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The Love Parade proceeds down the Strasse den 17. Juni (named for an uprising in East Berlin in 1953) through the Tiergarten, gravitating around the Siegessaeule, or Victory Column, which commemorates a score of Prussian triumphs in war. We catch up with things at the Love Parade's eastern endpoint, the Brandenburg Gate. Love Guards stand by, genially confiscating glass.
The crowd is sparse as we enter the fold. A blow-up banana (McFit's mascot) bobs above us. Love Guards loiter behind a few of the logo-plastered floats. Each of the moving contraptions lugs fifty or so ravers, a DJ, and a booming sound system -- OONTZ OONTZ OONTZ OONTZ.
The crowd is equal parts exhibitionists, gawkers, partiers, and tourists. The parade started an hour before we arrived, and there's already broken glass everywhere. We see a few drunk kids gleefully smashing bottles and head for the Siegessaeule.
Things pick up as we go along, ahead of the lumbering floats. More people are dancing. The costumes are getting more and more lewd. One girl with naked, painted breasts poses for a gaggle of dudes with cameras. One of them is me.
Clusters form around drink tents, which are doing a good trade in water, beer, and Red Bull. We come upon the pink-fur gang from Heidelberg. One of them is curled up against a lamp post -- it's about 4:30 pm. I show one of the waking ones the picture I took of his group at the train station the night before. He smiles, gives me a thumbs up, then steps back to pose with some Japanese tourists. I snap off a shot of the girl on the ground, who looks awful. A little toadie with a shaved head gets in my face about it.
On we go. People are following individual floats now. A group synchs up with one float, nodding with the beat, and then another float plods by on the opposite direction. The beats mix -- OONTZ OONTZ OOoonztNTZ oontz ooOONTZntz OOooNnTtZz oontz OONTZ oontz oontz -- and for a second they're lost.
We meander through a thickening mob as we near the Siegessaeule. When we reach it there are not nearly as many people there as I was expecting. I spot a naked back, pierced down the spine with a bar for every vertrebra. I fling up my camera, but before I can take the shot the back turns into... breasts...
I prepare to get slapped. The owner smiles, and gives a jiggle. Of course, I'm after her back (how '90s is body piercing?). I twirl my finger in the air. She frowns, shrugs, turns around, wraps herself around another girl and mugs.
Clouds gather above the Siegessaeule. An ambulance nudges through the crowd. A Love Guard indiscriminately pushes condoms. A meathead checks his text messages.
I wonder aloud, is this it?
We wander off through the Tiergarten to regroup. People lean, passed out, against trees. A grungy pack huddle on a park bench, hunched over a few lines of coke. Are we missing something, we ask each other? Is this what the Love Parade is all about? We don't know, we've never been. So we ask around. Have you been to the Love Parade before? How's this year compare?
"It's shit," says a guy wearing a Love Parade 1999 T-shirt. A woman just shakes her head and keeps dancing. The next guy is more charitable. He's Latvian. He replies in halting English, "It's OK. But it's hard to say... I was here before, in 2000, and it was like…" and he lofts up an arm to indicate ecstasy.
We move on. I ask a pale ferret of a kid, who is tugging frantically at his green hair. He's from Spain. He leans in, strangely close. He nuzzles my ear. His nasal septum is pierced with a corkscrew shard of pale green plastic. "It's not like before," he tells me, and rushes off back to his crisis. An Ikea-looking couple crouch quivering nearby, trying to get their shit together.
Later, we make for the hotel, cutting a crooked path through the Tiergarten. We see a couple writhing in the grass, having sex with their pants on. The music fades... OONTZ... OONtz... OOntz... Oontz... oontz... .
Back at home, I scan the news for an attendance count. Reuters reports it was 500,000. The Love Parade's website says 1.2 million, and promises the Love Parade will be back next year. It probably will be, but I probably won't. It seems the events glory days are over and I never even knew them. So it goes.
— 28 July 2006
