The latest post by
recalled an earlier post of hers about her assumptions and surprises at Oktoberfest, which reminded me of my only experience at Mardi Gras, and how my own assumptions were smashed. Here’s the post inspired by that memory.It took two days after landing in New Orleans for my ears to “pop.” A half-headedness of hearing. The ringing in my ear was drowned out only by the February rain on the corrugated metal roof of Jeremy’s shotgun house. Jeremy was a former commercial fisherman who was now in law school at Tulane.
His baseline behavior was “formal.” His baseline body was muscle. The two didn’t seem to marry. His geometric body, all spread of shoulder and sturdy of leg, was splattered with freckles as if he was born of mud on a windy day.
And his lips, often pursed in dissatisfaction with uncontrolled life, would widen as broad as his shoulders when he’d smile until his mouth was a slash across his face, the score of an unbaked baguette.
It was Mardi Gras and he was eager to take me to the Krewe of Muses parade - the first all-female krewe, founded in 2000. For someone so controlled of emotion, seeing him enthusiastic was always a bit astonishing. I wanted to be as excited as him but crowds have always made me nervous. Is it because I’m only 5’ 2”, or is it because I don’t trust people en masse? The only mess of people I’ve ever felt safe in is the pulsing knot of a punk show.
I prepared myself for what I thought Mardi Gras was; tits, drinks, sweat, and shouting. Yet the Mardi Gras he showed me was more of a family affair with a parade route lined with platform ladders, each topped off with a bolted-on seat for kids to better catch beads and candy with. The parade was an orchidaceous show of feminism, and had we not been surrounded by families I may have found myself topless in the luscious glory of it all. It was less raucous and more ebullient than I’d assumed it would be. Tho he did remind me that if we traveled deeper into the city we’d be drenched in the sweaty heady Mardi Gras of my assumptions.
The next night we headed to Cafe du Monde under a never-ending mist. The tables under the tent were 15% occupied at best, so we found one near the dry center to drink chicory coffee and suck sugar from the skin of beignets. Jeremy said it was unheard of to just walk in to Cafe du Monde during Mardi Gras and get a seat. Another unexpectation of the trip. My mom would make beignets when I was little as cooking was her hobby before she went back to school in her 30s. The blend of fluff and grease, the way the pastry deflates in your mouth, it’s the testicles of baked goods, and I could lick them clean of powder all day.
Walk around NOLA long enough and you’ll be confronted by the iconically stunned blue dog of artist George Rodrigue. This canine from a bluebird sky peers at you from everywhere. His ubiquity made me deem him, and his creator, mediocre. Jeremy laughed at my elititism. In the New Orleans Museum of Art, I stood at the base of an open staircase fully apprehended by an oil painting. A gathering of people dressed in white stared at me from their permanent sfumato foreground around a not long enough table under a Louisiana oak tree. The heft of the humidity drooped the leaves and turned the sky to yellow smoke. The color and smudge of “Aioli Dinner” (1971) rivaled Mona Lisa’s forehead. It’s been over a decade and I still recall the feeling of being trapped in the oak gall gaze of that painted crowd. I was unpullable from the moment until Jeremy approached behind me, and with a whispered chuckle said, “That’s the blue dog artist.”
It's so fascinating how our visions of things rarely (ever?) play out the way we think they will.
Your trip description made me curious about visiting New Orleans. The closest I've been was when we drove across the country and skirted through the city along the freeway. I saw glimpses of things down below on the street level, but I had to focus on driving. We were in a mad dash through the entire country from California to Florida in the middle of the pandemic. New Orleans is on my list.
The delight of all these surprises, like visiting a parallel universe where everything worked out in pleasant ways.