Batabano

One thing about here is that there is never a shortage of activities and things to do. This weekend was the Batabano carnival. I just love that word! Batabano.... it just rolls off your tongue. The actual word is a Caymanian word for turtle tracks in the sand, and has become the name of the carnival, since turtle tracks in the sand are apparently something to rejoice about (I am getting the impression that you can celebrate just about anything here as long as beer, rum punch and bathing suits are involved). I had been anticipating the carnival for weeks, hoping it would be a mini version of Brazil's famous Carnival. It certainly did not disappoint... but had little in common with the real Carnival. We went down to see the parade on Saturday and arrived slightly late- we're adapting to this new "time doesn't matter" thing nicely! Of course the parade was also running a little behind, so we were able to run along side it for awhile until we reached our friends. The main road was a jumble of crazy colourful costumes and feathers, masks, hastily thrown together floats, steel pan bands and headpieces. Groups of scantily clad adults danced along the road, throwing glitter, candy and entire cans of pop out to onlookers. Free bandanas and rum were also being passed around! Every third float was a refreshment stand for the partyers, and refresh it must have, since I assume most dancers were pretty drunk. Last month a Junior parade was thrown, and now I can see why. Not a child was visible, and that was for the best. The dancers wore bras and shorts so small that most boys had whiplash by the end of the parade. Morals were not high on the list of qualifications necessary to be a Batabano dancer, as most were bumping and grinding each other, and girls were being sandwiched in between half naked sweaty men. So sexy was the atmosphere that there has been talk in this overly conservative country about shutting the carnival down next year. Lucky for Blake, he managed to snag a free rum and coke (which was actually just rum and a splash of what might have been cola) but I was left to watch the parade dead sober. In hindsight at least I will remember it, but sobriety did little to actually help me understand it. A woman wearing a foot long felt conch shell on her head traipsed by, followed by a man wearing what can only be described as a 10 foot wide spider web on wheels. Then came a green and blue feathered costume so bright it looked like a tropical bird, and finally a man wrapped head to toe in white bedsheets and sunglasses carrying a crutch. There appeared to be no order to any of the costumes and had it not been for the steel pan drums and pumping reggae music the parade would've had the air of a Halloween dance. After the parade had passed Blake and I followed it into town for the street party. We found we were a definite minority, but the atmosphere was undoubtedly caribbean with jerk chicken stands in the main street and little children running around their parents. We caught some of the awards ceremony which was also slightly odd. In line with the educational policies on inclusion in Canada, everyone seemed to get an award. The best dancer, sexiest costume, loudest bands... you name it, they got a trophy! All in all it was an eye opener, but it was neat to see such a spectacle. I know Stephen Mandel would die before he let a sultry parade like this one march down Jasper Avenue, but hey, everyone can use a little oomph in their lives... and I think Blake thoroughly enjoyed himself but will take a while to get over that whiplash!