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Mardi Gras 2007Return to New OrleansLast year I made my first trip to New Orleans for Mardi Gras. Being a party animal I had always wanted to go, but the thought of being knee-deep in frat boy puke simply wasn’t that appealing. I figured that post-Katrina there would be more locals and less frat boys and my instincts were right on. I had a total blast and knew I’d be back. But as I made my plans for Mardi Gras 2007, I wondered what it would be like: similar to 2006, with plenty of locals? Or more “Show us your tits!” and other sophomoric antics? I was going either way, hoping for as little Girls Gone Wildness as possible.I was again pleasantly surprised. While the actual numbers weren’t back to their pre-Katrina level, they had increased somewhat. More stores and restaurants were open, more hotels were back to capacity. Perhaps I was lucky enough to be in the right place at the right time, because I didn’t see one pair of bared breasts (I know, I know – that’s precisely what I should be wanting to see! Personally, I prefer the road – and the body parts – less traveled.), though I did encounter a few beautifully airbrushed body parts, breast in particular, but because they tend to blend in with the brightly hued local color, they barely registered as breasts. I didn’t get caught in any crush of crowds, cross paths with any crude, overly aggressive guys or bump into any stumbling drunks. That could be because I avoided Bourbon Street completely until Ash Wednesday, after the insanity had ceased. And I didn’t spend much time up on Canal Street grappling for beads. It was a much mellower Mardi Gras. While last year I traveled with a pack of partiers from the northeast, this year I made the trip alone. I spent all my time with locals – in their homes, at their parties, in neighborhood bars. I even stayed with the locals, in the Marigny with my friend Jonno, his boyfriend, their housemate and their four-dogs-and-a-cat menagerie. Their house was right on the route of The Krewe of Saint Anne’s Parade, the one I gushed about so much last year. I was thrilled to have such easy access to the best show in town! Jonno hosted an intimate open house and everyone mixed up cocktails as the parade strolled past. There were boys in drag doing a parody of Deal Or No Deal. I saw about a dozen different astronauts in diapers. There were far fewer politically inspired costumes than last year, but some folks still had something to say. The Free USA Boobies babes, while not exactly political, were rallying for legal toplessness. Hey, no argument here! And the drag queen Dreamgirls even had current event-centric songs to sing on the street outside Mimi’s. There were hilarious Hooters girls (and boys), all kinds of grandly elegant drag queens and one hirsute satyr in all gold – gold curly ribbon legs and head, huge gold horns and a giant gold ring through his nose. The women who wore corsets covered in Mardi Gras beads amazed me, most especially the crew of pirate babes, with intricate skull and crossbone or fleur de lis designs. I loved the half-naked zombie mermaids, smeared in who-knows-what; they were sexy and scary simultaneously. After the parade, I found myself milling about on Frenchman Street along with hundreds of others. The long lines for the bathrooms kept me from getting completely smashed. At one point, when I was in the ladies room, there was a couple fucking in the next stall! They weren’t making that much noise, but the four feet instead of two was a bit of a giveaway. And the stall was sorta shaking. I guess it ain’t Mardi Gras till somebody gets lucky! When the vibe began getting a little weird, we decided to head home for some dinner. And we never made it back out again. Like I said, a very low-key Fat Tuesday. I stayed a few days after the big party to see the city without all the hubbub. I had a glass of absinthe at Pirate’s Alley, hung out with friends from New Jersey and listened to some jazz, dunked beignets in hot chocolate at Café du Monde and generally soaked in the afterparty ambience. I’ve written about San Francisco versus Manhattan in the Sexiest City competition, but perhaps New Orleans has them both beat. While San Francisco may have more than its fair share of freaks, the Crescent City has way more soul. And that makes the people there – the young and the old, the gutter punks and the glitter queens, the musicians and the society matrons – all sweet and juicy in a warm, southern way. Everything is a riot of color, everyone an exuberance of spirit, a Cajun spiced feast for the senses. For my next trip, I want to visit when there’s nothing going on, just to see what it’s like without the mad insanity of Mardi Gras. I hear those bonne temps roullez year round! [Written Feb. 2007] |
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