Spring Break
City finds rebirth in Mardi Gras
Ralph MacDonald
Issue date: 3/4/09 Section: Entertainment
Every year, on the edge of the southern spring, fiends young and old descend upon the city of New Orleans for a weekend of debauchery. Girls show off their daddy issues for beads, guys start fights with strangers, and both sexes drink until the bladder becomes far mightier than the brain. There was the girl on her back on the sidewalk, spread eagle and sending a horrifying stream into the air, the multitudes who mistook walls, closets, and family heirlooms for toilets and; of course, the drinkers who got caught in the gridlock traffic and were forced to fill and re-fill a Wendy's cup three times in a crowded, co-ed back seat.
Of course, the vast majority of poor behavior occurs after sunset. Waking up around noon in the city's famed Garden district in late February is better for the spirits than Prozac. Bright, warm days and beautiful southern architecture made everything seem within walking distance, a very important attribute when you consider the jungles that are the New Orleans roads. A massive gathering of out-of-towners is made even more devastating by the fact that the city sees it fit to place street signs and stop lights at random, making travel both confusing and harrowing for non-locals.
Transportation problems aside, one of the most amazing parts of the entire weekend was the abundance of Southern hospitality. Most of the daylight festivities took place at wonderful homes that were gracious enough to accommodate more than a few strangers. Friends of friends were the norm at these parties, to the point that the local crowd would occasionally become the minority. But what impressed me far more than the locals' tolerance and generosity (both of which were ample and amazing), was the generally congenial nature of almost everyone I met. Obviously a town teeming with booze has a tendency towards friendliness, but I was still fairly overwhelmed by the laid-back and exceptionally friendly demeanor that was so consistently encountered.
Downtown New Orleans is by far the most imposing sight of any Southern city that I have encountered. Memphis offers no real comparison and downtown Atlanta is far too spread out to offer the kind of intimidating menace that the giant, older buildings of New Orleans create when one enters their shadows. The downtown area borders the Mississippi River, and the nearby park supported the majority of the side-show freaks set up to hustle a few bucks from the tourist crowd. Street performers played bongos with the bastard son of Spuds McKenzie sleeping at their feet, a violin and guitar combination played "House of the Rising Sun" outside of Café Du Monde ("The Original French Coffee Stand" and home of nationally famous beignets), where across the street a cowboy painted completely in silver stood on a bucket and performed strange antics and took pictures for passing pedestrians, crossing paths with a golden man in some kind of perverted Platonist fantasy.
Of course, the vast majority of poor behavior occurs after sunset. Waking up around noon in the city's famed Garden district in late February is better for the spirits than Prozac. Bright, warm days and beautiful southern architecture made everything seem within walking distance, a very important attribute when you consider the jungles that are the New Orleans roads. A massive gathering of out-of-towners is made even more devastating by the fact that the city sees it fit to place street signs and stop lights at random, making travel both confusing and harrowing for non-locals.
Transportation problems aside, one of the most amazing parts of the entire weekend was the abundance of Southern hospitality. Most of the daylight festivities took place at wonderful homes that were gracious enough to accommodate more than a few strangers. Friends of friends were the norm at these parties, to the point that the local crowd would occasionally become the minority. But what impressed me far more than the locals' tolerance and generosity (both of which were ample and amazing), was the generally congenial nature of almost everyone I met. Obviously a town teeming with booze has a tendency towards friendliness, but I was still fairly overwhelmed by the laid-back and exceptionally friendly demeanor that was so consistently encountered.
Downtown New Orleans is by far the most imposing sight of any Southern city that I have encountered. Memphis offers no real comparison and downtown Atlanta is far too spread out to offer the kind of intimidating menace that the giant, older buildings of New Orleans create when one enters their shadows. The downtown area borders the Mississippi River, and the nearby park supported the majority of the side-show freaks set up to hustle a few bucks from the tourist crowd. Street performers played bongos with the bastard son of Spuds McKenzie sleeping at their feet, a violin and guitar combination played "House of the Rising Sun" outside of Café Du Monde ("The Original French Coffee Stand" and home of nationally famous beignets), where across the street a cowboy painted completely in silver stood on a bucket and performed strange antics and took pictures for passing pedestrians, crossing paths with a golden man in some kind of perverted Platonist fantasy.
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