Springrise Mayan Style

Sunrise at the Temple of the Seven Dolls at Dzibilchaltún, Yucatán, México, March 21, 2009.


Yesterday, March 21st, was the day of the Spring Equinox. In Mayan culture, there are two famous phenomena taking place every spring and autumn at two ruin sites, Dzibilchaltún and Chichén Itzá. At Dzibilchaltún, the sun rises directly in the door opening of the Temple of the Seven Dolls. At Chichén, the shadow of the snake god Kukulcán descends the Great Pyramid at sunset.

Last March we went to Chichén Itzá to see Kukulcán, but after I saw what I think may have been 5,000 tour buses, and a queue for purchasing tickets a mile long, I looked at Pablo and said, "No f****** way!!" We had seen Kukulcán ascend the pyramid at Palenque on the day of the Winter Solstice and I figured I got the jist of it. "Let´s just go right to the Reggae Concert!" And so we did.

Last September we attempted to see the light at Dzibilchaltún. I was aware of the fact that you can see this phenomenon the day before, the day of, and the day after the 21st of these months. So when I read in Lonely Planet Guide that the best viewing date was Sept. 22nd, off we went in the middle of the night to see the spectacle. Unfortunately they only opened it to the public for viewing on the 21st. We were disappointed, to put it mildly, to know it was happening yet we couldn't see it. At that time I decided that we would wait six months and make sure to have all our facts straight and get there on the right day at the right time.

Friday night, the 20th we went out for dinner and I had a few tequilas. When we came home, I set the alarm for 4am to make sure we'd be up in time. In what seemed like twenty minutes, the alarm buzzed us awake. Pablo jumped up, started the car, did his bathroom stuff, and said, "Let's go!" Meanwhile, I was still tequila high and I did my bathroom stuff, fed the cats, made coffee, had to rescue Busmo who accidentally got himself locked up in the upstairs room all day and night, and filled the water bottles.

"Ok, I' ready." I hate to be rushed in the middle of the night. We were a little grumpy, and on the road, and Pablo looks at me and says, "¡Linda! Son las 3:15 de la mañana." In my slightly inebriated state I failed to notice that the clock was saying 4am when it was actually 3am. Oops! As it turned out it was a wise time to depart. When we arrived we were the 8th car in line to enter into the ruins where the parking and all the action is. There are police and security guards posted outside the main gate managing the influx of visitors in the middle of the night. We only waited half an hour and they opened up the gate. We found excellent parking spots and were one of the first people to enter the ruins.

Walking down the sacbé (raised causeway the Mayans used as walways within a city as well as to and from cities located as far as 100 kms away) in the dark of night I felt like I was in a time warp. I felt the Mayan spirits' presence more during the time we spent there that night, waiting, in the dark, than I felt exploring the ruins during the day time. Listening to the owls, watching the moon slowly drift over the star studded sky. Watching puffy clouds passing over, changing the giant sky scenery every few moments. It was inspiring.


There were over 2,500 sleepy people from all parts of the world wanting to see the sunrise, and apparently plenty of aliens arriving in bubbles preparing to land for the occasion.


Pablo maintains his cool while the woman behind him shoots us hate daggers. Just thought I would point out something we constantly deal with.

The temple at about 4:30 am from our first vantage point, about 100 meters from the temple. Note that you can only see the spirits or aliens in the night sky. (It certainly cannot be the photographer not knowing how to operate the camera.)


Here comes the sun. We are standing one football field back. The sun is rising in the doorway. From this angle you can also see the sun through the windows.

This temple is one of the best examples of the understanding of astronomy possessed by the early Maya. Dzibilchaltún has a structure unique in the Mayan world. The top platform of the temple has an unobstructed view of all points east to west. When the sun rises in the center of the portal twice a year we see how they incorporated this understanding into their architecture.

