“We’ve got to get up! It’s the Chinese New Year parade today!” I couldn’t believe my luck. Not only did I get to experience The Gates while in New York City, I also was able to attend the Chinese New Year Parade. It doesn’t matter what the cause, if it’s a celebration, I’m happy. Gloriously, deliriously, drunkenly happy.
We pushed, shoved, fought our way through the throngs of people gathered to watch the parade. Floats with waving beauties passed before us. Elegant dancers gently waving fans glided past. Dragons of all colors, shapes and sizes slithered by. And then. The parade was over. The police, New York’s finest, hustled us out of the streets and back to the sidewalks.
I heard a loud “pop!” then was hypnotized by the enchanting confetti drifting from the sky. Blues, greens, magentas, yellows, twirling, swirling, spinning, twisting from the sky. Another “pop!” behind us. Another deluge of colors, landing on us, beside us, underneath us. For half an hour we made our way through the crowd, every so often stopping, mesmerized by the shower of colors around us. “Happy New Year,” an elderly Chinese woman spoke in broken English. I replied, in broken Chinese, “Gung Hay Fat Choy.” Smiles were exchanged, wishes conferred. A magical moment in New York City.