A good time in Mamou

It was April, so there was no talk of chasing chickens. But there was dancing and drinking in the morning and a plenty of hot boudin. The dancing was of the grimy, sweaty nature. The bar is old----old enough that modern air conditioning was not an item. The music was live---fiddles and singing. Not much variety; I think someone said there were three basic tunes.

But nobody cared.

Bill's mother had sent us there with her good friends, Malcolm and Willie Mae Twyner. "There" was Mamou, Louisiana, a small Cajun town about an hour's drive from Oakdale where Bill grew up. I was astounded that Bill's mother Ora, a teetotaler and a charter member of the Presbyterians, would condone our going to a bar---on Saturday morning, no less.

But she did.

So, we set off with Malcolm and Willie Mae, arriving in Mamou and parking in front of Fred's Lounge shortly after its 9 a.m. opening. The place was packed, and Cajun music of the purest kind greeted us as we walked in the door. Talk about a place for prime people watching and active beer drinking. They came from all around, as far away as Baton Rouge that day. We visited, gawked and danced.

I may have tried one bite of the hot boudin. When they told me it was blood sausage, the suggestion of blood just kinda scared off my tastebuds. Much like brains would. I danced a few times with Malcolm, but we mostly enjoyed a morning beer (kinda warm, as I recall) and watched the action in the quaint old bar where each Saturday's event is broadcast nationally on some TV or radio feed.

For locals in this area, Fred's might be considered a cross between The Hoot Owl Cafe in Ponderay and the old Edna and Buck's Tavern up Pack River. Lively local color aplenty and an interior well in need of repair that will never come because of its well-used and appreciated character. I think they might have done some fixing on the bathroom doors there, but that was about it. Speaking of bathrooms, the wait in line was a pleasure cuz everyone was so friendly.

Shortly after noon, things started winding down, as Fred's was about to close for the day. That's when all the Saturday morning revelers could move across the street in little ol' Mamou and continue their partying into the night. We chose to drive back to Oakdale. I was impressed and have never forgotten the experience of indulging in a small taste of the heart and soul of Cajun culture.

But, that's not all.

In this morning's Spokesman travel section there's an article about an aspect of Mamoo culture that bypassed me that day, but it certainly hasn't bypassed thousands of tourists who flock into the town each Mardi Gras, and I know I could never indulge-----cuz it's for men only. It's called "courir," aka "the run." And, it does involve the gathering of chickens for the Mardi Gras gumbo.

In short, it includes costumes, horses, young men, drunk wagons, music and a whole lot of graphic madness, including blood. Well, there would be blood, wouldn't there if someone bit a chicken's head off. You read the rest at this link, and after you've read it, I think you'll agree that our visit to Fred's Lounge in Mamou to drink and dance on a April Saturday morning was pretty tame stuff:

But I'd sure like to see the courir some day.

The link: (http://www.spokesman.com/features/story.asp?ID=229650)