Once we saw the phenomenon from a 100 yards away, we moved up and stood in front of an unrestored platform with a clear view of the portal of the Temple of the 7 Dolls. We were about 20 ft. away. The sun rises a few minutes later from this angle, and the full effect of the sun in the middle of the portal envelops you (and blinds you). The doorway from this angle appears to be the size of a window. We are actually looking through four doorways, two of them inside the temple. Because of that, our viewpoint of the opening appeared much smaller than it did when we were looking at the temple from farther away. I like this shot because you can see the size of the opening, likely caused by my standing slightly right of center. The effect of the preciseness and the brilliance of the sun shining through is priceless.

Looking at the temple platform behind us, the light shining through the portal glows against the ruins. It was amazing to watch this large beam of light moving toward us. It gave me that feeling of being at the end of the rainbow.

The brilliant glow of the phenomenon. The experience was reminiscent of seeing a total eclipse of the sun. In our haste to leave the house we forgot our sunglasses...and we saw lots of green. There seemed to be a lot of people there that were similar to eclipsophiles, would they then be ruinaphiles? It was quite the international group of spectators.

That was it for this equinox. This is what the temple usually looks like.

I took video, and I think the direct sun in the middle of my subject was overwhelming for my digital camera. There is a horribly annoying vertical stripe in the center of the event, but you can see the sun rise in the door and you can hear lots of chatter from the spectators. My favorite is the vertically-challenged Italian woman behind me who harrassed all the tall people standing in front of her. "Take off your hat, Sir." "Please put the camera down, Ma'am." "We short people cannot see. Please step off that rock, Sir." And on it went. You can hear her whining. Then you hear me respond, "It's not gonna happen. It's just not gonna happen. Everyone's trying to see it," as people pushed me into the rocks and then into the little Italian lady.

I decided to post some more information about the temple's unique qualities on the http://mayalesserknownruins.blogspot.com/ site with some of the other photos we took. I want to fulfill a promise I made in September. If this subject interests you, check it out.

We Have A Winner!

Although I am diligently working on my book about Jim's Nightmare and my subsequent survival/rebirth, I take the time to write in my journal every day, I find ideas to post on the blogs, and I do plenty of research online as well. I entered MY ALOHA FOREVER in a short memoir writing contest, and I won! Grand Prize.

I have copied the link below as well as the article as it appears on http://www.shortmemoir.com/ . Coco, dubbing herself a lifetime diarist, has taught the art and craft of creative journal writing to individuals, organizations, and colleges by way of her creative journal writing workshops since 1999. She has been a contributing writer and columnist for various magazines and has authored several creative journaling guidebooks for her book and memoir projects. CoCo Harris is an alumnus of 2006 The Hurston/Wright Foundation Writer's Week. She received her Master of Fine Arts in Writing in Fiction from Spalding University in Louisville, Kentucky. Her works in progress include various nonfiction and fiction projects, including several memoir anthologies, a novel, and a collection of short stories.

I enjoy reading her website. There are many good excerpts of writers' memoirs and journals, beautiful poetry, interesting blog posts, and I can get lost in there for hours. I always find inspiration when browsing Coco's site. She inspires me to continue with my work and has read and published some of my stories. I invite you to check out her website. Meanwhile, the story below may look familiar to some of you, as I was so proud of this accomplishment I sent the story to many of my friends when I finally had a finished product I was happy with. Since winning the contest on Monday, I have received many comments and a lot of positive reinforcement. My self-confidence suffers sometimes, and these words of encouragement mean a lot to me.

Since this story is directly related to the book I am trying to complete, any commentary is appreciated as it helps me stay on the path and delete, edit, and delete....as we all know I tend to ramble. Wish me luck on this immense project, and I hope you like this tribute to Jim.

http://www.shortmemoir.com/pb/wp_b7c4114f/wp_b7c4114f.html


The Short Memoir Literary Contest Winners
My Aloha Forever
by
Lin Dorton

Aloha means hello and goodbye. It means, “love to you”. My husband inscribed “My Aloha Forever” inside my wedding ring. Although it is the most commonly heard Hawaiian word, it is always spoken from the heart. Everywhere in Hawaii, everyone you meet will smile and say “Aloha” to you.

