FAT TUESDAY

        Mardi Gras is a predominantly Catholic, Christian holiday on Tuesday, immediately before the first day of Lent, Ash Wednesday. Traditionally people ate fat meat, cheese and eggs in anticipation of fasting and self restraint during the lead up to Easter. Revelry and excess have always been the nature of Mardi Gras with large amounts of alcohol and provocative behavior. Masks are worn to protect the identity of merry-makers. Without knowing exactly who did what, their indiscretions are forgotten after the fact. Major Carnival cities include Montreal, Rio de Janeiro, New Orleans and Sydney with many more across the globe. But the roots of Carnival go back to ancient Rome, to the pagan god of fertility, Lupercus. Then as now, Carnival featured revealing with masks and was followed by 40 days of fasting. When Rome converted to Christianity it gave pagan converts something familiar to assimilate into the resurrection tradition. Even then, Bacchus and Venus, the Roman gods of ‘Wine’ and ‘Love’ were primary to the celebration.

I went to two parades in the past few days. In New Orleans the Krewe of Thoth takes their parade down Magazine Street, past hospitals and care facilities where patients who can’t go out to see other parades can view from their windows. Thoth was a major god of the Egyptian pantheon, recognized as the god of Knowledge, attributed the source of written language and science. Magazine Street is narrow with many power lines and street lights over the route. It’s a tight fit but people turn out and the atmosphere is crazy. Daytime parades through neighborhoods tend to be crazy sober rather than drunk. Strings of beads were snagged and hanging on every power line and stoplight. Everyone I saw finished the day with a sack full of beads and more around their neck. Yesterday, Fat Tuesday, I went downtown to Canal Street for the Zulu parade. It is the African American parade with fantastic costumes and dancers. It’s a wide, main street with crowds that pack the sidewalk for miles. I only collected beads that I grabbed in self defense as I had more than I care to transport already. 

I knew it would be a wild day so I went early. It was cold:30 when I parked on the east end of the Quarter; sun was up but not much going on as I walked the 15-16 blocks. Canal Street was still in the shadows with a cold wind blowing down to the river. People were already lining up with their chairs and coolers but I had time to get breakfast before staking out my spot on the corner of Canal & Dauphine. The parade itself began up stream at 8:00 but two hours later, downtown, we were still waiting. The crowd had filled in and walking space was sparse. Being squeezed in between crazy, redneck women and tall people, it’s not easy figuring out where the good photographs are going to be and then getting into position to make the shot. The parade began with very civilized floats recognizing, giving tribute to celebrities for the day. King Zulu was someone I’d never heard of but for sure a local hero-leader. After an hour of floats, dancers and bands, the big floats with high quality ‘Throws’ were coming one after another. The redneck ladies on my left were tossing bottles of beer up to the masked riders on the floats. In return they got whatever trinkets or treasures they wanted. Costumes on the dancers in particular were awesome. Everybody was having a great time.

A little after 1:00 I realized I still wanted to walk through the Quarter, grab some lunch and escape before my parking expired. They had all the streets blocked off for pedestrians only so the street was full of people. I like Royal Street myself, it’s not reserved for drunks and sex venues like Bourbon Street. I was ready for the crowd but the costumes were wild. Half, maybe more were dressed in Fat Tuesday style. Nothing made sense, just tons of color and bling. Tattoos were color coordinated with wigs and capes. Jackets, pants and skirts were either skin tight or overly fluffed. Big men, really big men were in drag with high heels, masks and a 5 O’Clock shadow. Maybe that’s what I like about the Quarter, nothing is sacred except ‘Let The Good Times Roll.’  On Wednesday morning they measure how successful the night had been by how many truck loads of trash and garbage they haul off. Bourbon Street will have to hose off sidewalks and gutters of excrement and vomit. Royal may have had a few passed out drunks but it got down to freezing and I trust their friends got them inside somewhere. But on Jackson Square everyone relaxed and enjoyed the sunshine. Nearly everybody has a drink in one hand and someone’s hand in the other. None of the artists are out, selling; too much chaos to manage and to be sure, every pick-pocket and thief in town is nearby. I carry my wallet in my front pocket, chained to my belt. 

I checked out of the parking lot maybe, 20 minutes before my time ran out. They are very good about letting you know that violators will be towed for a $90 tow fee, not to mention the fine. Then they are very good as well at towing your vehicle within minutes after your time runs out. The good people who keep New Orleans open and inviting want you to go home happy, leaving as much of your money behind as you can bear. I’ve still to see the ‘Bacchus’ and the ‘Rex’ parades; maybe next year.