Razzle dazzle

  The West Indian Carnival parade kicks off just as most New Yorkers are sinking into that end-of-summer funk called Labor Day. It starts in Crown Heights, surges down Eastern Parkway in deafening and desultory bursts, and spills its revelers onto Grand Army Plaza and the entrance to Prospect Park.

The crowds were hemmed in, and the Plaza restricted, by an elaborate set of police barriers. Below, right: Stilt-walkers and cops play "Abbey Road." (The traffic sign instructs the giant sound-truck floats to "Lower Music.")

             

Trinidad, Jamaica, Barbados, and many more flags proclaimed pride in the place that many of our neighbors still call "back home." But there were lots of Caucasian faces in the crowd, too. (Spot the one below, right; hint, she's wearing a sweater in case it gets a little breezy.)

           

It's a day of rampant gorgeousness, with enough confident plus-size ladies to blow the "Campaign for Real Beauty" into the stratosphere. Spandex and sequins know no age limit, either.
 

Admit it: Have sensible shoes, natural fibers, tasteful neutrals and a BMI of 25 ever looked so...sad? 

As the marchers dispersed, almost every one whipped out a cell phone (no easy thing to stash in some of the scantier costumes), to arrange a rendez-vous amid the chaos with friends and family.

  

Turning my bike back into the park, I met a couple, toddler in tow, seeking directions to the zoo. Hesitantly, the dad added, "What is...that?" (motioning to the seething ocean of feathered humanity on the plaza.) Turns out they moved to Cobble Hill from Florida a month ago. A perfect Brooklyn learning curve: Set out for the zoo on a sunny afternoon, and stumble onto a world-class bacchanale under a haze of jerked chicken smoke. Welcome home!

Comments

[Rob Lenihan]

Nice photos, Brenda. I'm so bummed--I was at Prospect Park on Monday. I should have known you would be there. Oh, well...

[Brenda from Flatbush]

Thanks. "We'll meet again/Don't know where, don't know when..."