I’d never been to Mardi Gras before, or even to New Orleans, but I was instructed to expect the worst.
I was told men would follow me with beads, begging to see my goodies. I was told urine and alcohol would flow in the streets. I was insane, they said, for going.
That would have been awesome if that were the case. I pride myself on my ability to rage and ride the chaos until the booze wave drowns us all.
But Fat Tuesday wasn’t exactly what I expected.
I arrived Monday evening and checked into my fancy hotel near the French quarter. My rag-tag foursome was only slightly out of place among the old and rich. They were dressed for the opera; we were dressed for a zombie apocalypse.
We got ready in our room, then headed out for Zoolu, a warehouse rave in the central business district.
But first we made a detour to Bourbon Street, the fabled Mardi Gras headquarters.
The street was barricaded, shut down and filled with stumbling, doe-eyed drunks.
Men leered from centuries-old balconies, pointing and shouting at girls on the street to show their breasts for plastic beads. The girls giggled and said, “Me?” Everyone drank fruity iced cocktails from tall, skinny plastic goblets and wore blinking jewelry bought from strolling light-up-toy vendors.
Though there was a general sense of lawlessness and a faint smell of ganja, none of it felt spontaneous or out of control. Bourbon Street was a dirty, booze-fueled Disney World that smelled like vomit and human waste.
We moved toward Canal Street through the hoard of revelers and past mounted police officers to our final party destination, which was packed with thousands of young people.
My friends and I danced and goofed off while acrobatic girls dangled from the ceiling. Some crazy man in a wacky bodysuit blew up a giant plastic bubble, then danced his way inside of it.
The show went on until 3 a.m., and then we moved to another club for the after-party, hanging out in VIP until about 6 a.m., when we decided it was time to hit the road.
I woke up on Fat Tuesday sometime after noon to the sound of parades outside my window. When I made it to the street, I found the whole town taken over by every kind of person in the world.
Instead of cars, bright and colorful floats with different themes drove down the streets, hip-hop and top-40 songs blasting from their speakers. Riders cheered, threw things and waved. Candy, beaded necklaces and confetti showered the bystanders of all ages. About 1 million people attended.
I reflected on the fact that this is a religious holiday, but Mardi Gras is even more godless than Christmas shopping, although perhaps just as commercialized. No one had praying on their minds, but they were spending a lot of money.
We began moving away from the main arena and north on Decatur Street, past Cafe Du Monde and toward Marigny.
The farther we walked, the fewer lost tourists we found and the more interesting things became. We started seeing fewer people in sad blue wigs and feathered boas in exchange for more intricate garb. Instead of families and cute couples, we met crusty kids and street bands.
I got the sense we’d stumbled into the more interesting side of the party.
As the sun went down, the street opened back up for cars to drive squeamishly over the filth. Beaded necklaces got caught in turning tires, popping and sparking as they were crushed. Mounds of garbage lined the sidewalks, which were covered in a glistening, slimy mess of who knows what. The smell was unholy.
When the clock struck midnight, it officially became Ash Wednesday. The partiers of Bourbon Street were kicked off by a barrage of police headed by the kind of religious screamers who yell their sermons on Turlington Plaza.
Back on Decatur, some people still hung on, dancing in the streets and on cars while a traveling band played a few tunes. But the festivities basically were over.
I expected the party to keep going. But, nope, that was pretty much it. Back to Florida I went, with a handful of beads, a bad hangover and a few stories that hold no water to those of Charlie Sheen.
But at least I got laid.
