Krewe du Vieux

Cowering over the heater in my room on this cold New Orleans night, I will recount the events of yesterday's colder counterpart, when I shivered with other hardy souls to see the floats of Krewe du Vieux roll, the first parade of Mardi Gras. Before I begin, I'd like to address the few of you who scoff at a Southern winter. It's true, in Chicago, I would have treated the arrival of a nearly forty-degree day at the end of January as a sure sign of spring and a reason not to wear my hat. But from the wrong side of zero degrees, any double-digit temperature looks alluring. Let me remind you, though, that it was seventy-five and sunny a week ago, and I was sweaty by the time I had biked to school. When the air started to threaten another freeze, the antics of the weather simply seemed cruel, and forty degrees was unbearable.

Bundled up, I took the bus to the French Quarter to meet a friend and find a good perspective along the parade route. We met at the famous Cafe du Monde for beignets first, and then passed thick crowds in the heart of the Quarter, headed for a more intermittently populated stretch of Royal St.

Krewe du Vieux is one of the smallest parades of the season, and probably the most rag-tag. As I have been told by several sources, the parades just get bigger. (The season actually begins with some kind of colorfully trimmed streetcar, laden with a small krewe of harbingers--I never saw this.) This krewe is composed of twenty or so subkrewes, so the parade took the form of twenty or so floats, each followed by its creators and a second-line band. The subkrewes were rather spaced out along the route. This parade is acknowledged as the raunchiest as well, both the most brazen in its satire and boldest in its imagery. The theme of Krewe du Vieux was "Fired Up!" so each subkrewe incorporated fire into its float.

I don't remember them all clearly, and some of them were subtle in their meaning or perhaps meaningless. (Oh, and of course I forgot my camera.) There were several aimed at outgoing mayor Ray Nagin, several uplifting the Saints and putting down their defeated playoff opponents and their upcoming Super Bowl challengers, the Indy Colts. The remainder were sexual in theme, not without intermixed politics or sports also. Most were horse- or mule-drawn. (That's a big difference from the later parades, which floats I'm told are far, far too large to be pulled by even a team of horses.)

The subkrewe members, dressed in costumes matching their float's theme, danced and tripped down Royal St. behind their creations, throwing and handing out trinkets. Some had stickers bearing the Krewe or subkrewe name, or various provocative items appropriate for their float. All had beads, of course, and plastic Krewe cups (a very common item for all Krewes), and doubloons, or wooden circles, the size of a large coin, bearing the Krewe du Vieux logo and the year and theme. on the reverse. The metal versions of these are highly prized among Mardi Gras goers. I came away with two wooden doubloons, one string of beads, a small, unmarked (what I take to be) doubloon in a paper envelope bearing the name "krewe of bananas," a ribbon of three condoms, and a matchbook and cigarette papers both from the "krewe of T.O.K.I.N.," which I believe is an empty acronym, alluding of course to drugs. I assume, though perhaps wrongly, that with the bigger parades come more dignified "throws." I have read that some of the krewe-labeled items are, like the doubloons, very highly prized and limited in quantity, for instance the painted coconuts distributed by the Krewe of Zulu (though I also hear there is a new law against those being thrown from the floats).

The bands following these were sometimes rag-tag in uniform, but never in rhythm, and I wish they would have marched more slowly for my prolonged enjoyment. If you click on the link in my last post, you might get a taste of the music down here. It's HOT.

Once the parade ended (Note: Krewe du Vieux was followed by a new krewe this year, Krewedillusion, but I couldn't have told you where one stopped and the other started.), we walked around the Quarter a bit and I watched as the energy of the parade-watchers was diverted into the streets and into the bars. Most everyone was by now wearing beads.

My first taste of Mardi Gras was really something. The bigger parades start next weekend, and coincide with the Super Bowl. I can't imagine that combination being a dud. Then Thursday of the following week, Mardi Gras proper begins and lasts until the day itself. Thank goodness school takes a holiday on the day before and the day of Fat Tuesday. I'll be exhausted!

