Wait a minute! I need more information, here. Are you saying that it wasn’t a “real” parade? There’s a group that marches a big old band and a bunch of others out on the street on the weekends (I think it was a Saturday)? If that’s the case (and I’m not being wooshed here), I’m more amused than ever.
I visited New Orleans once. I did all the touristy things, although, to my credit, I visited the rest of the Vieux Carre before I got to Bourbon Street.
Beignets overlooking the Mississippi near Jackson Square
Seeing the street performers in Jackson Square
Looking at the Civil-War-Era submarine in the portico of St. Louis’ Cathedral.
Getting a Hurricane in a Hurricane Glass at O’Brien’s
Walking down Bourbon Street and marvelling at the difference between New Orleans and Salt Lake City, from which I’d come hours before. It was cold and snowing in SLC. In NO it was hot, steamy and sultry. In SLC the strongest thing in the bars was 3.2 beer and they check IDs. In NO you could get anything, and the bars were open and steps from the street. If you couldn’t finish your hurricane, they’d wrap the glass in a box and give you the drink in a paper cup to drink on the street. This is unthinkable in most places I’ve lived, especially SLC. It’s as if NO had a Beginner’s Drinking program. In SLC strippers (yes, they did exist) couldn’t take very much off. They basically stripped down to underwear or bikini’s, except sometimes they had pasties up top. And the clubs kept getting closed down on bogus grounds. And everything was tightly indoors. In NO they had mirrors set up so you could see the acts while you were walking down Bourbon Street. The strippers were the most aggressive I’d ever seen. They’d go after you if you didn’t tip.
Going to Preservation Hall to hear jazz in its rawest, most pure form. No frills – the audience packed in, standing, into a large room to watch a bunch of sweaty guys performing in a cordoned-off area. A sign in the background gave rates for different performances, with the highest rate for playing “As the Saints go Marching In”, which no one wants to play 'cause all the damned tourists always want to hear it.
Getting Creole food at trhe local restaurants. My buddy got a bowl of gumbo that looked like a bowl of Missisippi mud. The resmblance was heightened by the unchopped Bay leaves used for seasoning and the chopped but unshelled crabs simmered in it. Eating was an adventure. Good but unfiltered.
The unabashedly gay sex shops along Bourbon street. I didn’t see anything like it until I later visited P’town on Cape Cod.
Dear Lord this is going to be hard … I’m already tearing up.
Getting off the airplane and being driven directly to some hole-in-the-wall for a shrimp po-boy. Hot and spicy, fried so crispy and perfect, and completely doused in Crystal Hot sauce.
Turtle soup at Commander’s Palace. Something that can salve the scabbiest soul.
Walking down Bourbon Street and just taking it all in. All the debauchery, strange street people, musicians, smells, noises. Not believing I was in such a place and how privileged I felt to be there.
Beignets and cafe au lait at Cafe DuMonde on a chilly morning in January.
The warm, sweet southern hospitality everywhere. At the bank, at a restaurant, on the street. Just genuine “niceness”.
Soul food at Praline Connection.
My first Mardi Gras injury. Getting hit square in the face with large plastic cup filled with beads that was thrown off a float. A nice welt on my lip that bled was my badge of honor that year 
Looking at the remnants and shreds of architecture left from slave quarters and civil war buildings, and not being able to conceive of the history that those buildings have seen.
Wait a minute.
I’ve just reread a couple of my posts, and I’ve made an error. Not only that, I made the same error more than once! :smack:
The unofficial parade was put on by The Krewe of Cosmic Debris, not ‘Destruction’.
Debris, Debris, Debris, Debris! I hate it when I make mistakes like that!
This.
Ooooh, I just did remember something else—I was at a birthday party in the French Quarter for a lesbian circus dwarf, and a drummer for the New Leviathan Oriental Fox-Trot Orchestra was there, and invited me to one of their rehearsals! That was a big thrill.
Well, it’s a ‘real’ parade, but it’s not an ‘official’ parade. From Wiki:
There are Krewes that do the big ‘official’ parades with the floats an’ shite, and then you have neighbourhood krewes and walking clubs. (Favourite name: Harden Ready Walking Club.)
Weekend there with fiance at Royal Sonesta, Cafe du Monde, Emeril’s, Pat O’ Brien’s, etc.
Month at Le Pavillon with a couple of close coworkers where we hit every nice restaurant we could find.
Seven month stint where I’d commute home on weekend but every weeknight two old grad school buddies and I would hit the French Quarter. I do miss the Redfish Grill, the antique shops, Old Absinte House, etc.
My bachelor party with seven of my very best buds. Staying at the Royal Sonesta again, it was the weekend Ricks opened… across the street.
Many moons ago, I visited with my best friend. Being from Ohio, one thing that struck me most was the beauty of the Spanish moss hanging from the oak trees in the park. I’d never seen anything like it before. The grounds of Tulane were beautiful as well, and the zoo was awesome. We spent a lot of time just walking around and admiring the architecture as well.
This past summer my friend called me up and and told me she was presenting a paper at a conference in NO. Did I want to meet her there? I ended up deciding not to, telling her we should go sometime when neither of us had any work obligations to worry about. Who knew … 
I’ll bet this one will be your most lasting memory