After I finished writing the last blog post I deduced that there was in fact a pride parade occurring on Saturday in Paris from a sign outside a bar that said “Pre-Parade” and was decorated with a rainbow assortment of balloons. Some might think my enthusiasm for such an event comes from my sexual orientation, but they’d be wrong – I’m straight. I think I love pride parades because (1) they are just so entertaining, especially in San Francisco, (2) they produce the best people watching to be found in the world, (3) it’s something to do in Paris that didn’t involve shopping or going to the museum, and (4) there exists something for most to relate to, in the fight for equality, and freedom from persecution and discrimination.
Before I got to the parade I stopped on Rue de Rosiers and picked up some falafel and hummus. My first waiter didn’t speak english, so I asked another if he spoke hebrew, and said to him in hebrew “If not English, I speak Hebrew, if you can help me”. I thought this might “endear” an Israeli, but then I realized, the last place you go for good service and new friends is an Israeli owned restaurant in France; you know what I’m syaing? That being said the falafel was good, definitely homemade, but I’ve had better pita and hummus.
Afterwards I walked to Boulevard Henri IV to watch the parade. I found a cafe, sat down, and enjoyed a glass of red wine. Of course I began talking to my table mates, an older lesbian couple that spoke competent english. I was happy to just conversate with others after a day of being by myself, and they were really friendly, offering to explain to me each float that came by. I hung around for maybe 35 minutes chatting with them.
The Parade apparently started at around 2PM in another part of town and made its way across the Seine into Marais and Bastille. The parade was a far cry from what we see in San Francisco. It made SF’s parade look militaristically organized, but well funded, extremely competent, and very purposeful and meaningful. The floats in Paris were mostly gutted 18 wheelers, blasting club music with about 50-100 people walking behind dancing to the music. When I say people, I don’t mean people affiliated with the float’s organization, I mean the public, any random jacque et janine that wants to dance on the street. There’s no fences partitioning the parade from the crowd, the two seamlessly come together.
While I couldn’t understand all the signs and banners, I did feel as though the parade was a parade for free love and expression of both homo- and hetero-sexuality, not necessarily a parade of statements. People were there to party together, which I thought was so much fun, but because of it, the messages about marriage, safe sex, political equality and parental rights were very lost.
After the parade I returned to Marais thinking the party would continue. I stopped at a bar, grabbed a beer, and stood on the street watching the crowds return from Bastille. When this girl showed up, the crowd gotten even larger. As the sun set, cars and mopeds were having trouble getting through; so was the Orthodox Jewish man and his son, who I presume were heading to havdallah service. I think it’s great: The old Jewish Quarter, is the new Gay Neighborhood, flush with amazing shopping. Why not love Marais?
When I returned home and emptied my pockets I found a note with someone’s phone number and address. Of course I go out and pick up two lesbians! Well, not quite; those two offered me their contact info in case there was an emergency before Kenzie got to Paris. Who says the French are rude?
