The Pilgrimage That Wasn't: A Mardi Gras Story
If things had gone as planned—not that they ever do—I would have arrived in New Orleans that afternoon. It was Mardi Gras!
Didn't happen, of course. Cobblestones are the reason.
If you're one of the regulars who are never happier than when curled up with one of my stories, you may remember the post about my last visit to Charleston, SC. You can find that post by searching for: 'Charleston Memories.'
Picture this: narrow little streets from an earlier era, cobblestone alleyways hiding in wait like mischievous cats, ready to throw off their whiskers and pounce the moment you stop paying attention.
Those charming old pathways between colonial-era shops are wonderfully uneven, irregular cobblestone trails leading to embowered interiors flanked by large potted tropical plants. Beautiful, yes—but treacherous.
The footing is never predictable, and walking them requires a ramshackle gait and mindful maneuvering, something I sometimes forget. To put it simply: I stumble. Life is often like that; well, my life. At least that's the story I tell; you may tell it differently.
As I learned during my Charleston wanderings, cobblestones aren't level, aren't ordered, and definitely aren't boring. They can't be walked without paying attention to what you're doing and where you're going—which is a good thing, really. Keeps you in the moment. Of course, that life lesson didn't prevent me from taking an unfortunate tumble that scotched my Mardi Gras plans.
But this post isn't about Charleston; it isn't even about New Orleans. It's about the planned pilgrimage that would take me to the sacred places of my own personal mythology.
New Orleans is one of those special places from my past, and if there are secular pilgrimages in America, then Mardi Gras is surely one. Mardi Gras, of course, is framed by Epiphany at the beginning and Ash Wednesday at the close. Between those holy days is a period of indulgence and joyful celebration of life.
This symbolic timing is significant when viewing Mardi Gras as a secular pilgrimage. Just as Christmas combines a secular aspect, represented by Santa Claus, with a religious one, celebrating Christ's birth, Mardi Gras also unites the spiritual and the profane.
As I mentioned at the beginning, I didn't make it to New Orleans; I'm actually sitting in Wilmington's Egret Cafe, far from Durham, where I originally made plans for my pilgrimage more than twelve years ago.
Obviously, those well-laid plans for a mythological pilgrimage 'ganged agley.' I still plan to make that journey one day. But for today, I'm happy to be in Wilmington, thinking of New Orleans, and celebrating the joys of being alive—even if life is sometimes paved with cobblestones that demand we stay present, stay mindful, and occasionally, stay off our feet to heal.
Even though the New Orleans pilgrimage is somewhere in a nebulous future, I will be making a pilgrimage of a different sort soon. I hope you'll come back regularly so that I can tell you all about it.
Until then, stay happy and healthy. I hope you're celebrating the joys of life with me. Laissez les bons temps rouler!
I am hoping to make it to Mardi Gras next year. If I'd gone this year, I don't feel I would have been able to fully appreciate the entire experience - certainly not after having read this post. I never realized the other events surrounding the celebration.
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