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Mar. 4, 2006 Attending my first Mardi Gras in New Orleans has reconfirmed my beliefs that whatever doesn’t kill you really does make you stronger. I’ve never been to New Orleans, but I had the pleasure and privilege of seeing it for the first time because my husband is there for work. I saw parades, jazz and blues musicians, experienced Bourbon Street on Fat Tuesday, and ate some of the best food I’ve ever eaten in my life. Since my husband worked long days, I hung out with two other spouses who were there visiting their wives. Under a cloudless sky, we saw parades from the corner of Canal and Bourbon Streets and drank Abita Amber, their local beer, after breakfast like it was the most natural thing in the world. Some of the floats had flood damage, but everyone was in high spirits, and the Zulu dancers put on a great show. They threw beads, stuffed animals, footballs, and painted coconuts. I caught a pair of moroccos before they hit me in the head! Mayor Ray Nagin led the parade, on horse, and was dressed like Lt. Gen. Russel Honore, leader of the military’s Katrina team. I thought he looked like a Middle East terrorist. Maybe he should have stuck with a Saints hat and T-shirt? I met Spike Lee. He and his entourage were right behind us during the parade, I think, filming stock footage of the Christian protesters. We shook his hand. He’s a lot shorter than I imagined. Steven Segal walked right by us on Bourbon Street. Every local I’ve spoken to, including the ones who lost everything, agreed it was important for the city to have its Mardi Gras 150th anniversary. “We needed the joy,” one bartender said. “There’s been too much sadness around here.” The locals also said that the crowd was smaller and tamer this year, which I can’t imagine because Bourbon Street was so packed you could barely move. Some people wore hats that looked like blue-tarped roofs, or clothes made from blue tarp. Others drew dirty flood lines on their pants or dressed as FEMA workers. Of course, many barely wore anything. Most things I saw on Bourbon Street aren’t fit to print, but I did get a kick out of a retired couple from San Diego – the wife did a body shot off a young bartender with fake hooters. “If you do that again, I’ll get pictures for the grandchildren,” I told them. The husband was all for it, but the wife laughed, “No way! This day is getting locked in a vault!” But they did ask me to take a few pictures of them in front of the street sign. I took Ken Hughes’ advice and ate dinner with my husband at the Court of Two Sisters restaurant. I loved the courtyard ambience and had the best duck I’ve ever tasted. And I don’t eat duck. My daytime companions were gumbo soup connoisseurs, and we toured the French Quarter searching for the best gumbo. The locals thought this was hilarious. I only had five bowls, but they had thirteen and their three best picks were from Sammy’s Seafood, Margaritaville Cafe, and Court of Two Sisters. I’m a gumbo lightweight, but I thought Fritzels had the best. During dinner at K-Paul’s restaurant, there was a jazz quartet playing outside, but they came inside and made their way back to the open kitchen. One of the cooks started drumming along on the hanging skillets, and everyone got up and danced in the aisles! This was my favorite night! I’ve never seen so much raw talent in one place. Those reality shows should set up street cams on every corner in the French Quarter to capture street musicians, dancers, painters, and people pretending to be statues. That would be a show worth watching. I’m an animal for architecture, and I walked the streets in the French Quarter just to stare at the wrought-iron balconies and gas-fired streetlights. Katrina didn’t ruin this area, even though some businesses were under renovations. During my walk I stumbled onto a swap meet, or what they call their French Market, which is a collection of outdoor stands that sell everything from produce to jewelry. I could have never appreciated just how unbroken the city’s spirit is unless I saw where the levy broke and the devastation in the Lower Ninth and Ninth wards, St. Bernard Parish, and properties along Pontchartrain Lake. I was in awe at how many people have kept their humor among the ruins. One house that washed off its foundation and is now sitting in the street had a pair of shoes and broom next to it with the caption “Witch” spray-painted above it. Others had signs that read, “gone fishing,” “be back soon,” and one house had a car sitting on a roof with “Student Driver” spray painted on its side. Anyone who says New Orleans will never rise again is wrong. They’ve already risen. ------------ About the author: Karyn Hughes has a fiction book published by Authorhouse entitled, Scattered Dreams, which is about a newly single mother who battles ADHD. Hughes is also looking for an agent since she has six other finished novels and one more in the works. All Hughes’ novels are related and could be part of a series. Email: Karynlilly1@comcast.net Comment on this article here! ------------ All articles are EXCLUSIVE to Useless-Knowledge.com. Please link to this article rather than copying and pasting it onto your site (which would be unauthorized and illegal). |
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