Somehow, we all started moving in a similar direction, an unspoken unanimous solution. After twenty terrifying minutes, I escaped. I ran to a street parallel to the official parade street, where I found myself next to Argentina’s competitive cheer squad, muscular-armed men tossing athletic cheerleaders into the air with impressive grace. A drag queen squad practised their dance routine nearby; what they lacked in choreography, they compensated for in charisma. Later, I found a clearer stretch of the parade and watched people break into merengue alongside floats with scantily clad dancers, pumping unfamiliar ‘reggaeton’ music. A stranger grabbed my hand and spun me into a pirouette.
Back in Brazil, I asked someone if the parade was indeed on Paulista Avenue; they assured me it was. But how? The street swarmed with vendors selling beers, sweetcorn, sunglasses and, bizarrely, penis-shaped headpieces. Then I heard in the distance the thud of samba music and glimpsed the first float approaching.
Buenos Aires PrideGary Nunn
Suddenly, stallholders darted to one side. Marshalls with a long rope stewarded people on either side of the oncoming floats, and then, the promised millions descended. Float after float, all with rainbow balloon garlands, freestyle dancing, and the odd drag queen MC revving up the crowds. They all sounded similar, too – almost unfeasibly loud, playing ‘circuit music’ popular in Brazil’s gay clubs – nicknamed ‘pots and pans’ music for its rambunctious clattering noise.
Sydney Mardi GrasGary Nunn
