Going To The Mardi Gras

Happy Mardi Gras

Carnival means farewell to the flesh. It begins in New Orleans on January 6 and ends the day before Lent--Fat Tuesday. The French Quarter is filled with people from all over the world to celebrate life to it's fullest, if only for a day. Mardi Gras is highlighted by huge, elaborate parades, each one with its own presiding king. The first famous king was Louis Armstrong as King Zulu in 1949.

The morning my wife, Billie, and I arrived, the headline read: Carnival 1999 Beads Flow Like Wine. We made our way through the Vieux Carre, anxious to experience the world's largest party. Festivities had been in full swing for weeks. While workers shoveled mounds of garbage off the sidewalks, a continual flow of newcomers provided spice for the melting pot of leftovers. The wrought-iron balconies--packed to capacity with true believers--rewarded those who shouted those famous words: "Throw me some beads, mister", and displayed that time-honored gesture of flashing bare breasts. It would be pointless to lie. Billie collected her fair share of memorabilia.

Our first stop was Razzoos' Bar on Bourbon Street, two beers for one in large cups. An elderly, black man blowing his horn on the corner never missed a beat. The sound was as seasoned as his face, allowing me to imagine the history that lingered there. The people came in all colors, shapes, and sizes: Cajun and Creole. The universal language of happiness took center stage and everyone was offered a part in the play.

In and out of shops and exchanging small talk with fellow pilgrims can build a mighty hunger. We settled on Sammy's historic seafood restaurant, established in 1928. A man in a tuxedo seated us in the open-air section overlooking the street. We carried our drinks in, of course--anything goes. A group of teenagers from Oklahoma, with orange and blue hair, were having a lively musical discussion. Naturally, being a musician, I joined in the conversation. And to my surprise, they were unaware that the great traveler and folk singer, Woody Guthrie, hailed from their state. It felt good to play a small part in the grand drama.

Walking to the mighty Mississippi, to rest a spell, was certainly an eye-opener for us. People were passed out all over the riverbank, and for me it begged the question: maybe this was the "House of the Rising Sun." After stopping at the Hard Rock Café, we headed back to Canal Street to watch the big parades. Billie wanted to take a break at Preservation Hall, home of New Orleans Jazz. This left us toe tapping long into the night on our wild journey. We came across community clubs, marching bands, outlandish costumes, mimes, and people baring their flesh all along the way--Party on Garth! The parades were breathtaking and there was excitement in the air. During one of the first floats we captured a coin with a Louis Armstrong emblem, which now resides in my Mojo bag. Later, a local man shared some of his spicy ham hocks--yum, yum good. Now that's southern eating.

In the evening we were sitting on a stoop, drinking Pina Coladas from Fat Tuesdays, watching the world go by--literally, people from all over the world--when a man covered in silver, nonchalantly, painted our noses. And I'm fairly sure it really happened. It all seems like a dream. Like trying to tell someone how you felt after watching a sunset; to say it was fantastic just wouldn't explain it. This is only a spoonful of what I felt--because the next day was Fat Tuesday--but I hope it makes you hungry. Happy Mardi Gras!