This is a story about a man who lived aloha. My husband Jim was a sailor, an adventurer, a storyteller. He was stout, had rosy cheeks and a colorful vocabulary. When you were with him there was never a dull moment. He was always the life of the party. He was a wild man but the smile in his eyes told you he was a guy with whom you could be yourself. There was nothing pretentious about him.

We never had much money and we were never interested in material things. Nor did we lack for much, for in giving we received much in return. I couldn’t have asked for a more loving man in my life. We spent 21 wonderful years together. He was always there for me, and always there for a friend in need. He was a kind and generous man.

Standard daily men’s wear in Hawaii consists of colorfully printed short-sleeved aloha shirts, usually worn with shorts and Hawaiian “slippers”, or flip-flops. All the Hawaiian aloha shirt designs tell a story of some kind. Jim loved his extensive collection of aloha shirts. He had more aloha shirts than my entire wardrobe of work, play, warm and cold weather gear combined. It would have taken him a two-month stretch to wear all of his shirts. It was quite fitting that Jim cherished his aloha wear, he was a man full of love.

In 2004, Jim’s weight dropped from 220 lbs. to 135 lbs. Our worst nightmare was confirmed with the diagnosis of a rare incurable cancer and ensuing surgical removal of half his insides. Even in his weakest state his generosity never waned. When his friends visited him he would disappear into our bedroom briefly and return to the living room – big smile on his face - with one of his aloha shirts.

“Here, my friend, I’d like you to have this, I’ll never grow back into it,” he’d say.
Jim’s disease eventually consumed him and he passed away in February of 2006. After two years of caring for my life partner, my soul mate, I was devastated. Life wasn’t fair and I was angry. After trying to hold down my full time job and be his caregiver, I was so exhausted and sad; I was not sure whose adrenaline I was running on. I had kept a brave face for Jim. He was so strong.

As his life neared its end, he specifically asked me for an ash scattering on the catamaran FAIRWIND and a wild drinking bash in his honor afterwards. Many of our friends used to be Jim’s drinking buddies, but most of us had long since quit. Jim’s last requests would be granted however.

I was struggling to organize his services when it occurred to me to give all of his aloha shirts to those who attended. I thought it would be beautiful if everyone donned his clothes. I knew he’d be present at that party and I thought he’d enjoy it.

When our family and many friends flew in from the mainland, I told them how Jim had been gifting his shirts during to visitors and loyal local friends. I said if wasn’t too weird for them it would please me if each of them chose one of his shirts to keep. I added a stipulation: they would have to wear it to the celebration of his life. In one way I could creatively clear out the closet; but much more importantly, it seemed an excellent channel to continue to spread his love and keep his spirit alive.

The ash scattering had its sad moments. I was too choked up to say what I had planned. I had to delegate most of the program. It was awesome and though tears were shed, Captain Danny led some elegant prayers in Hawaiian to properly send Jim back to his beloved ocean. His friend Chip performed a beautiful reading of “I must go down to the sea again...,” it was perfect. I don’t know how that poem found me. I also located a Fijian chant that brought back memories of Jim’s and my greatest adventure: sailing from Hawaii to Samoa, Tonga and Fiji, and I added that to the ceremony.

I tossed some of his ashes into the sea, when an idea hit me. Why not invite everyone to throw ashes? It is not traditional in an ash scattering, it may even be inappropriate. I threw all caution to the wind. It was Captain Jim we were dealing with. He was neither traditional nor appropriate! We all threw loose flowers into the sea to guide his spirit, and that was protocol. But everyone joined in the throwing of the ashes as naturally as if they were flowers. You could see his spirit take shape and flow into the deep. It was at once beautiful, sad and enlightening. We blasted a CD of his favorite rock and roll tunes and poured a champagne toast to a smooth and happy sailing for Jim’s next adventure. From that moment you’d never have guessed it was a funeral. We dried up our tears and turned them into laughter. Even I was laughing. I had barely smiled in two years, but there I was having fun. Granted, it took some champagne to find that first smile, but soon enough my hysteria turned into hysterical laughter. Maybe I’d survive the ordeal after all.

