After a near seven month hiatus encompassing holidays, laziness and unhealthy obsessions with House of Cards and True Detective, this quasi gypsy is back to documenting the always-amazing city she lives in….even if the subject is now somewhat dated! There’s no better time to observe New Orleans in all her decadent and excessive glory than during carnival season. Mardi Gras in New Orleans is a near-month-long celebration of paganistic debauchery and tradition and is a true endurance test for energy levels and liver capacities.
Parades and parties dominate the social landscape until it’s almost impossible to tell any from each other. Parades are orchestrated by local social clubs and their member krewes (bastardising the spelling of crew) and range from 100+ year old institutions such as Rex and Zulu, to your slightly less conventional groups such as the Krewe of Chewbacchus (yes, that’s right people, Star Wars) and the Mystic Krewe of Barkus (for our K-9 friends). The anatomy of a Mardi Gras parade is steeped in tradition and flamboyance equally, and each krewe has signature trinkets to throw at enthusiastic crowds, indicative of their group and/or parade theme. Even the least parade-oriented of us are willing to risk head injury as a result of flying debris which can include plastic cups, beads, and strobe-like-flashing who knows what’s that could bring on a seizure. If you happen to miss out on bounty, fear not as the baubles will not fall in vain. There is always a pack rat squirreling away below capturing what falls on the street for reasons that are clear to no one, perhaps not even themselves. Most krewes elect a King and Queen to lead the festivities and the selection criteria can involve a mixture of community service and social standing. It’s difficult to revere and/or appreciate elevated social status and pedigree breeding when the proverbial King of Carnival; King Rex locks himself in a port-a-loo, only to breathe unsoiled air again when the door is removed from its hinges. But the heartbeat of the whole spectacle is the marching bands and this is where my eyes go wide. No parade is worth a pinch of <<insert the upper of your choice here>>, without marching bands and given my own propensity for zero activity in high school outside of what little academia I participated in, I am astounded by not only the dedication of these youngsters but their obvious joy and talent. There wouldn’t have been enough Color Me Badd posters in the world when I was in high school to coax me into marching with a 25-pound tuba strapped to my torso for 5 miles….rain, hail or shine! Observe
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OqCikpLodbI&feature=youtu.be
While it’s all very well and good to be bedazzled by the free-flowing booze and the floats and all their neon, Mardi Gras is serious business. Not only is there a year’s worth of planning involved for each krewe but in 2011 the combined direct and indirect income generated from Mardi Gras was estimated at over $300 million. Fees for membership in krewes and all the costuming and bead buying that entails can be anywhere between $2,000-$3,000 per person. But if the money required doesn’t make inclusion exclusive enough, there’s always race and gender. While the newer groups are a mixed bag of all shapes and sizes, the older school krewes are a mixture of all white males riders, one predominantly African-American krewe and three all female krewes. You may shift a little uncomfortably when you see the captains of some krewes riding horses clad in gear reminiscent of Klu Klux Klan Grand Wizards. Then there’s the recruitment of homeless men to perform the role of the flambeaux. The flambeaux lights the parade’s way by carrying flaming torches set in a cross-like figure and traditionally slaves would fulfill this role. Tradition dictates the crowd tips these men for their efforts so is it exploitative, a means for them to be included in the festivities where else they wouldn’t be, or a way for them to get their hands on some much needed cash they may not otherwise see? Regardless, this is how it’s always been.
I leave you with the dancing Rob Ryans. For those unaware, which is most outside this city, Rob Ryan is the Defensive Coordinator for New Orleans’ NFL team, the Saints; the pride of the city and the inspiration behind much face painting and other questionable acts of fandom. Rob Ryan (I encourage a Google Image search) is renowned as much for his flowing locks as he is for bringing the Saints back from the worst single-season performance yardage-wise in NFL history. Don’t get too close to the screen people, I suspect some of those bellies are real!
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ysab6rtxvLo&feature=youtu.be
The Last Bohemian City 