First Parade

Tonight Krewe du Vieux rolls through the Marigny and the French Quarter, and I'm on my way to see it. Dr. John's leading it. "All Fired Up" is the theme. Several people say this is the best parade of the season.
Get in the mood: This isn't the parade I'll go to, but it's indicative of what New Orleaneans do in the streets here.

Game Night

The night of the Saints' NFC championship victory was my first glimpse of this city really going nuts. I hope to get another glimpse in eight days, when they're in the Super Bowl. But the game was very, very close, for those of you who didn't catch it, and the tension that had been building for several hours released into a frenzy of excitement. I watched the game in my house, and as soon as it ended I enjoyed the distant noises of celebration as they floated on the night air. Any attempts to dial out on a cell phone, of which I made several, were met with a busy signal--after trying several different numbers, I discovered that it was my end that was busy. Taking that as a sign that I ought to get out of the house and see things for myself, I walked to the closest bar, which was packed full of Saints jerseys, and joined in several rounds of "Who dat? Who dat? Who dat say they gonna beat them Saints?" followed by "The Saints Go Marching In." After giving out several bearhugs to happy fans (sorry, Chicago habit--Saintshugs), I walked back to my apartment, whooping at the cars that went by honking. I tried calling out again, and still there was no possibility of that.
So I took more drastic action. I decided to get on my bike and at least ride by several other bars, to observe the festivities--but first I had to find Saints colors to wear. I don't own a jersey, but I own a shirt that is roughly Saints-gold, so I threw that on and headed out. I wound up riding all the way to the French Quarter. It was of course very busy there, and Bourbon Street was crowded with black and gold. Traffic was backed up all around the Quarter, but a skinny guy on a bike might have easily maneuvered through it.
It does not quite suffice to say, "Everyone was drinking in celebration," but it's pretty close. The cry of "Who dat?!" was the common salute, followed perhaps by "Super Bowl!" and other affirmations.
After seeing my fill, I rode home again, cutting off the congestion by taking several streets which were under construction. The phone lines were finally freed, although honking and yelling continued for most of the next two hours on St. Charles.
If they win the Big Game on the 7th, I don't know what will happen here. But I'll tell you all about it. after I recover!

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Here I was, ready to complain about Reggie's fumble, and what! Favre fumbles, gives it back! I just wish the Saints were on the other side of the field.

Game Day

I said I would blog about the general air of the city on the day of the NFC Championship, but I didn't get back to my house until a little before the game, and then I made a sandwich, so I have to write now while the game is on. I don't like these defensive flags. We let them have what will soon be a touchdown.
But about the town: Everyone had a jersey on today except me. Everyone who was outside was grilling. Everyone who was in the Quarter was drinking. I tried to get my Saints ice cream from the local shop, but it---DAMNIT, touchdown---had just closed for the game. I didn't try to go anywhere else, but I assume that any building without a television was closed, locked, and empty.
I happened to drive through the Lower Ninth Ward today, on maybe the happiest day that area has seen in awhile. Just like the Who Dats farther up river, those in the Ninth had grills out, jerseys on. It felt like the country, but for the eerie empty lots and lonely concrete stairways climbing to nothing.

TOUCHDOWN SAINTS. I always run to my window to hear the distant cheers and hoots on big plays, and I heard some just now from the west. In the Ninth they're cheering over the tall grass. Game tied.


Gotta go!

Cold Snapping

The reports are true, folks--the South is freezing over. I came back into town on the tail end of this incredible cold snap, but we had another freeze last night, and I'm going out to check the damage today. I've seen some pictures of frozen fountains in the parks. After my surveyance during conveyance today (via streetcar, if it's still running [oh, just heard one go by]), I'll know more about the public sentiment and just how far into the city's penetralia the cold has crept.
I'd like to thank Emily Bronte for that word.