Our journey began when we got off the plane. The airport was eerily quiet for what should be a busy metropolitan destination. It was about 5pm, and shops were closing. Our cab driver told us that he waited three hours for a fare – and that was typical. There are more cab drivers at the Louis Armstrong Airport than there are people to take into town.

We asked the driver to take us to our hotel – but we asked him to first take us to see damage. He cheerfully agreed, and said it would only cost $20 more. It would be money well spent.

He took us through Jefferson in a neighborhood near Lake Pontchartrain. We saw house after house after house, empty and destroyed. Some houses had FEMA trailers in the front yard where the homeowners lived, or in some cases, the contractors. But most of the houses were empty, and not being worked on.

Along the side of the road, one will see signs advertising for construction jobs, and for construction projects. I saw a sign advertising for bankruptcy services, and a sign that read “Cable Still Out? We Can Get You a Dish in 48 Hours!” Then next thing I saw after that was a FEMA Trailer with a dish. Its size was so disproportionate to the size of the trailer, it reminded me of the rack of ribs on Fred Flinstone’s car.

One of the striking things to see is the “water line.” On houses, walls and other buildings, one can see a dirty horizontal line where the water rose. To see this water line on houses as you drive along 6 city-sized blocks is devastatingly breathtaking. To see that it is clearly over the head of a 6 foot tall man like me is bone-chilling.

Our driver told us that he and his wife fled to Houston just before the storm. He came back. She refuses to. He has two kids in college and he needs to work. He told us that many people have come back to work. Business owners have come back to try and rebuild their lives but have trouble finding employees. Employees came back, but have trouble finding housing. With the shortage of housing, rents are increasing. And while we were heading towards the hotel, the traffic up the highway heading to Baton Rouge was quite heavy. Many have chosen to remain upground and they now call it home.

While stuck in traffic, our driver pointed out three hospitals that were still closed. Three hospitals. “People do not want to live in town if there are not enough hospitals,” he said.

A few minutes ago, I overheard the bartender in the lounge telling a friend that she has good days and bad days. Some days she wants to cry, and others she knows she has to persevere. She spoke of a greeting card a relative from up north gave her. It has a photograph of a seashell, and the inscription read: “Seashells are a beautiful reminder of something that is no longer with us.” To a very large extent, the houses we saw are seashells of what had to have been a bustling and thriving neighborhood.

We start our conference tomorrow night, and we go all day on Friday and Saturday, and conclude on Sunday. There is a lot for us to discuss, and with the new law a little over 6 months old, a lot to learn.

But in addition to that, I am fortunate to be in a city that is going through its own rebirth. From what I gather from the news, and from my driver, it’s not an all together painless process. To an extent, bankruptcy is a rebirth. It can be a path to redemption. While a good bankruptcy lawyer will try his or her best to reduce the stress associated with bankruptcy, it is not a painless process. But it is a way of getting a second chance. The people of New Orleans are working day and night to get that second chance.