On August 28, 2025, the familiar sound of a train horn echoed along the Mississippi Gulf Coast, signaling a momentous return: Amtrak service resumed for the first time since Hurricane Katrina struck two decades ago. This long-awaited journey, chronicled by NPR’s Stephan Bisaha of the Gulf States Newsroom, winds through towns still marked by the storm’s legacy, threading together stories of resilience, loss, and ongoing recovery.
The Mardi Gras Amtrak line now makes stops in Pascagoula, Biloxi, and Bay St. Louis—cities that, in 2005, found themselves in the crosshairs of one of the most devastating hurricanes in American history. As the train glides along tracks flanked by sparkling Gulf waters, the view to the south remains eerily unchanged. But look north, and the scars of Katrina linger, both visible in the landscape and etched in the memories of those who stayed—or left.
Take Pascagoula, the train’s first stop, where the devastation was nearly total. “You know, we say 90% of Pascagoula was flooded and about 10% had flood insurance,” recalled Richard Chenoweth, owner of Scranton’s Restaurant, just a stone’s throw from the depot. During the storm, Chenoweth watched helplessly as water rushed in, lifting heavy refrigeration equipment and sending it crashing into dishes. “While we were sitting here, all the refrigeration equipment and everything like that is—it’s floating up and tipping over and crashing into the plates,” he recounted to NPR.
Downtown Pascagoula has since been rebuilt, but the city is not what it once was. The population is about 15% lower than before Katrina, a loss that weighs heavily on local businesses. “Well, the problem with me is that those 5,000 people could afford to leave. Those people were my customers,” Chenoweth lamented. He still looks back fondly on the days before the storm: “Back then, as soon as a table vacated, there was people sitting at it. Best time of my life.”
The train’s journey continues to Biloxi, a city where the tracks themselves form a dividing line—literally and figuratively. On the south side, close to the water, beach homes and flashy casinos were swept away by Katrina’s storm surge. They’ve since been rebuilt, their facades gleaming with newness. But north of the tracks, where Tyrone Burton has cut hair for over 60 years, recovery has been slow and uneven. “They used to use that word, back across the tracks,” Burton told NPR, reflecting on the city’s racial and economic divides.
For many like Burton, the storm only deepened existing struggles. “We was already going down. And when Katrina come, that’s give them them more opportunity ’cause they was able to get the insurance. And they out of here,” he explained. The exodus of residents—especially those with the means to leave—has left neighborhoods like Burton’s behind, still searching for a path forward.
As the train approaches Bay St. Louis, the landscape shifts. The city, just a few miles from Katrina’s landfall, was wiped out by the storm. Today, it’s described as “booming,” with a reputation as a New Orleans ocean air getaway. The marina is packed with boats, and the streets bustle with art lovers and tourists. One of the city’s cultural anchors is Gallery 220, owned by Jenise McCardell. “It’s always been an arty town, which—that’s why I’m here,” she said.
McCardell is preparing for retirement, and unlike many business owners in less fortunate towns, she’s not worried about finding a buyer. “Yeah, there’s not very much property for sale around here—commercial property. So—and it’s a wonderful building,” she noted. Bay St. Louis’s resurgence has made it a hot commodity, but this prosperity is not shared equally along the coast.
One persistent challenge for residents and business owners alike is insurance. The cost, and sometimes the sheer unavailability, of coverage has forced many to self-insure—a luxury not everyone can afford. McCardell put it bluntly: “You have to just have money to self-insure, which is sad. We want all types of people here, but, you know, it’s kind of made society choose who can live here.”
This harsh reality is echoed up and down the route. In places like Pascagoula and Biloxi, the high price of insurance, or the inability to get it at all, has shaped who stays and who goes. It’s a silent force, quietly redrawing the map of the Mississippi Coast, one policy at a time.
Yet, amid the challenges, there is hope—and even a sense of celebration. The return of Amtrak is more than a transportation milestone; it’s a symbol of connection and renewal. For some, it evokes memories of better days and the promise of new beginnings. For others, it’s a reminder of how much work remains to be done.
As the Mardi Gras line rolls on, passengers are treated to scenes of resilience and reinvention. The Gulf itself, shimmering under the sun, appears unchanged from 20 years ago. But the communities that line its northern shore are still wrestling with what recovery truly means. Some have found ways to thrive, while others continue to struggle with the aftershocks of Katrina—economic, social, and psychological.
For business owners like Chenoweth and McCardell, the journey is deeply personal. Their stories, and those of countless others, are woven into the fabric of the coast’s recovery. The return of the train offers a chance to reflect on the past, take stock of the present, and imagine a future where the wounds of Katrina are finally healed—or at least, no longer define the region’s identity.
As NPR’s Bisaha observed, “If you look out the train to the south, it’s pretty much the same Gulf that was there 20 years ago. But look north at the communities along this route, and many are still figuring out what recovery means.” The train may have come full circle, but for the Mississippi Coast, the journey continues.
