The British know how to rage, dear lord
Ive been to my fair share of festivals, but Ive never seen anything like
this. The Notting Hill Carnival: London's
perennial summer bonanza, Caribbean style. Translation: Kingston moves to Notting Hill.
Basically, the city closes off entire neighborhoods and stages of reggaeton,
electronica, rai and funk mastas move in, bringing mass amounts of people with
them. Apparantly there's a parade, but no one seems to be paying
attention. white washed neighborhoods, where beautiful stoops and ionic columns
behold each rowhome's entrance way, channel tides of wasted circus animals.
Everyones pimped out. Fyi,the 80'S are back, like whoa. some things
transcend all cultures...like Prince! gets me everytime. We dance our way
around and around, winding through each and every street, stopping along the
way to kick it at every party. Conversations explode like roman
candles. Colombians, South Africans, Brazilians, British share tales with
brutal honesty, and we rock n roll together for a snap. Everyones named
William or Daniel or Richard...I wanted to say, "can I call ya Dick?"
There are few other Americans. I am greeted with smiles and open
arms. Apparently there are many after parties. I smile and and we
dance on.
In the midst of this Rastafari
street fest, police sit tall on their horses,
looming high over thousands of heads. They dont do anything despite the
shananigans. Sometimes, a woman will walk by in nothing but huge green
fairy wings and sparkly sequence. Sometimes, a cowboybooted seductress
lounges in a window from above, nursing a cigarette. on the side of the
street, between piles and piles and piles and piles of cans and corn, a man with
an afro plays "Hey Joe." I give him change. women cook grilled
corn and shishkabobs under elaborate tents, and leather-coated musclemen pour
oversized shots in womens mounths beneath huge superman-themed
structures. POW!
Men walk through selling clouds of random balloons--pokemon, hello kitty,
dalmations...characters i dont recognize. Everyone has horns and whistles, and
they blow them with gusto. a cacophonous rumble. Dreadlocks. clouds of
thick smoke. people make out lounging in the middle of the street. and as we tread
through the raging river of red, yellow and green, church steeples sing their
hourly song.
