I miss New Orleans. I walk St. Charles and miss parades. The St. Patrick’s parade was cancelled well before the stay-at-home came. Then my favorite day of the year was cancelled, Super Sunday when the Mardi Gras Indians parade Central City in elaborately beaded and feathered suits they spent a year (and thousands) sewing. As the virus spread across the country and ravaged our state, in the city we retreated to our homes and looked for tips on finding toilet paper. Continue reading
Category Archives: walking
It was a gorgeous 75 and sunny day for the 10th annual ‘tit Rex parade. The miniature parade is an adult, often satirical spectacle of big creativity in tiny form. There were even people sipping little Bloody Mary’s, passing out tiny throws and cocktail umbrellas. Barbie and her friends in Mardi Gras beads crowded with their arms outstretched, their kids sitting in ladder chairs. Like my parents, people here grew up making shoebox floats in grade school and parading them down the halls, so the creations are nostalgic for many.
Vendredi Gras AKA “Friday Gras” started early in the French Quarter with events like the Royal Sonesta’s annual Greasing of the Poles, but Uptown festivities began after the sun set. Mystic Krewe of Hermes kicked off the 3 parade evening. Founded in 1937, the Krewe has been parading longer than any other krewe that parades at night. In the wake of the Great Depression, some businessmen decided the best remedy for the blues was to expand Mardi Gras to a 5 day party. Celebration is often the solution to local woes. Continue reading
Shortly after moving here, I wrote a blog post about driving in polite and patient New Orleans as compared to traffic-laden road-rage Los Angeles. Driving was so often miserable in L.A., that I did it as little as possible and almost always tried to make it fun – convertible top down, taking winding roads in the hills rather than freeways, music cranked. That could be downright joyous.
New Orleans has SO much less traffic but my little low-to-the-ground ragtop hated the weather here. Floods, sap and sun tore holes in my ragtop, rusted my brakes and rotted the floor. During rainy seasons, enough tiny plants grew around the ragtop for me to joke that the car was a terrarium on wheels. The air conditioning broke the first summer here. And I could only put in 3 gallons of gas at a time. It was okay though – between the streetcars, busses, carpooling and walking, I averaged less than 900 miles a year of driving. Today, I donated the car and am starting my new life as a person without my own wheels. Continue reading
Everywhere else, it’s just Tuesday. Just one block from the debauchery of Bourbon Street, for many locals Mardi Gras Day in the French Quarter is a day of elaborate costumes, wandering bands and dancing in the streets. It was see-your-breath cold but after the crap-weather last year, icy wind seemed like a cakewalk. No time to write but they say a picture’s worth a thousand words so here are about 150,000 words. Continue reading