We boarded the TTC rather lackadaisically, the events of the night before still lingering- with age comes consequences and hangovers that sips of caffeine may not cure. My camera burned a hole in my bag, the strap digging into my shoulder as a reminder that I had no room for excuses- I was to attend, capture, and roll out. Wham bam, thank you Ma'am, a first of firsts.
After the TTC there was a shuttle bus, express of course, to a different kind of promised land. Fighting motion sickness and the glare of Caribana themed pro-nails we killed the crawling minutes by counting weaves and louder-than-thou Americans.
We arrived and in a matter of moments realized that the $25 price tag was steep for half a parade and uncomfortable bleacher seats. Defeated, we chose to wander, following the sounds of socca floats, 'braapps' and a trail of fallen luminescent feathers. Finally, like Hansel and Gretel stumbling on the path to the candy house, we spotted a very illegal, very irresistible opening in a once impenetrable iron gate. Bodies surrounded and enfolded us- within moments we were carried through to a blocked off parking lot where the next option was to run. I still have bruises on my side where camera-laden purse smacked unyielding flesh. The crowd on the other side absorbed us, and like fugitives we tried to blend in. The smiles came out and so did my lens.
(Click for colour)
Oh and the shoes! Of course, the shoes.
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