But before we found ourselves immersed in fiddles, accordions, and gumbo, our incredible hosts Jeff and Cecette Bassett warmed us up the night before with crawfish fettucini and a Mardi Gras parade in Lafayette. Jeff taught us the secret to catching beads but we learned the hard way that when it comes to those strings of plastic beads, it’s every man for himself. But we had an excuse; we had driven through the night from WV.

The atmosphere Tuesday morning was dramatically different. Instead of paved streets, toy vendors, RV’s, cop cars, and high school marching bands, we found ourselves surrounded by crawfish farms, rice fields, backcountry houses, and 300 people ready to sing and dance and party at 8am in the middle of nowhere.  At this Mardi Gras, there would be no bead throwing, there would be no floats, and there would be no parade queens.  In fact, there weren’t even any spectators, except for a handful of locals in lawn chairs.  The celebration was in participating, not in spectating.  And so for that, the one major rule was you had to show up in costume, otherwise you would face whipping and public condemnation. The key element in these outfits was fringe. The more fringe the better.  We never figured out what fashion precedent these costumes were based off of but it sort of looks like a KKK pajama party.  Masks are encouraged, and some sort of hat seemed requisite.  Amazingly, we had all that covered. Jeff and Cecette miraculously appropriated some authentic Cajun party suits for us, even bought us masks, and we were in like Flynn.

From the moment we arrived, we knew we were in for something special.  Jeff and Cecette drove us to the house where everyone was gathering and it felt a bit like going to school on the first day with mom and dad.  We didn’t know anyone; we felt a little embarrassed about our clothes.  And we didn’t know quite what to expect.  But within minutes we had made friends with Holly and Grease who made us swig cinnamon whiskey and holler “Hot Damn!”  If whiskey is good for one thing, it’s breaking the ice.  So there we were, two Virginia boys in pointed caps, cameras on our shoulders,  sour mash on our breath, and not a clue what the morning and afternoon lay in store.  But it was immediately apparent that a day full of beautiful pictures was ahead of us.

What ensued was likely one of the most wonderful days AFP has experienced yet, and ranks up there with one of the best days of our lives.  Very simply we just walked through the Cajun countryside like some sort of tribe, a band of gypsies, a family of bejeweled strangers, dancing and singing to songs from the Cajun canon.  Ok, maybe “simply” isn’t the right word.  At every third house or so we passed, the entire caravan stopped and would beg for a live chicken.  A resident from the house would then hold up the animal, inciting the mob into a frenzy, and then launch the bird into the air setting off a furious dash to catch it.  If the chase wasn’t long enough there might be a 2nd or 3rd chicken throwing.  We must have done this seven times and after each one the band on the wagon would start again and dancing would recommence.  Slowly, we made our way across grass fields, dirt roads, through cemeteries, and eventually back to the house where it all began for a community gumbo and dance. Perhaps it was the cinnamon whiskey that started the day.  Perhaps it was first days of warm weather we had experienced in months.  Perhaps it was that infectious cajun fiddling.  But there was a warmth to this day that will be hard to forget.

If you’re one to usually skim the photos, please take your time with this slide show.  It’s fascinating.  So much so that we purposefully left our written descriptions to a minimum.  Colorful, strange, mind blowing–all words that we use to try to describe the day.

cajun mardi gras from Ross McDermott on Vimeo.

We owe a huge thank you to Cecette and Jeff for opening their house to a couple of strangers and taking us in like we were their own children!  The king cakes and crawfish boil on our last night completed our authentic Louisiana adventure.

Cecette with her puppies Bijou and Zoe behind their beautiful house.

The highest incorporated town in West Virginia is a little gem of a place nestled in the Caanan Valley called Davis.  When you cross the bridge over the Blackwater River, you don’t have to drive for more than minute before you’ve passed through town.  If you didn’t stop at Siriani’s Cafe, Hellbender Burritos, or the Bright Morning Inn, you’ll have missed some fine eating.  But you will also have missed an opportunity to taste some delicious hand crafted brew on tap from the Mountain State Brewery (The Link is Here).  Just two miles down the road in Thomas, WV, our buddy Willie Lehman makes the finest beer in the state.

Ross likes the amber ale best of all, but the Coal Miner’s Daughter Stout is pretty hard to beat on those wintry nights.  AFP found a welcoming home in Thomas and the most gracious host in Willie.  With no shortage of Waylon Jennings on the record player, we tried to catch up on our editing and blogging and prepared for the next festival, Fasnacht.

