Mardi Gras Madness

           Today is Mardi Gras—Fat Tuesday—the last day  before Ash Wednesday when the season of Lent begins.  Traditionally Lent involves a sacrifice of some kind—a giving up of something in preparation for the glorious events of Easter, some 40 days hence.  In many Catholic cultures where Lent is seriously observed, the day before Ash Wednesday became a festival in its own right—a community-wide celebration providing participants the chance to enjoy life before beginning a period of serious sacrifice.  Hence Mardi Gras—Fat Tuesday—the ultimate opportunity to eat, drink and be merry.

            In my old life, before I took up residence in the glorious State of Maine, my first husband, David, and I lived in New Orleans for 25 years.  Over those years, we developed our own customs and rituals for observing Mardi Gras, or rather Carnival, the proper name for this season, which begins on Twelfth Night (January 6) and runs until Mardi Gras.  In honor of my friends and family still living in New Orleans, and the many pleasant memories I have of those times, I’d like to share a little about what my life would be like if I were still a resident of that strange and wondrous city.

            We would have gotten up early on this Mardi Gras day, to put the finishing touches on our costumes and get dressed.  The photo below shows David and me the year we dressed as pirates.  After packing up the supplies we would need for a day of walking in the French Quarter—water, sun glasses, band aids--we’d leave the house around ten, stopping a few blocks away to catch the Rex Parade at the start of its run down to the edge of the Quarter.  After Rex passed, we would zip down to the Quarter, taking the circuitous routes necessary to avoid the parades and hopefully get to our destination—the far side of the French Quarter, and find cheap and legal parking—always as challenge—by 11 am.     

            By this time in the Carnival Season, we’ve been to maybe a dozen parades—each following the same basic pattern with distinct and interesting variations.  Parades are put on by different organizations called crewes, many of which bear the names of classical gods—Hermes, Iris, Baccus, Endymion, Orpheus, Muses—and all of which have themes.  Some themes are corny beyond belief, but some crewes specialize in satirical themes, often with a political bent.  Woe be the public figure who pisses the people off—he will find himself skewed in multiple ways throughout this season.  

Mardi Gras parades are not like parades in other cities.  The bands are always excellent and play jazz and R&B instead of marches.  The floats are huge—the Orpheus Parade boasts one float a city block long—and some are lit with neon and other flashing lights.  Each float is inhabited by a dozen or so members of the crewe.  Crewe members are always in costume, are usually drunk, and are surrounded by huge bags holding beads, toys, trinkets and cups which they throw to the crowd.  The crowds are usually equally huge—generally several people deep on each side of the parade route, which is about 5 miles. 

For the more popular parades, people arrive early, bringing chairs, coolers, step ladders for the kids, and bags to carry home their loot.  The Endymion Parade—one of the largest and most elaborate--runs on Saturday night and always has a celebrity guest.  People have been known to camp out overnight on the route for this parade so as to hold a prime spot for parade viewing.  During the day they will be joined by family and friends.  For the locals, parades are family affairs and some families and groups of friends have been meeting at the same location for the same parades for decades.

Throughout the weekend before Mardi Gras, several parades are held each day and night.  People who own houses on parade routes are never lonely during this time, or else they leave town so as to avoid the noise and chaos. 

During our last several years in New Orleans, our Mardi Gras weekend events evolved to include Mardi Gras Balls.  On Friday night, we often went to the Zulu Ball, held by the Crewe of Zulu, the largest and oldest black crewe in the city.  David had a lot of friends among the political elite of the city and was generally able to get tickets.  Mardi Gras balls are always very formal and are basically debutant events.  Thus , if one arrived on time at Zulu, one would sit through the introduction of a dozen or more young women—daughter of XYZ—and her escort, son of ABC.  We learned to arrive around the time the music started—which was generally midnight.  After the first year, I gave up trying to have the most sparkly dress for this event—it was just not possible to out-do the women who had been attending this ball for decades and would willingly wear 12 pounds of sequins in order to out-shine the other wives of crewe members.  Here is a photo of one of our Zulu ensembles.

         For me, the best part of the entire Carnival Season was always Mardi Gras day in the French Quarter.  Early in the day Quarter is filled with costumed locals, many of whom have been planning their costumes since last Mardi Gras.  Some are so elaborate it is hard to imagine how the person moves.  Some are ensemble pieces involving a whole family—Dorothy and her companions from the Wizard of Oz, worn by a group of gay men—or all the impossible colors of mms—orange, green, purple, pink, white—worn by a family with several children.  Often the costumes are risqué, and there is a certain amount of more or less discrete nudity.  I could go on and on, and have boxes of photos, but you get the general idea. 

Casual, informal parades snake through the Quarter this day—always on foot.  Generally there are a couple of musical instruments leading the way—a couple of trumpets and a drum—some professional, some amateur.  Some 2-3 people will be carrying the parade banner, and they will be followed by masses of costumed revelers.  We often joined in these groups, lending our energy to the overall festivities—dancing our way down the street with unselfconscious abandon—taking photos and being photographed—stopping to chat with people we knew, and then dropping to the sidelines for a bit just to watch and enjoy.

This is what the real Mardi Gras is all about—music and dancing in the streets—friends and family gathering to celebrate life—costuming so you can, for a few hours or days or weeks, express your alter-ego.  It is a very different energy from the big parades and the formal balls.  It is organic and of the people.

David and I zigzagged our way back and forth across the Quarter—down to the river front—back up to the crowds—until time to meet friends at the House of Blues for late lunch, as became our custom.  Then we meandered our way to the home of different friends, who actually lived in the Quarter and held an open house.  We’d grab some water, freshen up, and hang out on their stoop, watching the glittering hordes form and reform in front of our eyes.

The party in the French Quarter continues until midnight, when Mardi Gras is officially over and the police clear the streets, sending revelers into the bars for more drink and music.  We always made it a policy to leave by dark.  By then the hordes of drunken guests who have been watching the parades in other parts of the city have poured into the Quarter and the overall energy has changed.  But we have had a lovely day and our desire for revelry has been sated.  We’d wander back to our car and take our circuitous route home—to rest and talk and watch the local news reports of the festivities.         

Lent begins the next day—Ash Wednesday—and I was always surprised by the number of locals who made it to morning mass and carried ashes on their foreheads for the rest of the day.