27. Go to Mardi Gras

un rêve

The first time you do something can be the most exciting, but it can also be the worst time because you don’t know what you’re doing. This obviously applies to sex and to going to Mardi Gras. Travel brings me much joy, but I’m still a bad planner. The best part of planning for me is looking at a map to see how close things are and then at some photos to imagine myself in the photos. The end. I can’t say how often I’ve arrived at a place only to Google search what there is to do there. It’s very bad and I’m trying hard to change. So even though going to Mardi Gras has been something I’ve wanted to do for actual decades now, I basically did the exact same thing once again, arriving on the very last day of a celebration that had been going on for weeks.

I am very blessed, however, because I was accompanied by three people who put in a lot of work to make sure I went certain places at certain times, particularly my friend Rebecca who arranged reservations at restaurants and tour guide trips and all sorts of things a vacation needs if it’s going to be more than wandering new streets. That said, wandering during Mardi Gras would be enough, because there is so much to see and do without any agenda at all.

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again—tourism is inherently rather evil and I am unlikely to stop anytime soon and I am conflicted about that and nobody cares. My inner conflict is not a sufficient penalty for my engagement in it. I assume hell will be there waiting eventually. I also kind of assume that if I live a long enough human life span, I’ll see a time where it’s not really possible to travel with the ease I can now, for a multitude of reasons, most of them apocalyptic. So, here we are.

The night before Fat Tuesday, I arrived and had to get across a parade to my hotel so we could then head to one of those dinner reservations I had no part in making. I wish very much I’d appreciated the long time I spent waiting behind a pissed off crossing guard, because it was one of the more spectacular parades I was able to catch, but I was so stressed out about time. That’s the issue with reservations, I’ll say, versus having no plans. Giant floats passed, gorgeously constructed, dancers, drum lines, musicians, and flambeaux, which are pretty spectacular if you’re unfamiliar with them. I was! And surprised!

We did make it to the restaurant a half hour late, only to find that the hostess was wearing beads and was completely unconcerned with tardiness, saying, “Relax, it’s Mardi Gras!”

It was. Whether in a parade, or beside one, or in a tourist trap restaurant eating red snapper soaked in butter, it was Mardi Gras.

The whole celebration settled across everything in the city, slowing traffic, making drinks sweeter, flames brighter. I am in no way qualified to wax poetically about the culture of New Orleans or anywhere in the south, but I do think that it reminds me of New York in that it is a place layered by so much history that the past zips around like a current of electricity, forming a ghostly grid under everything you can see with your eyes. There’s a lot of tension, like something very exciting might happen at any second, but maybe you’re just stepping into a spot where something very exciting happened long ago and you’ll never know what it was. And it clings.

The next morning, we bought beignets and walked to Bourbon Street, which was about as crowded and full of costumes as you might expect. While we did eventually get drunk, we were not to begin with and it was still intoxicating. One thing I found very surprising is how age inclusive everything appears to be. Young people, families, elderly men and women, were all out in the same spaces, dressed up and throwing and receiving beads. The first string I received was from an old, very drunk man in a wizard cloak who insisted on kissing my cheek. Ordinarily, that would be a no for me, but I was carried away. And yes, there are also old men up on balconies who refuse to throw beads if you don’t show tit, but there were very few of them and it was fun to flip them off and then walk two feet and get your beads from somebody else. 

Mardi Gras is a very unique celebration, though it has something in common with all the best collective events—there is a lot of time for meandering, just the way I like. It goes on and on, and you can dip in and out. We got hungry and found a bar that would later figure into a horrific true crime story a tour guide told us. But before hearing that, it just seemed like a lovely neighbourhood joint filled with people having an incredible time. My friend ordered something that looked like a stew, but there was almost no seating. It is hard to eat stew standing up so we all dispersed to different spots around the busy establishment.

I stood on the corner with a sazerac, soaking in some of the late afternoon sun. It was a chilly week in New Orleans, which stupidly caught me unprepared, just like the flambeaux. What I think were oak trees blew back and forth down the avenue, breaking the golden light into piebald patterns. Something I like to do when I am alone and thinking and a little buzzed is say to myself, “This is a nice moment to be in. Here I am, in it.”

I said it to myself outside on that corner, watching the light and sipping my drink and feeling smugly satisfied with myself for making the journey. By saying it, I’m setting that moment outside of the loop of time, forming it into a little island of experience I can revisit. I can always be there even when I’m here. It is always happening. There I am, in it.

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• I found out later you’re supposed to tip the flambeaux but they were really moving very fast.

• I always try to include something interesting I learned down in this section, but there is truly a never ending amount to know about Mardi Gras and New Orleans that it seems a bit silly to pick and choose. But I do find the history of the krewes particularly fascinating, so if you want to read a little more, do so here.

• If you are very familiar with the experience of Mardi Gras, or other Carnivals around the world, I’d love to hear about it.