Is That All There is to a Parade?

Well, it is another beautiful morning in Boquete, Panama.  My little friend, Betty just jumped down from her chair and waddled outside to investigate a dog barking somewhere in the neighborhood.  I’m just finishing my coffee, and realizing that my oatmeal isn’t going to last me long.  I should go check on the laundry.  Maybe in a few more minutes.

The drumming has stopped, leaving just the drip of rainwater falling from the gutter onto the metal stairs that lead to the lower yard.  You see, for the past few weeks, every morning (and some evenings) the local drum corps (I think it’s

the high school) has been practicing near the town square.  The patterns, which repeat over and over, are dominated by snare drums.  The rat-a-tat-tat being augmented by the boom-boom of big bass drums now and again.

This has been happening every day since I arrived.  Being up on the side of the mountains that surround the little town,

the sound is amplified and carried upwards on the thermals to my massive, Irish ears.  I wanted to go down there and offer to buy the school a bunch of flutes, or triangles, or dry erasers to play, but I don’t know how to say, 

       “Do you know any other tunes besides Wipeout?” in Spanish.  Also, I'm broke.

Then just yesterday, I found out what all the drumming is about.  It seems that November 3^rd is Panama’s Independence Day.  The day they became a sovereign nation from Columbia.  It is a pretty big deal and kicks of the Celebration Month.  It is VERY important that the parades go off without a hitch, and the drumming, I’m told, is the key to keeping things moving.  I suppose that is important considering the parade which takes place on the 28^th of November is 16 hours long, and includes marching bands from all over Panama. 

No, I’m not kidding.  I was told that there is a constant flow

of buses in and out of Boquete on the 28th.  A bus arrives, a band unloads, takes its place in line, Oomp-pahs its way through the town, gets back on the bus and leaves, making way for the next bus.  All of the surrounding tribes come in and are all gussied up to march as well.  I have a feeling they don’t Oomp-pah, but I guess it’s a sight to see.

With Boquete only being about a half a mile long and only having two real streets it will be interesting to see how they are going to pull this off.  They have a horse Parade, a torch parade, even the President of Panama shows up sometimes.  There are plenty of speeches and lots of rum!

I guess now I realize why the drum practice was so important.  If one lowly drummer were to drop a drumstick and the tuba player behind him were to slip on it, the whole shit-a-roo would end in certain tragedy.  There would be nothing but a giant wad of brightly colored marchers among tons of

trombones, xylophones, clarinets, French horns, saxophones, flutes, horses, funny looking hats, and batons, all wiggling and writhing trying to keep moving to the beat of the drums.

Let’s just hope someone remembers to tell the torch people that there is trouble up ahead.  One year they scheduled a group of whistlers to march in the Parade.  Apparently a group of expats from the surrounding area thought it would be a hoot to march down the street whistling The Star Spangled Banner.  They called themselves “The Whistling Dixies” and were a late entry.  Because of this (and because no group is ever tuned down) The Whistling Dixies had to wait until the evening before organizers could fit them in to the parade.  With nothing to do but sit around and wait, all 60 of the whistlers began to partake of the free flowing rum and Seco (the official Panamanian alcohol).

Finally, as night began to fall, the organizers of the parade fit the drunken whistlers in the line-up.  Unfortunately TWD (as their groupies called them) were to follow immediately behind the torch dancers.  As the torches lit up the night, the whistlers broke in to a rousing rendition of The Star Spangled Banner. 

Sadly, the sudden gust of alcohol infused breath from the whistlers was ignited by the spinning torches, and the once proud torch dancers were singed completely hairless, toe knuckle to top-notch, by the human blow-torch behind them.  I’m told the blue smoke hung in the air for hours.

Of course, I made that up.  The smoke only lasted a few minutes.  But, had the whistlers been marching to the beat of a drummer the whole nasty incident could have been avoided. 

My point is this;

Crap! I’ve got to go move the laundry.  I’ll let you know how the Parade Season goes.

                                  DP