Well St Patrick’s Day was quite a spectacle in New Orleans! Another welcome excuse for a party – and of course, what is a celebration without more parades?! For the entire week people were dressed in green, and drinking green beer (I didn’t dare ask what made the beer green lest they shatter my happy delusion that it was merely food colouring).
The Saturday before the actual day there was a parade along Magazine Street, which in typical Louisiana fashion commences about two hours later than scheduled and lasted an additional few hours. The street was lined with crowds dressed in varying shades of green, eating green things and drinking green things – and downing green vodka jello shots (does that constitute eating or drinking?) The parade consisted of a number of floats throwing the usual beads and cups (which I again avoided as though someone were dropping bombs), and CABBAGES – well they are green after all…. And there were multiple men in kilts handing out green, orange and white paper flowers in exchange for kisses – it was the kilts that captured my curiosity! And during all this fabulous festive celebration of a snake banishing Brit turned Irish slave I don’t think I came across a single person who could claim a genuine direct and proximate lineage to Ireland. I made a feeble attempt claiming on facebook that I am in fact an eighth Irish thanks to my great Grandmother – which my Mother rapidly and publicly correct – it was in fact my great Grandfather… oops.
After a dozen or two beads encircled our reddening necks, a couple of green beers, and few rounds of cabbage football, our green clad gang headed to Nacho Mama’s for a Mexican meal served by American’s dressed as Irishmen… sometimes I think I’m Alice living in Wonderland.
After a dozen or two beads encircled our reddening necks, a couple of green beers, and few rounds of cabbage football, our green clad gang headed to Nacho Mama’s for a Mexican meal served by American’s dressed as Irishmen… sometimes I think I’m Alice living in Wonderland.
On St Patrick's Day itself, I found myself again wearing green (soo not my colour!) clutching a beer wondering whether I would ever even step foot in the country I was at that very moment claiming legacy from... The place to be seen on Wednesday evening was the Parisole's Bloc Party. I'm not a regular of Parisoles, it generally looks like a bit of a sketchy place on the corner of nowhere. But for one night a year it is so popular you cant even make it inside! Its a wonder why the bother opening any other night of the year with the fortune they must rake on St Patrick's Day.... and Im not even sure how they are related to the celebration except that it has become a New Orleans tradition. And complain as I might, it was a fabulous night. Although it again ended with a mexican meal... but potatos are my least favourite food so its hardly surpising we weren't eating "Irish food".
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