A surreal landscape haunts me. Taunts me. I know I'm at the beach,
because I see the waves. But what should be here isn't.
We're driving along Highway 87 on the Bolivar Peninsula just north of
Galveston, Texas. To get here, we hitched a free ride on the state-
operated ferry with about 40 other cars and trucks.
For dozens and dozens of miles, I see debris, over-turned and half-
buried cars, pylons holding up nothing, trendy beach cottages
shredded. Mile after mile, the devastation in untenable. It's like The
Day After. Only, it's nearly five months after Hurricane Ike exploded,
flattening the existence of several communities.
What buildings still stand tilt dangerously. Or have no windows and
doors. Some have no floors, no roofs, not enough walls. Businesses are
boarded up, leveled or just invisible. A sign on a partially standing
Jamaican blue wall announces "Paradise has Moved." There's another
sign: Boil water.
Researchers say the sand is gone, swept out to sea. If the communities
want to rebuild their beaches, they'll have to mine the sand
elsewhere. But what do they do to rebuild their dreams?
See more pictures here.