem, though it is largely confined to the poor and still badly damaged areas of town. It is mostly drug related, and the tourist areas of town remain no more dangerous than in any other big city. There are increased patrols in the most visible parts of town, but visitors should exercise caution and typical big city common sense when entering questionable neighborhoods after dark.

All of this likely prompts a question of your own, probably: Should you go?

Oh, yes.

Go, because everything in life is fragile and precarious, and we can take nothing for granted, and someday it really will all be gone. Go, because it's not gone, not at all. Go, because the things you wanted -- the beautiful architecture, the majestic oaks, the river wind, the quality of light that makes even the most mundane just a little bit magic -- all remain. Go, because there are people there, and as long as they are, there will be music and food, and it will be some of the best of your life. Go, because perhaps you've wanted to help in any way you can, and now the best way you can is to help a historic city regain its economic feet. Go, because every brick in the French Quarter has a story to tell, and so does the damaged ground of the 9th Ward, and you should bear witness. Go, because there is much to celebrate, and this is still the best place there is to do so.

"I want to be in that number," goes the song. I do indeed. I hope you do, too.

Accomodations

At press time, there were over 31,000 hotel rooms available in the city, with grand openings by the newly built Harrah's hotel (228 Poydras St.; tel. 800/817-5299), and reopenings by the top rated Ritz Carlton (921 Canal St.; (tel. 800/241-3333) and other smaller hotels, all demonstrating that the city does not lack for accommodations variety. Still, several major hotels still remain in limbo, with rumors about plans jostling around. We have great hopes for the revitalization of the venerable Fairmont (123 Baronne St.,), the classic hotel still known to locals as the Roosevelt. Famed for the lobby that ran from one block to the next (and at Christmastime featured a beloved display), it was the choice for President Clinton when he came to town. At press time it seems likely new owners will take on only the original, main building. As it is historic and full of potential, we will take what we can get and hope its empty, orphan days are soon behind it.

The Hyatt Regency (500 Poydras Plaza) was the poster child for Katrina's fury, as photos of the glass building with many of its windows blown out were broadcast around the world. At press time it looked like the chain might not revive the place.

The venerable romantic Pontchartrain Hotel, which got hard hit post-Katrina thanks to looters and more, has closed until late 2008 for a top-to-bottom renovation, including converting all rooms to suites. If your stay may land during 2009, here are the hotel's details for further information: 2031 St. Charles Ave., New Orleans, LA 70140. tel. 800/777-6193 or 504/524-0581. Fax 504/529-1165. www.pontchartrainhotel.com.

Dining

The dining scene is hotter than ever, as more places are open in the metropolitan city area (as in, where the tourists are most likely to go) than before the storm. For the last 2 years, the winner of the James Beard Foundation's Best Southeast Chef has been from New Orleans, which says much about the post-storm cuisine quality level. A number of new places have opened up, including the fancy looking brassiere Riche (in Harrah's casino, 228 Poydras St.; tel. 504/533-6117) by award-winning chef Todd English; the fantastic German-French influenced bistro Lüke (333 St. Charles Ave.; tel. 504/378-2840) by James Beard winner John Besh; Cochon (930 Tchoupitoulas St.; tel. 504/588-2123) by new James Beard winner Donald Link; plus Iris (8115 Jeannette St.; tel. 504/862-5848), Table One (2800 Magazine St.; tel. 504/872-9035), and more. Look for a familiar face, Greg Sonnier, formerly of Gamay and Gabrielle's, to shake things up at the Windsor Court's venerable Grill Room (300 Gravier St. tel. 504/522-1992), while Scott Boswell of Stella! is taking his Stanley (tel. 504/593-0006) concept to a whole new level at its new location at 547 St. Ann St., the former site of La Madeline, right at the corner of St. Ann and Chartres streets. This soda fountain cum diner hopes to be an instant classic -- and between location and homemade ice cream, it may well succeed.

Chef Pete, whose brilliant Marisol's deeply daring cooking was a great loss to the dining community, is currently cooking theme menus (heavily international, and no two menus are ever the same) at Bacchanal (600 Poland Ave.; tel. 504/948-9111) on Sunday nights, performing outrageous acts of culinary exploration. He may be there, he may have moved to another city, he may have opened a new restaurant (oh, please, oh, please!) by the time you read this, so write to Food4Fuel@aol.com to learn his current whereabouts.

A local restaurateur/new owner reopened the Camellia Grill (626 S. Carrollton Ave.; tel. 504/309-2679) exactly as it was, complete with original (and in many cases, long employed) staff, though spiffed up a bit. This classic Riverbend diner (where the St. Charles streetcar made the turn onto Carrollton) is still everyone's favorite for hamburgers and the house specialty, pecan waffles.

Drago's, a classic family seafood diner from Metairie, with a routinely long wait and a city-wide reputation for its addictive charbroiled oysters, opened up a branch in the Riverside Hilton. Twice as large as the original, fans are rejoicing, as likely will guests of the Hilton, which has long felt the absence of a quality restaurant choice.

The Bistro at Maison deVille (727 Toulouse St.; tel. 504/528-9206) looked like it was going to be a permanent Katrina casualty, but Chef Greg Piccalo, one of the most talented in the city, was able to reopen it. The menu has changed (though some old favorites will show up), but whatever he does is French-influenced and very interesting. Sadly, long time maitre d' Patrick is no longer with the Bistro, but you can find him over at the Rib Room.

Finally, it's the opposite of new but in New Orleans, that makes it all the better: By the time you read this, the badly flooded Dooky Chase (2301 Orleans Ave.; tel. 504/821-0600), the great Creole restaurant, preferred dining spot for so many musicians and other cultural figures, should finally, after 2 years of effort, donations, and grit, be reopened.