At first I was shy about mentioning the shirt idea. People might think I was crazy. Upon second thought, I decided Jim had inspired me and if anyone thought it was morbid he wouldn’t have to participate. Au contraire. I folded and neatly arranged the shirts on the bed before I’d invited the guys in to choose. It was like Wal-Mart the day after Thanksgiving. Shirts were flying everywhere. Like any great sale, they ended up strewn about; the numbers dwindled quickly. Jim’s oldest and wildest childhood friends went straight for his absolute favorite shirts, though they hadn’t been to Hawaii in years, and likely hadn’t seen him wear any of them. Walter had four shirts on his pile but I didn’t have the heart to stop him. He was always Jim’s ‘brother’. I could see the appreciation in the “WOW!” on his face. He immediately put on Jim’s favored faded purple shirt and wore it every day he for a week.

The shirts went so fast I scurried into my bedroom to find his t-shirts and hats I was going to keep. When Jim worked for months at sea and visited ports without me, he always brought me unique artifacts and collectibles, so I would have great memories of him. I brought out the rest of his t-shirts, hats, and lava-lavas (Hawaiian men’s sarongs). They disappeared in minutes.
I could feel Jimbo smiling. I was amazed at his friends’ reactions when they chose their remembrances of him. I didn’t feel weird at all. In most cases, they were able to find items reminiscent of special times they had shared with him. Old Man Tom, at 84, flew in from California. He had remembered to bring the Pussers Rum cup Jim had given him 20 years earlier when Tom visited us in the British Virgin Islands. The old bugger had just recovered from a heart attack and a stroke, but he drank straight Pussers Rum in his new aloha shirt and fishing hat until 3am. What a trouper. He was the ideal example of Jim’s fine long-lasting friendships.

Several months later as I write this I recognize our friends in town by his shirts. Others email or call to say, “I’m wearing Jim’s shirt (hat, jacket, shorts, shoes, watch, foul-weather gear, etc.) today and I wanted to tell you I was thinking about you both.” I look at the photos from the celebration and see all those shirts. And I smile. I see people hugging, laughing, some of them crying. When I think about what we went through I still cry, mostly because I had to hold in the hurt while he was ill. But when I see everyone wearing all of his things it is like a great Jim Dorton masquerade party. I especially like the photos from late that night when we were all notably looped. They make me laugh. They are filled with much aloha.

I gave away all of his clothes except for his slippers. They still sit outside the front door, Hawaiian style. They belong there. Inevitably when one of my brothers or a friend visits they’ll forget to bring theirs. Jim can still lend them his as he always did.

I’m glad Jim inspired me to pass on his things that day. As long as the threads hold together his tales will be told. This is one small way I hope to keep his legacy alive; as his aloha spirit has traveled far. People had often said of Jim, “He’d give you the shirt off his back,” and he did, all of them. He gave us his aloha forever.

GrandPrize

Chasing The Dragon (Be An Informed Traveler)

In July 2004 Jim and I sailed into an Indonesian Underwater National Park on our friend’s 40 ft. trimaran, specifically the islands of Komodo and Rinca (below). We had been becalmed at sea for three days (above) and decided to give up on winning the sail race from Darwin, Australia to Bali. It was more of a regatta, meaning flexible rules, so we decided the boat with the biggest engine would win. That would not be us, as trimaran owners rarely have more than a small outboard motor. We decided to walk on some land instead.



No sooner did we find and secure our boat to a mooring when Larry, the owner, tossed the dinghy overboard and away we went toward shore. He was eager and excited to see komodo dragons. Where else but on Komodo Island? It is one of the only places these ancient creatures live in the wild.

When I travel, I research the places I am going so I can be a reasonably smart traveler, and not a stupid tourist. Starting out with the disadvantage of being American, I try even harder to not appear self-serving, egotistical, demanding, and ignorant of my surroundings. Unfortunately Americans have this reputation worldwide.

On this trip we were visiting Sydney and Darwin, Australia, and Bali, Indonesia. Therefore I specifically brought travel guides and information on these three destinations.

