A story about waiting

I plot out a driving course through the middle of Grande-Terre, towards the hyper-touristy centre of Sainte-Anne. Today is Sunday, and for the next 5 weeks, there are parades every Sunday leading up to Carnaval, held on Mardi Gras, February 14th this year. In the past, we have either happened up, or attended, smaller parades, or downright practoce sessions, but today is different. Today is a practice for the real deal, the big parade in Pointe-à-Pitre, with official judges and full-length parade route, the many groupes presenting in full costumes and everything. Needless to say, I am pretty convince it is going to be a big production, and a big draw, so I plan ahead, finding a site to park just outside the parade route, with a plan to walk the 15 minutes into town for the parade start at 3 pm.

12 pm - We arrive early enough to avoid any road closures, but the streets are already beginning to close around the main parade route. The jury box is set up, a stage and big lighting is installed, and the gates are plastered with Vaval posters, one of the event's main sponsors. Mario and I walk around the centre of town, getting our first real look at Sainte-Anne. We spot locals set up on the sides of the main road, and on the sidewalks, in camping chairs, with with coolers and beach umbrellas. These people are prepared to wait for a while! We continue on.

1 pm - We walk up and down the main road, which also happens to be the highway through town. In the plaza in front of the church and city hall, food trucks have set up to cater to the crowds coming in for the parade. We decide to get something for lunch, even though most are just starting to prep for opening. *This should have been a sign.* I pick out a crepe stand, where the chef is making manioc flour crepes. They are very tasty with savory fillings, like ham and cheese. The chef remarks how we are his first clients, and as such, merit a free dessert. He suggests his salted caramel. Sadly, it is too sweet, not at all salty, and doesn't work with the manioc crepe at all. Oh well. 

We make the mistake of thinking that Sainte-Anne Beach is as beautiful as the guidebooks make it out to be. Turns out, it's a trick of photography. It's small, and oh-so-crowded with beached white whales, slowly poaching in the sun. (This has become our affectionate name for tourists in this town.) Every inch of space is filled on the beach. especially where shade is involved - people are so close together, I can't imagine having any privacy, in conversation or otherwise. Disturbed by the sight, and just plain hot, we head back to the highway, where now there are no more cars passing, but there are families, eating and laughing, so we find a wall to sit up against, in the shade. We unpack our crepes and a bottle of Vaval grapefruit soda we bought at the market, and settle right in, feeling more at home here on the sidewalk than anywhere near that beach. We eat, and we wait. 

3 pm - Start time. The crowds are getting bigger and now the tourists are beginning to join the crowd. They spread out 3 wide, and at the same time, comment on the fact that the locals are reserving spots with folding chairs, while still sitting across the street in the shade. Except the locals have been waiting for 3 hours now, and rightful deserve the place? Regardless, there's lots of complaining. We are now sitting under the thin shade of a palm tree in the grass and wait.

3:07 pm - Past the officially posted start time, I notice some of the costumed and masked parade participants are still walking around aimlessly in the street. I begin to wonder if the start time is like that in Marie-Galante - merely a suggestion. Still we wait.

3:15 pm - The police are now on site, ticketing any vehicles left on the street, as this is officially a no parking zone due to the parade. There are still performers milling around, heading in and out of the grocery store across the street for cold drinks. Still we wait.

3:47 pm - We can heard drums in the distance but still see nothing but more people milling around the streets. Mario buys a snowball ans we take turns pouring some of our Vaval drink over the ice. now one of the carnaval groups, dressed in green and yellow, seems to be sitting at the Lolo(food truck) across the street, eating sandwiches. I am start to lose hope that this parade will start at three...

And yet, here we wait.

4:02 -  Whip vendors go buy, selling tiny rope whips and whistles to families with with small children, who then begin to whip the pavement with excitement.

"Un beau p'tit fouet pour les enfants! Ti'fouet pouw ti'moun!" He announces. We get a kick out of the fact that every one of them insists on cracking their whip in front of a line of particularly unimpressed old ladies - seasonals - who have set up on the sidewalk opposite us. 

CRACK!   