The German translation of Fasnacht is literally “first night.”  And in the town of Helvetia, WV, population 65, Swiss-German was spoken until about 1940.  Swiss immigrants settled this mountain hamlet around 1860 and their influence is still felt today.  The Hutte restaurant, run by Willie’s 91 year-old grandmother Eleanor Mailloux (and who is the matriarch of the town) serves only swiss-german food on the menu.  There are only two community buildings and one of them is named for the original community band from the 1920s, the Star Band.  There is a town museum which is little more than a preserved wooden 2 room house replete with historic tools and instruments.  Most everyone works an hour away, sometimes closer if they work for the coal mines.  In short, there’s very little to see or do in Helvetia.  And as a result, the town numbers are slowly declining.  One might think this is a place destined for extinction.  But if you knew Willie and you knew Fasnacht, you would see the bright future that’s in store for Helvetia.

Before we travel to a new festival, it’s hard to predict what we will experience.  For the small and traditional festivals, it’s even harder.  There’s no PR team to call, no website to see photos.  But the mission of AFP is to find those pockets of America that are off the well-worn path and to discover fascinating unique rituals and celebrations.  Fasnacht and Helvetia were exactly what we hoped to find.  We also found that some of our best friends from Charlottesville (Mandy, Sarah, Jonny, and Tom) had trekked over a few mountains passes to see us and dance away the winter blues.

There’s no real official start time to Fasnacht.  And it’s never very clear how many people are going to show up.  The town’s population can increase by about 1000% on the night of the holiday (of course you’re starting at 65 people).  We met 2 couples who had come all the way from Ohio but for the most part it’s locals and West Virginia folks.  As people streamed in during the day, everyone gathered in the Star Band Hall for delicious german bratwursts with sauerkraut and a bluegrass jam session.  This was our plan for dinner originally.  Beer and Brats.  Then we heard about the belly dancers and the infamous fare over at the Hutte Restaurant.  So we begged for a table and it was a food experience we will never forget.  Homemade spiced sausage, cilantro potatoes, onion pie, chicken that melted off the bone, country green beans with ham, fresh apple butter, spiced beets, peach cobbler with nutmeg…it was endless.  And it was all so wonderful. We can’t really explain the belly dancers other than that Ms. Mailloux is a colorful soul and loves the extra excitement a bare midriff brings to a meal.  Imagine eating homemade applesauce in a dining room with deer heads on the walls and looking over to see dancers out of Lawrence of Arabia.

Fully sated, it was just about time for the parade to begin.  But let us reiterate, this town is tiny.  A parade through town is no more than 200 yards long.  We began at the Star Band Hall and w alked with lampions in hand to the newer community hall where Old Man Winter was hanging from the ceiling, ready to be burned in effigy at midnight.  Most paraders wore masks and costumes intended to scare, intimidate, and run Mr. Winter out of town.  Once inside the hall, everyone joined hands to circle around the room and then the square dance began in full order for the next three hours.  Orange slices, cookies, peanut butter on celery sticks, lemonade, and some live string music kept us going through it all.

Fasnacht from Ross McDermott on Vimeo.

When the clock struck midnight, Old Man Winter was cut from his high perch and dragged outside with a raging crowd following.  He was met by a roaring bonfire and a drunken crowd that wanted nothing more than to see him turn to ash.  It was the official mark of the end of winter.  But it certinaly didn’t mark the end the night.  The festivities shifted down the street, where musicians and belly dancers entertained the late-night revelers.  That night in Helvetia, Old ManWinter still had some life in him as thick flurries fell from the sky and rumors spread that 7 inches were expected by morning.  The Charlottesville crew and some new found friends from WVA (“the Brown Sisters”) rallied and moved the party into the Dodge Lodge.

Come morning, it was clear winter was still around and almost all evidence of the celebration just hours before was disguised under a thick blanket of snow.   The only person stirring of course was Eleanor Mailloux, the queen of Helvetia, opening the doors of the Hutte Restaurant and offering another day of warmth and tradition to this magical West Virginia town.

Our friend Grass was a great host in Baton Rouge, LA.  He assisted us with his own, finely filtered veggie oil to help get us to New Orleans.  I offered him a print, but all he wanted was to make the blog.  Many thanks, Grass (and nice costume)!

My friend Austin (right) joined us in New Orleans for Halloween.  He and his buddy Brandon dressed up like ER doctors and brought mayhem to the streets of N’orleans.  It was good to have them along…

I reluctantly dressed up in a costume supplied by Austin, but by the end of the night grew to love it!  The streets of N’orleans were so crazy and filled with costumes that I hardly stuck out.  However, a number of people liked grabbing my various ‘fat rolls’ and other body parts that I won’t expand on.

Plenty of beer flowed through the streets of the French district.

Halloween night in N’orleans was perhaps one of the most enjoyable, yet crazy nights of my life.  There are no words to describe the atmosphere.  Everywhere you looked there was someone dressed in an extravagant costume.  Frenchman St. was so crowded you could hardly move about.  Everyone was drinking on the streets.  Brass bands marched the littered streets blasting deep-souled tunes across the surging crowds.  You could walk up to anyone and start a conversation.  People were friendly; everyone was excited; the party burned into the wee hours of morning..