Three Hour Krewes
Posted by Mark David Manders Mon, 19 Feb 2007 12:18:00 GMT
It took a lot of convincing, but Jim finally got me to agree to go with him on the Big Karma Race for the Cure Mardi Gras Marathon. That was three weeks ago. The problem wasn’t going to New Orleans; it was the dates we would be gone. It just so happened that Valentine’s Day fell right in the middle of our three-day trip. Fortunately Kathryn was understanding and gave me the green light.
We left Dallas last week on Tuesday and flew to New Orleans, arriving around three o’clock in the afternoon. We caught a cab from the airport and checked into our rooms at the Windham Hotel, overlooking Riverfront Park on the banks of the Mississippi River. The weather was perfect- a balmy seventy-five degrees and sunny.
After a quick shower I headed down to the hotel bar and met up with Jim for a few drinks. Soon the other members of our krewe began to trickle in and one by one I was introduced to the people we would spend the next two and a half days with.
At seven our group walked through the Quarters to the Louis XVI restaurant in the Saint Louis Hotel on Rue Bienville for dinner. After a five-star meal we headed out to see the sights.
The plan was to meet at Pat O’Brien’s for hurricanes but Jim and I never made. On our way we heard some interesting music coming from a little bar and stopped in to listen. Four hours and several bars later we were no closer to Pat O’Brien’s than when we left. We were treated to every kind of music New Orleans has to offer: blues, Southern rock, zydeco, country, and jazz.
Somewhere in between dinner and music the temperature in the Big Easy dropped severely; I’m talking forty degrees. Of course, I was not prepared for it and by the time we got back to our hotel I was chilled to the bone.
Wednesday morning I got up and decided that I’d better get out and buy some warmer clothing. I took off around ten and braved the thirty-mile an hour north wind for a mile-long walk down to Cafe Due Monde for some coffee and beignets. On my way back I stopped at one of the many souvenir shops along Decatur Street and bought a hooded warm-up suit. I thought I was ready to battle the elements… man, was I wrong.
For lunch our krewe met at Bubba Gump’s, also on Decatur Street. Bubba Gump’s is apparently the traditional lunch spot for our krewe and the waiter recognized Vincent, our krewe chief, when we arrived. After Bloody Mary’s and appetizers the restaurant staff entertained us with the Forrest Gump trivia quiz and handed out prizes for correct answers. Jim and I each won pencils. His said, “Life is a box of chocolates” and mine said, “Stupid is as stupid does.”
After lunch it was back to the hotel to get ready. The bus was scheduled to pick us up at three, so I took the extra down time to hop in the shower and try to warm up before the parade that evening. Our parade route was through the Metairie and to be honest with you I don’t know what our krewe name was. All I was told was that it was to be circus theme.
The bus left the hotel that afternoon and made a slight detour to Vincent’s house where we loaded up cases upon cases of beer. We then toured a part of the city where the levees had broken when Katrina hit. It was a surreal experience, blocks and blocks of vacant houses, many still showing stains on the front door where the water had risen before receding. There were numbers painted on the fronts of houses from the disaster indicating how many bodies were inside and how many pets were missing. Some of the houses had spray-painted messages across their facades expressing dissatisfaction with FEMA. A few houses had signs like, “We will rebuild”, but they were outnumbered by the For Sales signs. We even came across a thirty-foot boat washed up and still stranded in the middle of a residential street. I can’t tell you how widespread the devastation was.
We arrived at the float several hours before our scheduled departure in order to hang our beads and prepare for the parade. The wind was still howling out of the north and the temperature had dropped into the thirties again. I was talking to one of the tractor operators who pulled the floats and he said that this was the coldest Mardi Gras weather he’d seen in fifty years.
Fortunately, there was a Sears close by and I went inside with Michael, one of my new friends, in search of gloves, scarves, or anything else that might help ward off the cold. I was really hoping to find some battery-operated socks, but to my chagrin all I found was a pair of leather work gloves. When we got back to our float I found a bottle of tequila. Even that was not enough to warm me up, so I made my way back to the bus for shelter before the parade got under way.
The parade began just as the sun was going down. Jim and I had a spot on the upper deck with a few people from our group and around ten plumbers from another group. Our costume was some kind of red clown shirt which barely fit over the coats we were wearing. It was cumbersome, but once we started throwing beads I soon forgot that I was bundled up like an Eskimo. In fact, I soon forgot about the cold altogether.
The parade lasted just shy of three hours. Jim said there were about a third of the people who normally attend, but it was crowded just the same. It was relatively calm, too. No one bared their breasts; it would have required shedding too many clothes.
After the Metairie parade the bus took our krewe back to the Windham. A group of us decided to head over to Harrah’s and try our luck gamb ling. I got lost from my party but found a welcome seat at the roulette table. I had planned on throwing out fifty dollars and leaving once I lost it. Some time around five Jim showed up and said weÃd better get back and get a little sleep before our flight the next day. I left the table with a much heavier wallet than when I arrived. God, I love roulette!
Thursday morning came way too early. Jim and I checked out and made our way back to the airport for our return flight back to Dallas. Our flight was delayed, but we made the best of it, arriving at Love Field around seven o’clock. I caught a taxi home and Jim took his car on the two-hour drive back to the Big Karma complex in Paris. The weather in Dallas was just as I left it- cloudy and cold, bitter cold.
