Rouses_January-February-2018_60

the Mardi Gras issue

and a few nips from someone’s flask. I was initiated as a first-timer, and sang “La Vie- ille Chanson de Mardi Gras” in a call-and- response with the capitaine at the top of my lungs. I chased after the live chickens of- fered to us as “charity” at neighbors’ homes,

collapsing in a dogpile with my fellow Mardi Gras runners. At one stop, I narrowly missing becoming the lucky runner to capture the chicken and deliv- er it to the capitaine. Later, we watched a ten-year-old scale a greased pole to unlock a guinea hen caged at the top while we paused to snack on a little mid- run boudin. The sense of comradery at courir is palpable; it isn’t just a time for a little bit of liquor- fueled revelry and flipping your identity topsy-turvy for the day. It’s a two-stepping, fiddle-

live chickens and crack open an early morning beer (I was!), but because my costuming left a lot to be desired. I kind of felt like I was wearing sweatpants to a cocktail party; one glance around at the elaborate, glorious outfits of my fellow runners and my own attempt at masking seemed downright sheepish. The traditional dress code for a courir carries with it a strict set of guidelines. A tall, conical hat resembling a dunce cap and known as a capuchon is key, as is covering your pants, shirt or

playing, beer-swilling love letter to the rich history of Acadiana and the communities that ensure that these traditions will be honored for generations to come. A place where the land, music and food are plaited together in a braid so tight it would be impossible to pull out a single strand without it all unraveling. A place where sharing and togetherness are paramount to not just Mardi Gras, but day-to-day life. As La Danse de Mardi Gras , a classic of the Cajun-French canon, instructs: Captain, Captain, wave your flag… Let’s go to the next neighbor To ask for charity, you all come and join us You all come and join us for the gumbo tonight! Find gumbo recipes at www.rouses.com.

overalls in rows upon rows of patchwork fringe, rounding out a decidedly bucolic, quasi-jester look. Being anonymous is necessary at courir , so masks — typically oversized and made of wire mesh with a clown-like face glued or painted on — are a must. (Runners must stay masked — no exceptions.) Today, though, the level of complexity and detail added to the (handmade,of course) costumes is downright awe-inspiring. There are masks shaped like ferocious bears, capuchons made from fast food themed fabric, and glamorous, jewel- dappled masks worthy of the Met Gala — even a man dressed head to toe like a swamp thing from the bayou. My sparse fringe and haphazard, Zorro-like mask made me thankful no one could identify me. As we prepared for the run, repurposed

school buses, flatbed trailers and other hauling devices of questionable sturdiness all awaited the bounty of musicians — fiddle players and guitarists and accordionists — who would provide a live soundtrack for the day as we journeyed along the road. A lack of music and dancing definitely isn’t a problem at the courir , where everyone — and I mean everyone — quickly gets swept up in reels and high kicks in the middle of the street. People dance solo if they don’t have a partner, and I quickly went from spinning like a top on my own to being twirled furiously by a man masked like a frog. (Insert your own Prince Charming joke here.) Throughout the day, I joined my fellow runners with the kind of wild-eyed enthu- siasm that can only be fueled by a potent concoction of adrenaline, competitiveness

26

MY ROUSES EVERYDAY JANUARY | FEBRUARY 2018