Wednesday, February 16, 2005
Mardi marathon
Eunice, La - As I sat on the grassy levy, covered in the sticky sangria my drunken friend had just spilled on me, I looked at the flooded fields and crawfish traps behind me and the procession of hundreds of hammered locals riding horses and wearing colorful costumes, pointy hats and masks in front of me and I had a serious moment of "Where the fuck am I?"
It was the final leg of an epic Mardi Gras that ended up being a four day, four city tour of South Louisiana - a boozy, beady bender to be sure.
It started, of course, with Spanish Town Mardi Gras, which each year is the single greatest day ever. This year, my crew decided to come in uniform as the Spanish Town Jogging Team. We all showed up in hot pink, velour jogging suits and we looked great (especially me). The only catch to the jogging suits was that, as they were cut for a woman, they left little to the imagination in an important place for the guys. After I looked down and realized you could see evidence of the rabbinical surgery I underwent as a baby, I decided to go ahead and cover it up with a sock (a move shared by the rest of the guys so that we had an entire team of joggers in pink with stuffed packages).
The rest of the day was really just a haze of floats and beer and, despite our theme, very little jogging.
From there it was on to the obligatory New Orleans trip, where I made the same mistake I made last year - standing next to two cute girls - and caught very few beads. The parades were fun but not as fun as the bar we went to afterward where a brass band was playing all covers. You really haven't lived until you've heard The Thong Song played by a brass ensemble.
From New Orleans it was due west to my favorite city in Louisiana, Lafayette, home of the best bar in Louisiana, The Blue Moon Saloon. There, we met up with Bryan, an Advocate photographer and easily my favorite scruffy drunk of indecipherable race, and continued what was probably the least healthy four days of my life.
After an ill-advised night of drinking we got up at 7 a.m. to go to Eunice (population 11,500) to catch one of the weirdest parades I've ever seen. First of all, Eunice is about as country as it gets. As we drove through town there just a few dilapidated houses separated by flooded rice fields with crawfish traps bobbing in the water. We stopped on the side of the road next to a barn where we were told the parade would stop.
The Eunice parade has nothing to do with what you think of when you think of Mardi Gras. It stems from a tradition where men in the town would dress up and ride horses from house to house demanding ingredients (especially chickens) for a giant gumbo being made at the end of the procession's route. So when the parade finally made it to our spot (two hours after we had got there) it stretched a good mile and was almost entirely locals dressed in brightly colored cotton shirts and pants, all flowing with equally colorful tassels, and ornate pointy hats a little bit too reminiscent of the Klan. They also wore freaky looking masks and were falling-off-the-horse hammered. I swear I saw 11-year-olds drinking beer as the old sheriff's deputy with the nearly impossible to understand Cajun accent looked on and laughed.
I never thought I would feel like a freak for being dressed in khakis and a plain blue sweatshirt but people from outside of town don't really visit Eunice for much of anything so we were really the only spectators, at least on that section of the route. Everyone was friendly, though, and they gave us Yankee douche bag gawkers beer and boudin (a spicy pork and rice sausage) and no trouble.
It was a balls to the wall four day tour of South Louisiana and well worth it, though it might take until next Mardi Gras to detox.
It was the final leg of an epic Mardi Gras that ended up being a four day, four city tour of South Louisiana - a boozy, beady bender to be sure.
It started, of course, with Spanish Town Mardi Gras, which each year is the single greatest day ever. This year, my crew decided to come in uniform as the Spanish Town Jogging Team. We all showed up in hot pink, velour jogging suits and we looked great (especially me). The only catch to the jogging suits was that, as they were cut for a woman, they left little to the imagination in an important place for the guys. After I looked down and realized you could see evidence of the rabbinical surgery I underwent as a baby, I decided to go ahead and cover it up with a sock (a move shared by the rest of the guys so that we had an entire team of joggers in pink with stuffed packages).
The rest of the day was really just a haze of floats and beer and, despite our theme, very little jogging.
From there it was on to the obligatory New Orleans trip, where I made the same mistake I made last year - standing next to two cute girls - and caught very few beads. The parades were fun but not as fun as the bar we went to afterward where a brass band was playing all covers. You really haven't lived until you've heard The Thong Song played by a brass ensemble.
From New Orleans it was due west to my favorite city in Louisiana, Lafayette, home of the best bar in Louisiana, The Blue Moon Saloon. There, we met up with Bryan, an Advocate photographer and easily my favorite scruffy drunk of indecipherable race, and continued what was probably the least healthy four days of my life.
After an ill-advised night of drinking we got up at 7 a.m. to go to Eunice (population 11,500) to catch one of the weirdest parades I've ever seen. First of all, Eunice is about as country as it gets. As we drove through town there just a few dilapidated houses separated by flooded rice fields with crawfish traps bobbing in the water. We stopped on the side of the road next to a barn where we were told the parade would stop.
The Eunice parade has nothing to do with what you think of when you think of Mardi Gras. It stems from a tradition where men in the town would dress up and ride horses from house to house demanding ingredients (especially chickens) for a giant gumbo being made at the end of the procession's route. So when the parade finally made it to our spot (two hours after we had got there) it stretched a good mile and was almost entirely locals dressed in brightly colored cotton shirts and pants, all flowing with equally colorful tassels, and ornate pointy hats a little bit too reminiscent of the Klan. They also wore freaky looking masks and were falling-off-the-horse hammered. I swear I saw 11-year-olds drinking beer as the old sheriff's deputy with the nearly impossible to understand Cajun accent looked on and laughed.
I never thought I would feel like a freak for being dressed in khakis and a plain blue sweatshirt but people from outside of town don't really visit Eunice for much of anything so we were really the only spectators, at least on that section of the route. Everyone was friendly, though, and they gave us Yankee douche bag gawkers beer and boudin (a spicy pork and rice sausage) and no trouble.
It was a balls to the wall four day tour of South Louisiana and well worth it, though it might take until next Mardi Gras to detox.
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so what'd you give up for lent? women's track suits? maybe you can wear it to church for easter services.
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