From King Cake to Hurricane, NOLA Mardi Gras Isn't for the Faint-Hearted

From King Cake to Hurricane, NOLA Mardi Gras Isn't for the Faint-Hearted: The two have almost become eponymous. The 2012 season kicked off Feb. 4 and counts down to the official Mardi Gras (Fat Tuesday), on Feb. 21. After this time, the Catholic Christian world enters into lent, a time of fasting, prayer and almsgiving. Well, everywhere except in New Orleans; there it's always feasting and never fasting. It's Carnivale perks without "lenten" works.

Mardi Gras in NOLA is more than just Fat Tuesday and paczkis. It's a marketing ploy, but more; Mardi Gras is a lifestyle that never sleeps and always parties, 24-7-365. Even in ordinary time I got enough visceral stimuli to last a lifetime.

Watch your step. The streets or rues (most are named in French) date back to the late 1700s, says NOLA. They've had few running repairs. Revelers in various stages of inebriation (with all that entails) started drinking at 9 a.m. or haven't been to bed from the night before. That, the frequent cloudbursts, the humidity from being effectively below sea level and the horse droppings from ubiquitous carriages, (the only vehicles allowed on Bourbon St.) make for noxious, slimy streets. The public works department only shuts Bourbon St. down at 4 a.m. to do a cursory hose-down.

There is no moderation in New Orleans. "Hurricane" drinks made of who-knows-what cheap booze are worn around the neck in 46-ounce fish bowls on lanyards (one sip gave me a headache). Bumping along on a standing-room-only cable car, I was libated with hurricane brew from fellow passengers. Hawkers hawk everything (and I do mean everything): beads with pink plastic male body parts, crosses, voodoo dolls, fleur-di-lis and women.

Even the food is over-the-top. Here's the L.A. Times recipe for king cake (frosted heart attacks), but for my artery-clogging indulgence, it's pralines. I've developed a penchant for etouffee and Jambalya, but beignets leave me cold. I haven't made up my mind about the chicory coffee.

Buskers, living statues and starving artists, it's loud and bright; the Musical Legends Park was a nice oasis. From the lush, tropical Garden District to the ruins of Katrina with eerie black spray-paint rescue x's, it's city of excess. Love it or hate it? I didn't try to decide. I just let it happen and then went to the basilica to light a candle for this bizarre city and it's bombastic, tenacious-of-life residents.