My books only mentioned the komodo dragons found at the Bali Bird and Reptile Park. I was clueless when we landed on a remote island. I had not seen the National Geographic Specials, nor read Entertainment news (where Sharon Stone’s husband was bitten by one in the LA Zoo), nothing. Although I was hesitant to go running up the mountain seeking them out, I was also interested and blindly game to see them.

We landed the dinghy and walked around a beach. We saw faint animal tracks in the sand, but indistinct and not recent. There were no people or boats in sight.

“Maybe they’re up on the mountainside. Let’s climb up this dried river bed,” Larry said while charging uphill like a madman in his flip flops and short shorts, never looking back. Where the river was blocked with giant boulders and downed trees, he headed into the dry jungle in swift giant strides.

“Jim, will you wait for me?” I asked. “I don’t know why Larry is zooming up that hill like a dragon in heat but I think he’s crazy. He alone is making such a ruckus that if there were any komodos around he’d have already scared them away. I think we should go back down to the dinghy and head over to that other beach. There aren’t any signs of life at all here,” I insisted.

“I think you’re right. Why don’t you wait for me here? I’ll try to chase Larry down and tell him the plan. If he wants to climb to the top alone, well, good on him!” Jim responded.

Larry was agreeable to the alternate plan. On the way to the tree lined beach, he said “I think you guys are right. If I were a self-respecting komodo dragon I’d pick the longer beach with the shade trees.”

We beached the dinghy and started walking in the sand. Soon we spotted komodo tracks; two distinct sets of them, in fact. Giant lizard prints coming from one direction, the others from the opposite direction. Where their tracks met there were also deer hoof impressions in the sand. From there the footprints could be followed to the back of the forest. We stopped in our tracks. They were here, and they were hunting. In a few minutes we heard strange and haunting screeches from deep inside the trees. You’ll have to use your imagination on what exactly happened back there, but it didn’t sound pleasant.

We kept on walking. It was a fantastic beach and we got caught up in that – it’s not often you see red coral or nautilus shells washed ashore.

“Hey Jim, look at this!” I yelled. There two huge holes dug into the sand. They were big enough to bury two caskets. “Do you think these are their nests?”

We gave each other one of those looks…the simultaneous flash of eye and brain contact when suddenly we realized how insane we were. Trying to track down komodo dragons? WTF?

Larry was an impatient sort, and he was disappointed, so he’d already lost interest in the hunt. He was ready to head back to the boat. Only after we’d finished our crazy excursion did he break out some books he had onboard of OTHER Indonesian islands, such as Komodo and Rinca.

I learned about the size of these prehistoric monsters. They can be from 6-9 feet long. They can run 15 miles per hour and also swim. With one flick of their tail they can flatten you. Then with one flick of their forked tongue they can inflict a bacteria into you that causes sepsis, and they start eating you alive as you slowly die of their injected toxins.

The moral of the story is because of half-assed travel research we endangered our lives running around chasing aggressive and toxic creatures we didn’t know enough about. This behavior calls to my attention that the majority of tourists do not travel wisely.

My opinion is that to travel in today’s world you owe it to yourself, your travel companions, and especially to the people who live in your vacation or adventure destination to learn some information about where you are headed….before you get there.

People see TV ads or travel brochures and get a wild hair to seek out new places. It is imperative to read up on what there is to discover, enjoy, and avoid. Strange places and people have different customs, languages, currencies, food, acceptable dress and behavior. It is important that we know about these things and give due respect to the people and their environment when we are outside our own comfort zones.

Real de Salinas, Hacienda Salinera

Heading toward the hacienda ruins.

Pablo found the sign and he set it up on the chapel wall next to the doorway.

If you have taken a boat excursion into the Ría Celestún Biosphere, you have most likely seen the ruins of this old hacienda from a distance in one of the inlets. From March through August (approximately) the flamingos are in residence and the guides point out the old salt mine. On our last boat trip into the reserve, our guide showed us the cairn, or pile of stones, in the inlet, marking the "ojo de agua dulce" or freshwater spring that once supplied the hacienda with all of its fresh water.

