Mardi Gras; it attracts people from all over, young and old, to parade, it seems, for countless days and nights, rain or shine. Following only a day and a half in the gem of New Orleans, I truly cannot seem to find the secret these southern folks possess to make it through the whole carnival season, starting in mid-January.
The weekend moved rather quickly, but was full of traditional New Orleans excitement nonetheless. We ate incredibly well, filling our stomachs with gumbo, crawfish, and, most notably, the famous French beignets at Café Du Monde, followed by daiquiris-to-go on Bourbon Street. The excitement never seemed to show any end.
Bourbon was just as, if not more, crowded the following day. While the majority of parades take place in uptown New Orleans, a good deal of the carnivalling is done in the French Quarter, an area a little more known to those not living in the city. Having been to the city twice before, I couldn’t help but wonder if the majority of those celebrating were locals or travelers arriving from elsewhere. Speaking to a few locals, it appears to be a good mix of the two. However, they choose to remain close to those parades less known to the outsiders, while being sure they conserve all sorts of energy for Fat Tuesday itself. One individual responded, “I go to sleep as early as eight or nine on Lundi Gras (Monday)…and usually wake up around seven in the morning on Mardi Gras. I don’t want to miss any of the good morning parading”. Mardi Gras appears not only to be a celebration for the city, but a history, a certain way of life. And who wouldn’t want to join in on such a thrilling tradition?
Of course, we were witness to the well-known idea of “flashing” crowds for beads. I can definitely vouch for its legitimacy, having seen a few women flaunting it all for the best, biggest, most colorful beads to drape on their necks.
The locals, then, prefer to avoid Bourbon, devoting their carnival season to parades obtaining a bit more significance than the insanity that this street holds. Frankly, I can’t blame them. It seemed, out of a single moment in particular, standing in the rain and humid air, daiquiri in hand, to make complete sense. A certain local opens the hurricane shutters gracing the entrance to his home to take in, not only the scent of the storm, but the sounds and sights of the city’s carnival culture. He greets us with a kind, “Happy Mardi Gras,” and a grin, leaving the shutters open and sinking back into his home. It isn’t about the beads, the sweet daiquiris, or the cigars in the fancy shops. Mardi Gras is hospitality, an invitation from an ancient southern city to revel in excess, good food, and wonderful company, prior to a period of lent. Or, for others, an excuse to simply relax and soak in a city of rich history in combination with an entertaining spectacle of what the carnival season brings to its streets. This weekend adventure didn’t necessarily make me fall in love with Mardi Gras, but, once again, solidified my love of New Orleans, its people, its matchlessness, and its everlasting charm.