My roommate and I spent Mardi Gras in New Orleans. This was my first post-hurricane trip back to the playground of my libation soaked youth and so for the purposes of a 5-day party in the middle of a graveyard. We stayed at my friend Isaiah's house in Uptown (Garden District) and kept our movements betweeen there and the French Quarter, which are the most tourist heavy areas of the city and nearly the only part to to side-step the death blow from Katrina.
We arrived late friday night. We didn't want to hit the Quarter so we visited a couple of bars on Magazine Street that catered to locals and the Tulane crowd. We then grabbed a couple of "go" cups and took a midnight walk through the neighborhood, filling ourselves with intoxicants, both the alcoholic kind and the lustful--gorgeous homes with their massive porches and wrought iron fences sprinkled with beads all along oak lined streets inspiring envy.
Each street corner in Uptown has the names of that intersection printed in tile on the concrete below, and the sidewalks there are often sloped, cracked, or impeded by the roots of massive oaks, so walking through the "naybahood" can be an adventure as you gawk at 200 year-old homes while trying to keep your drunk ass from falling down. We stayed on Magazine Street, famous for its shopping while not forsaking the architecture and leafy acoutrement that the city is known for. Jules and I spent the majority of our time here, forsaking the tourist-packed French Quarter for a more family oriented/local crowd. We were only a few blocks from St. Charles, where the parade route was, so we made several trips going back and forth, collecting beads and the depositing them back home. The people along the route and walking the streets were laid back and life for them seemed normal enough, but we saw many tarp covered "blue roofs" and several homes damaged by fire and wind. To envision this and much more on a massive scale--what now makes up 80% of New Orleans, is unimaginable, and after my trip home for Thanksgiving when I spent an entire day going from town to town, street to street surveying the damage from Rita, I had no desire to go out of my way to see more of it.
Me and the waitress from DuMonde...we bonded. She let me take her picture as long as I promised not to steal her soul. Saturday we walked for about 6 hours. We walked to the art district, went down to the river to see the cruise ships where they house the relief workers (we were stopped by security because it is a federally protected area), and watched the tuxedo clad folks in horse drawn carriages as they made their way to mardi gras balls. We also spent some time by the river near the infamous convention center, tucked away from the tourist heavy areas, watching float riders and marching bands as they dismounted their floats after the end of a long day and boarded the ferry to go home, across the river to Algiers. We watched the river for a while, sat with a high school marching band while watching a train pass, got beignets and coffee at cafe du monde, bought some pralines, picked up some souvenirs at the outdoor French Market, watched a brass band, and got drunk in a strip bar in the middle of the afternoon. Below is a picture I took of Isaiah and Jules. I just realized that you can see one of the strippers behind them:
Cabbies in New Orleans are a different breed. In DC a conversation with your cabbie is an unexpected occurence. In New Orleans it is predestined, and usually memorable. By the same token, I've never hated a District cabbie based on a conversation we've had. In New Orleans, one way or the other, you're going to leave the cab with an opinion of them.
Most Notable about festivities is that the usual ignorant, pushy, fight-prone tourist behavior that so often compels the locals to leave during carnival was conspicuously absent. Everyone was on their best behavior and a sense of goodwill hung through the air. One night we took a cab from Isaiah's to the Quarter, but we only went a few blocks before coming to a dead stop due to traffic. We decided to pay the fare and walk the rest of the way, which proved to be the right decision due to intractable congestion. After walking for some time we came across a truck with its front end smashed in, stopped in the middle of the road near the outer rim of the Quarter. Seated in this truck were two men, either dead or passed out. We stared at them for a while before my roommate Jules walked into the street and around to the driver's side and beat on the window until one of the men startled....then went back to sleep. Luckily, about 10 seconds later he again woke and proceeded to drive off. Most compelling about this strange occurence is that a mile-long snake of traffic was lined up behind them, waiting patiently. We weren't sure how long they had been there or what part they played in our original traffic hold-up, but what was amazing is that there was not one person yelling or one car leaning on their horn. That, is special.
Saturday night my best friend and partner in crime, Chris Abrams, came into town to bring me joy. I'm afraid I can't print all the things I did that night due to self-incrimination and possible incarceration, but needless to say we didn't leave the bars until the morning hours.
Sunday and Monday were big parade days. Jules and I caught a little over 60lbs of beads and several dozen cups from the Krewes of Thoth, Proteus, Mid-City, Hermes, Endymion, Bacchus, Orpheus, and others. One of the best parts of the parade experience (other than the jungle juice we marinated in an ice chest for 3-days: Everclear, Diesel 180 proof, pineapple flavored rum, vodka, fruit punch, and chopped fruit for vitamins) were the children, who we threw into the punch as well (kidding). Having them running through your feet and seeing them perched up in the ladder high-chairs is something you won't see in the Quarter. Being around families and walking through the streets all day as friends and neighbors cook gumbo and etouffee and enjoy each other's company is very special to me, and brings back many warm memories of my own friends and family and that mardi gras experience of meeting new people on the street and having them invite you in to their yards for hamburgers and barbecue. Living here in DC, that kind of energy is in short supply.
Monday we had a party that started at 3 and extended to about 3am. It began at Isaiah's, where many people from my university (UL-Lafayette...geaux cajuns!)showed up. After parades, Jambalaya, drunkedness, king cake, jello shots,and even more drunkedness our krewe of cajuns, queers, and marines (ample representatives of all 3 groups present, some fitting in to all 3 categories) moved to a straight bar in the Quarter called the Goldmine, where we had flaming Dr. Pepper shots and danced to hip-hop music, followed by gay bars, then mercifully, bed.
I was hung-over for two days after returning, and still have a lingering cough that I can't quite kick, but it was worth it. Since the ratio of drunk/sober waking hours fell decidedly on the former, I didn't take many pictures and I have also forgotten a great many details, but hopefully this missive satisfies the curiosity of those who have inquired.