And then the ladies look even more unimpressed, and the vendors look so smug. It passes the time, but still we wait.

4:36 - People are filling in the empty spots now, and the crowd seems to be getting more antsy. There are *still* parade participants making their way down the road, so I am not sure what's going on anymore. We can still hear drums in the distance, and we've not set up here all afternoon to give up now, so we continue to wait.

5:35 pm - We *finally* see the banner announcing the Guadeloupe Carnaval Federation in the distance, and hear the drums getting closer, and the people all gather on our side of the street and push in front of the parade to get the best shots at the dancers and kids in costumes. Finally, all that waiting was worth it, and the parade has begun to file past us.

Women in tall feather headdresses and heels dance by, almost on tippy-toes as they pass, smiles lighting up their faces. Behind the banner holders, the youngest of the parade participants line up, in their own cute costumes, usually dancing completely off beat, sometimes distracted and wandering off. Some groups have a big line of young men trailing long rope whips behind them, looks of machismo on their faces. They take a moment, then swing the rope in a large circle over their heads, almost indicating their danger radius to the onlookers, then pull back and crack the whip on the ground, dust flying up into the air at touchdown. Some people jump, others plug their ears. We are amazed by their aim and talent at making the rope crack so loud. A group of young onlookers are egging them on across the street, so we get to see the performers attempt to hit closer and closer to the  group with their whips, eliciting reactions of cheers and laughter.

Several groups sport the title "Mass" in their names, and these groups usually have a giant hoard of monkey mask-wearing teens in matching costumes, dancing and jumping and taunting the crowd, excitement swelling with the beat of the music until the entire group is jumping and chanting and waving their arms, blowing referee whistles in time with the beat. It's intense, especially when you are standing right on the side of the road with nothing between you and the mass of monkeys - you almost feel like you might get swept away with them!

Each group has a band - snare drums, plastic barrels, tamtams, horns, conch shells, calabasse shakers and many others - that keeps time and rhythm for the marchers, as well as providing the exciting soundtrack to the entire night's festivities. And the music is infectious, it really gets people moving, which is good when you have been sitting on a sidewalk waiting for 5 hours in a row!

One thing I find particularly interesting is the inclusion of a support cart at the end of each group: We happen to be close to the judging area, so groups have to pause while each gets a chance to perform their routine for the judges. This means there is a sort of bottle neck in front of us, and groups stop dancing and marching for a moment before moving on to the judges' area. Here's where we see the support cart in action - several people open up coolers containing cold water, and begin making their way through the ranks of their group, filling glasses that the dancers have hidden in pockets, or tied to belts, or even tucked into their cleavage. They also have tape and scissors to repair whips, or re-attach falling pieces of costumes. Small groups work out of a shopping cart, bigger groups have an entire truck or van, and often are carrying a spare drum or two, and I saw one with a box of high heels! The parade route is long, so I can imagine all sorts of things going wrong when you have a group of 50 to 100 people performing all at once!

One of the best moments was watching the home team pass through, Team AtaFaya, from Sainte-Anne. The cheers from the crowd are louder, and people are singing along with the mass of monkeys that march by. Contrary to every other group, this one is followed by two people hold a rope, which is then followed by 20 or so locals, dancing and singing along. As they walk, the group at the back gets larger and more rowdy. It reminds me of the Second Line parade we attended in New Orleans last year. After the dancers and musicians passed, you could join the procession and march along with the parade, as long as you were behind the rope, a section which is called "the second line". Here too, the people of Sainte-Anne, perhaps alumni of the groups who knew the chants and songs, were joining in the fun by joining the second line. At least, that's what it felt like to me.

Most of the crowds began dispersing after AtaFaya walked through, even though one lonely little group was still marching its way to the judging area. We took this as a chance to start making out way out of the city, lest we find ourself waiting again, this time in traffic to get home. 

All in all, the Masanblaj parade in Sainte-Anne was good fun, exciting to experience, and I was glad that we waited all that time to see it. Would I do it again? For sure, but I would remember that things in Guadeloupe rarely start on time, and maybe not show up EARLY, but ON TIME next time. And maybe bring a book!