Labour Day in Brooklyn means time for the West Indian Day Parade or, as the rest of the world refer to it, carnivaaaaal! The children's parade and Panorama (steel band competition) are held on the Saturday, with Dimanche Gras and J'ouvert on Sunday (mentioned in my last post) leading into the main procession on Monday.

On Sunday night our street and all those in the area were pumping with the sounds of Soca, Reggae and Calypso. Families sat out on their front porches eating and drinking and the smell of barbecued deliciousness hung in the air. This is normally a very quiet area but carnival changes all that and it was hard not to get swept up in the excitement of it all. I'd imagine it's similar living in Notting Hill in London in the lead up to carnival there. The big difference here though is that the area is predominantly populated by West Indian families, so almost everyone was in on the action. In London the carnival route is surrounded by some very expensive housing, some containing people who see the two day event as more a chore than a blessing. Brooklyn carnival seems a much more local affair, embraced by almost all who live here.

Saying this, Carnival here is very different to London's equivalent, so perhaps that's the reason. In London the static sound systems and live music stages that spring up everywhere are at least as, or even more, popular than the parade itself. Notting Hill seems to be unique in that way and it's one of the many wonderful events that makes London such a great place to live. However, as someone who first experienced carnival as a participant, I've never been a great fan of the enormity of Notting Hill. I wore costume in the parade for about five years from the age of eleven (typically I got a bit ashamed of it around the age of sixteen. Everything's shameful when you're sixteen, eh?). Me and my Mum used to spend the whole summer at the Mas Camp (Carnival Club) helping to build all the costumes and it always saddened me a little when people would force their way through the parade to get from one side of the street to the other, damaging our hard work on the way. In Brooklyn the parade route is a straight line down one road (Eastern Parkway), is blocked off on both sides and everyone is there to see the costumes (and eat the food. Natch) so there seems to be a lot more respect.

The night before the parade Mr and I, galvanized by the sights and smells surrounding us, headed out to try to find a drink. We had vague plans of staying up to get involved in J'ouvert but were aware that it wouldn't start until the early morning, and drinking seemed the best way to keep us awake. We headed to our lone decent local pub (Prospect Lefferts Gardens isn't so much for the pubs) hoping for a tasty beer, but were saddened to find it closed. Mr was especially gutted by this turn of events, he properly loves pubs, so we headed off in the other direction. Eventually we stumbled across a little sports bar with a big, big man at the door. I'd forgotten my passport, which can be a real pain here, as they are very strict about checking ID (good for my ego, bad for my passport, which is looking increasingly ratty). Hoping I wouldn't have to go back home to get it I asked hopefully, 'do I need ID?', 'no' he replied, but he did need to pat my husband up and down to check for weapons. Nice place! Once we got inside we were treated to a almost empty room, populated only by some youngsters all ready for J'ouvert fun. Devil horns, tiny teeny batty shorts for the ladies and, no doubt, things to throw in the big bags on their backs. The main treat though was the deafening Soca being played by a rather keen DJ in the corner. I can't recall ever before feeling so old and so white. We, predictably, stayed for one drink then admitted defeat on the J'ouvert thing and headed home, picking up some delicious griddled goods on the way.

This has been a very wordy post so far, but fear not fair reader, for I took many photographs of the parade and am about to treat you to a nice selection, with minimal waffle from me to distract you.

The po-po checking out the sexy ladies.

Gwan love!

Get these motherf*cking snakes out of this motherf*cking carnival.

This one gets an in more for the spectacular hair at the bottom than the costume above it.

Lookie! That man has a naughty backpack.

Stilts!

Feathers and Fishnets make a girl look fly.

Giggly woman is giggly. Unimpressed woman is unimpressed.

The very worst thing about Brooklyn carnival is that no booze is allowed to be drunk outside. Handily, they've invented sneaky ways around this problem.

Shortly after I took this photo this lady collapsed. Those costumes are proper heavy. With hindsight, she doesn't look too happy, does she?

A woman happily waving her Bajan flag. White people can be from the West Indies too!

Dirty dancing.

I think some of these people might be from Jamaica.

And finally a beautiful woman with no clothes on carrying her daughter. You're welcome.

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