I’m excited; today, I am a tourist in the beautiful City of New Orleans and surrounding areas. It is Mardi Gras season; the air is redolent with the smell of sweet icing and cinnamony King Cake. There is a rustle of adventure down every street, at any corner you may get lucky and see a Social and Pleasure Club “coming out the door” with some great Brass Band swirling around them. Or be gifted with some surprise Mardi Gras paraphernalia, like a rolling cart with throw bag attached that also is a folding seat!
There are King Cakes everywhere you go, and big banners promising to send them off in any direction you’d like, and then there is the planning, what parades, what strategy, what food to take, where to set up and when to arrive, it is never ending, and the anticipation is just an aphrodisiac to the event. But these wonderful things are just the tip of an incredible iceberg of Tradition.
Standing on the street with the throngs of merrymakers, yelling “throw me something mister” and artfully snatching beads, doubloons and other throws out of the air, especially the highly prized ones, is definitely a thrill. Seeing the spectacular floats, and wonderful marching bands and every quixotic group in between is a heady concoction, but the joy of watching these Krewe Parades is only the climax of an incredible season.
What we as tourist in this magical land miss, is the beginning for these Krewe’s, the start of carnival season, the mystery of it all, the choosing of the King and Queen and the courts, that revelation, and their introduction to the body of the Krewe. There is the Celebration of particular characters in the Krewe, and the luncheons and balls introducing this year’s group of debutantes or maids. The pageantry and spectacle of each Krewe is legendary. For those, and that would be most, not a participant in the heraldry and pageantry of these events, there are glimpses on television and cable to mollify those who would like to get a closer look at the definitive world of Carnival.
This year I hope to move closer to the magical world of Krewes and Carnival by attending a favorite ball! I want to lose my tourist, “throw me something mister” status and get a better look behind the veil of Mardi Gras! I’ll let you know! In the mean time don’t look for me on Bourbon with the throngs; I’ll be on my favorite corner with chair, food and beverage being a tourist!
These are the musings of my straddling the Mason/Dixon Line, and while they might draw ire and criticism or laughter, you can easily find me.
I will be sitting, in the meantime, on the Crown Stone.
Crown Stones are markers placed at every fifth mile of the Mason Dixon Line bearing the family coat of arms of the state it faced.