Some of the old buildings surrounded by a rock wall.

I have written about Celestún in previous posts, specifically "Pink Flamingos" in May '08 and "Celestún" in November '08. I have been to the area several times now and have begun to take side trip adventures. My last post featured the salt beach on the way to this hacienda.

The salt and dyewood processing plant was built around 1918, and was at maximum production in 1927. Due to several seasons of excessive rain and flooding, the operation was shut down in 1942. Today it is in ruins. The buildings have decayed in a scenic way however, with seashells in the walls mixed with the building materials. There are pieces of French roofing tiles that served as ballast in ships that sailed to the Yucatán from Europe. The plant employed many workers, as evidenced by the remains of house platforms, a roofless chapel complete with pasta tiles, and other unidentified (by me, that is!) buildings on the site.

To visit to the Real de Salinas Hacienda Salinera, one option is to bicycle from Celestún, and another is to drive in your vehicle. It is located about 5 kms. inland from the mouth of the estuary. Coming from Celestún heading east, take the third avenue to the right (heading south). It is a dirt and gravel road but easily negotiable and takes you out to the peninsula between the estuary and its western arm. If you have trouble finding it, you can also ask for directions to Punta Lastre, or Ballast Point.

A view of the Lagoon from Punta Lastre, the end of the road.

Snow in the Yucatán?

Of course not! The coldest night of the year was in the mid-40’s Fahrenheit, so even if there were a freak snow fall, it wouldn’t stick. You are looking at me holding a handful of salt.

Pablo and I drove to Celestún this week for seafood and a relaxing day looking out at the soothing emerald green of the Gulf of México. After a satisfying lunch and a few shots of tequila (only to beat the chill in the air, honest!), we went looking for adventure.

There is an old salt mine called the Real de Salinas, Hacienda Salinera within the Celestún Biosphere. We had seen it by boat from a distance while on flamingo watching trips. This time we set out to find it in the car. From the pueblo we drove down a dirt road passing extensive salt flats. We have seen the salt flats in many parts of the northwestern Yucatán and they are as exciting as their name indicates: expansive flat areas of dried cracked mud with layers of salt visible from the road.

But this time we rounded a curve and found the most incredible sight! I thought my eyes were playing tricks with me. It was an area of shallow clear water where the red mangrove has painted the sea bottom red, thus giving it the appearance of red water. The beach looked like sea foam. We walked down to the beach thinking it was salt, and I said to Pablo, “Oh, it is just some kind of spume or foam,” disappointed.

But he said “No, this is definitely salt.” I reached down and sure enough, it was pure white salt. Looking down the beach reminded me of walking along Lake Erie in the winter with a fresh layer of snow and its drifts. At this beach however the drifts were piles of harvested sea salt. Even though on a much smaller scale, the locals still gather and process salt from the area’s many salt pans. The ancient Maya called salt “white gold” and have appreciated the importance of this element for more than 2100 years.

Looking out into the lagoon we could tell there were areas of deeper water, which shone aqua blue in the sunlight. The contrast of the white salt beach, the illusional dark red color of the water, and the bright blue deeper water in the lagoon was stark, and a hidden beauty I’d never imagined.

Carnaval: Mardi Gras

Princess Mardi Gras right here!

I know, I know, enough Carnaval already! But in my own defense, this was a cultural study that I undertook. What I learned was that the best parades to attend are the first one (Friday) and the Regional night (Monday). There are plenty of people around but they give you a little room to breathe. Saturday, Sunday and Tuesday's parades are much more crowded and the atmosphere (for me) is not as festive. There are too many people and they get really fucked up, making others grumpy and pissing off security. On Tuesday a drunken guy dressed in drag fell off the curb and on to Pablo.



We were able to get seats, but the box seats for the big finale were sold out by January. Or last year, depending on who you talk to. We sat in the street at the intersection of Calles 60 and 53.



This is a watermelon vendor going through a ritual health inspection. Ok, so we ate watermelon on Sunday, not Tuesday, but see how inviting it is? I finally got a good photo.



