BACK TO THE BIG EASY part two
Guest Blogger Becky's
Halloween in New Orleans

For part one of this series, click here.

I confess I was nervous about this return trip. The gray memories of my visit a couple of weeks ago have haunted me. Recent reports of waiting lists (hours, even days) to fix record numbers of flat tires weren’t comforting, either.

But all my concerns about real or perceived perils were diminished (exponentially!) in my overnight stay.

The freeway debris was nearly gone, and trash in the French Quarter and surrounding neighborhoods was at least halved (although discarded refrigerators are still a presence – and an icon I will forever connect to this disaster).

Still, it was a beautiful fall Saturday, and Esplanade Avenue seemed more alive. I saw a mechanized monster truck doing something at our hotel, Lamothe House, which made me happy. I even had to search for a parking spot at the French Market, where I was going to find Debbie (who has now more than returned any favor I did by babysitting her family’s cats.) I spent money I don’t really have on what were supposed to be xmas presents, and chatted will all manner of people:

A charming Hispanic woman selling Day of the Dead Nichos, who said she still cries a lot, but is happy that people are coming home, and grateful that her home didn’t flood.

A long-haired, handsome man selling jewelry his wife makes, who laughed when a British customer expressed disdain at the US asking Britain for hurricane help, then bristled away, saying “we shouldn’t discuss politics.”

A smiling man who was meticulously refinishing restaurant chairs in front of the bistro where he has tended bar for ten years. He has another job for now, but he spends his days detailing the wooden chairs for free (he said to keep him out of trouble until his employer re-opens in two weeks.)

That evening we headed out in costumes to a pre-Halloween parade led by the Soul Rebels. It hadn’t occurred to me that we would actually be part of the parade, along with a host of revelers some 50 strong at the start. I love costume parties, and I love live music, and this was both and so much more. Nearly everyone was dressed up, and along with the usual ghosts, skeletons, black cats and young sexpots in fetish wear, were all manner of outfits reflecting the hurricane: Chef Katrina carried a cauldron of rum-laced toxic stew. A couple sporting inner tubes and diving flippers clopped along in time with the march. Toxic Mold, Maggoty Refrigerators, Dead Trees and Blue Tarps danced down the street. A friendly vampire sported plastic boobs outside his costume. I loved everything and everyone I saw.

Somehow over the years I’ve missed encountering the Soul Rebels, but seeing them this way was unforgettable. Playing a great variety of peppy brass numbers and melancholy funereal jazz, they led us through the Treme, Fauborg Marigny and French Quarter. Sporadic residents waved or joined the procession. Plain-clothed government workers stared blankly as we passed Bourbon Street. I laughed, I became misty-eyed, I danced, and I marveled at the sheer uniqueness that is New Orleans and her people.

We broke off from the parade at Jackson Square to watch the Rebirth Brass Band. Originally founded by local jazzman Kermit Ruffins twenty-two years ago, they played great music and made terse jokes about the Bush administration and FEMA. The crowd was appreciative of both, and I felt a rare wave of happiness and hope. Gazing up at the Cabildo in the background, I noticed the pigeons were all perched on a portion of the ledge directly above the bandstand. Feeling magic in the air, I convinced myself they were enjoying the music.

Sometime in the midst of the show and the crowd, we were asked to speak to the cameras of Costa Rican television Teletica 7. Be sure to watch for us trying to speak Spanish: I’m the cat with furry pink ears and Debbie is the Mutated Refrigerator Fly.

We traipsed back many blocks toward the Bywater neighborhood, with a few more stops and conversations. Finally finding the end of the parade, I etched this scene into my memory as we departed: participants spilling out of Mimi’s bar, cavorting in the intersection, all but ignoring the uniformed guard who posed stoically at the ready, massive weapon in hand, camouflaged hum-v parked beyond.

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