The tenth annual Pink Loerie Mardi Gras was, in the words of one queen on the street, “absolutely fabulous”.
I must admit, at first I was worried. On arrival in picturesque Knysna I didn’t see any men in drag, or any dykes on bikes for that matter, and there was certainly no pink martini handed to me as I stepped off the bus.
The tenth annual Pink Loerie Mardi Gras was, in the words of one queen on the street, “absolutely fabulous”.
I must admit, at first I was worried. On arrival in picturesque Knysna I didn’t see any men in drag, or any dykes on bikes for that matter, and there was certainly no pink martini handed to me as I stepped off the bus.
My panic continued to grow as we were shown into the B&B and the local KFC was pointed out.
Where was the can-canning welcoming committee? Is this not the most festive and well, pink, celebration of love?
Finally though, as I made my disillusioned way down Main Street, something caught my eye and a glimmer of hope spread through my body very mich like the heat of the cookie-cutters I’d be having later (cookiecutters: a lethal blend of absinthe and stroh rum in a shot glass).
Something pink on the horizon! In the light of the setting sun I wrinkled my brow and tried desperately to make it out. Could it be the nose of the first float coming down the street?
The breeze catching the edge of a drag queen’s dress? No. It was a scruffy pink feather pluming majestically from behind a car guard’s left ear.
It wasn’t much, but it was something. I’m glad to report that the weekend took off from there. Rhodes’ very own Jacob Phamodi was placed third in the Mr Mardi Gras event on the first evening, setting the tone for a great night out at Knysna’s spectacular Zanzibar, Girlz Planet and Tryst.
The next day was the highlight of the weekend with the parade down Main Street. OutRhodes, in their pink and silver truck, were naturals at cheering, smiling and posing for the crowd.
The pride was infectious, although I assumed I’d be hiding somewhere in the back holding a “what boyfriend?” picket in front of my face, I was right in there with the rest of them, fighting to get to the front to throw feathers at the crowd. Little Knysna gave us the warmest welcome imaginable.
Mothers dressed their toddlers in pink and car guards and bank managers alike came out to cheer us on, but most memorable of all was an elderly couple standing on the roadside, the woman dressed head to toe in pastel pink, leaning on her beaming husband’s arm waving a pink handkerchief at us.
The Mardi Gras reignited my faith in people’s ability for acceptance, tolerance and even celebration of other’s differences. It was a truly heart-warming experience, and not just because of the cookie-cutters.