I learned why I write these blogs. It is all for me! I knew the blog coverage was getting excessive but I had a great time with it. Plus I was determined to follow it through. Even if I bored the shit out of some readers my ultimate hope is that you found something in all this that made you smile.


I was amazed to read in the Diário del Yucatán that 700,000 people attended Tuesday's parade. There are one million people living in Mérida and its immediate surroundings, so let's say 100,000 were working, e.g., emergency personnel. That would leave 200,000 people. I am convinced most of them were participating IN the parade!



We left the house at 8:30am to try to procure seats. We hadn't been able to arrange seating in advance, so early arrival was our only hope. We opted for the Santa Lucia Park area again and luckily for us they were still selling single seats at closed intersections....with chairs, without shade. It was hot, sunny, and really hot and sunny.



This is how I got some shade, not to mention almost having my eye poked!


For breakfast at around 10am we bought some kibis and piedras from street vendors. Kibis are Lebanese deep fried bullets made of crushed garbanzo beans. (There is a huge Lebanese population in Mérida.) The kibis remind me a little of hush puppies. The inside is hollow and the vendor fills them with "repollo", chopped cabbage and habanero chiles. Kibis are a bit dry for my taste.


We also tried piedras, or "rocks". They are little balls of masa (the corn dough you make tortillas with) stuffed and deep fried. Some had hamburger and seasonings in them, others had black beans and chicken. These also come with repollo. Those went very well with the beers I had for breakfast when the concessions opened at 11am.








With beer in hand, I bought some fresh roasted peanuts around noon. I swear they were the freshest, crispiest, tastiest peanuts I have ever tasted. They made the warm 2nd beer go down much more smoothly. The parade began at noon on Paseo de Montejo and reached us by 1:20pm. It was over in an hour and a half. The parade finished at San Juan Park around 3:30pm.


The participants were noticeably tired when they reached us, not only from the heat of the day, but from days and days of marching miles and miles. I was tired of watching parades so many days in a row, so I can only imagine how the marchers were. Some of those costumes were heavy and they all looked hot.......except for the scantily clad ladies of course, who didn't have to walk anywhere, as they just stood on the floats tossing loot and looking good. (Or not.)









The ACTUAL last event, the burning of Juan Carnaval until next year, we skipped. That took place on Ash Wednesday, the first day of Lent. All of a sudden I was over Carnaval and ready to go to the beach and eat fish!

Mardi Gras Loot: Days 4 & 5

Monday night we scored, most likely because we had our own box of seats and were more noticeable. There was more drumming on Monday than on "batachá" day, or so it seemed, and Pablo drew added attention as he played his tambor along with each musical group that passed us.

A little Mayan boy handed me this sweet roll, freshly baked and out out of the basket he was carrying; all spiffed up in his white hat, shirt and pants. I gave it to the kids in the seats next to us because it wouldn't really go with my beer.



Later we caught a tshirt, 2 hats, a frisbee, lots of bead necklaces, candies, cookies, crackers, pencils, pens, a scarf, and a lighter.



Last year we caught a green scarf with the year's logo from Corona Beer and I now have a good starter collection of Carnaval memorabilia.



The cats particularly liked the necklaces that lit up. I really like this black hat. It has the Corona logo on one side.



I forgot to mention the glow stick glasses: they looked pretty bizarre outside at night. And if you notice this shirt was also donated by the handicapped. I like it. I took a photo of this character in the parade. But I won't search for it and post it here, I promise.


Tuesday we grabbed a few good items, but there were more people in attendance. Plus the guy in front of me, probably pissed that he got wet when a clown dowsed me (and him) with water, caught all the stuff that was thrown my way. As you can see I did get the Coke cup that he used to cool me off! Pablo found me a better crown for the final day, which will be good to start next year off right.....tons of beads and a tiara.



Tuesday's event is also called the Parade of the Flowers and they hand out fresh carnations. I was handed or thrown at least six, but only three made it home in tact. It was wild on Tuesday.