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ST. LUCIA,
CARIBBEAN
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Carnival time in St. Lucia
July 19
It's my birthday!!
Since the buzz was that there was the
Carnival Parade happening in the nearby town of Castries, we
made arrangements to take in the festivities.
We squeezed into the local bus, the usual Caribbean mini van
that travels the highways picking up people at random for
about $1 per ride. Along the road, people were getting into the swing of
carnival. Where did they get those glasses? That's my size
for happy hour, never have to jump up and down to refill!
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We got off the bus at the traffic circle
outside of town where the parade was forming for the start.
Costumes being assembled, drinks being poured, already the
music blaring from huge speakers on the semi trucks.
Things were scheduled to be underway by 10 am but in true
Caribbean style, it was already 11 am and things still
looked relatively disorganized. So we walked along the road
toward town in search of a good vantage point to watch the
parade under some kind of shelter from the sun and rain.
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Finally after a lengthily wait, we could hear the chest
vibrating thumping of the music coming down the street right
about the time the skies opened up. A torrential tropical
downpour forced spectators to run for cover but the marchers
in the parade had to put up with the driving rain.
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The band members in the parade got soaked,
feathers flattened and limp, body makeup streaking down
their faces.
But their spirits remained high as they danced (liming)
through the streets. Bali dancers with their temple-like
headgear; Africans bands that look more like native
|American Indians.
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Finally the rain subsided and the party
in the streets started to reach a frenzied crescendo.
Blazing activity of vibrant color and imaginative costumes.
The numbers of participants weren't as great as the parade
in Trinidad, nor were there the floats and steel bands, but
the level of energy was certainly equivalent. |
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The Carnival players were all shapes,
sizes (a lot of really big mammas) and ages. There were even
a surprising number of white folks dressed up and
participating in the Mas. More often than not though, they
just didn't have the inherent beat and raunchy hip action of
the locals. Gord put it this way. White people express their
beat through their shoulders. The blacks find their rhythm
in their pelvic parts! (and aren't afraid to display it.
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As the day went on and the reverberating trucks leading the
lively bands supplied the marchers with beverages, the scene
got more and more exhilarating.
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The spectators were as entertaining as
the parade. I loved the intriguing art gallery, a prime
vantage point perched high above the street.
I am always drawn to the amazing hair on the Rastas. They
stomped and limed to the beat of the tunes along the road.
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