The night before Easter

Imagine this:  a hefty wire sphere say ten feet in diameter hangs from a thick, sturdy huanacaxtle tree. In the middle is a paper mache personage, no one in particular, just the familiar shape of a human torso.  Attached around the sphere are four wheels of wire each about three-foot in diameter. Strung along each wire are decorations that look like small light bulbs and glo-lite sparklers.  The entire sphere is fully loaded. 

This tree is in the zocalo or central square of La Cruz de Huanacaxtle.  The zocalo is jam packed with generations of families, the kids high on sugar treats readily available from an impenetrable ring of stalls surrounding the park.  Competing music blares and lights flash from carnival rides, the throw-something-at-something-for-a-prize booths, clothing vendors and food vendors.  It’s sensory overload.   

It’s hot and the Saturday night before Easter Sunday.  We’re sitting on a low concrete wall in the park eating popcorn.  We just happen to be sitting next to and below this sphere, unaware of its crucial role in this Easter celebration. Suddenly, everyone turns down their music and a man takes the stage with a microphone.  We don’t understand a word that he’s saying; we haven’t reached that chapter in our Spanish language studies.    A man walks out of the crowd to us, points up at the sphere, wags his finger back and forth and motions for us to move.  He does this with a  pleasant smile so we follow him to the other side of the street.  By the time I turn around, a guy has taken hold of what looks like a long extension cord dangling from this sphere.  I thought he was going to light it up, plug it in like the symbolic lighting of a Christmas tree in the mall.  Well, he takes out a pocket lighter and holds the flame to what is actually a very long fuse.  The flame travels to the first wheel and starts an amazing chain reaction.  As the wheel spins faster and faster smoke billows, rockets whistle and shoot into the crowd, sparklers hiss and drip and fly out of control.  The flame travels along the fuse to each wheel like dominoes on steroids, catapulting the ammunition into the chaos.  And just when the entire sphere is sizzling and whistling and popping and smoking, and you just know that the tree is going to go up in flames, the central paper mache personage explodes into pieces that fall limp in flames. It’s the coup de grace.  The crowd claps and whistles erupting in a rousing display of satisfaction.   

As we walk away trying to process this celebration there’s more commotion.  Kids begin screaming and scattering.  Suddenly, a guy holding a six-foot long wire bull is running through the crowd.  The bull is fully loaded and ablaze just like the sphere.  Rockets are firing, sparklers dripping, smoke billowing.  The bull chases the kids and the kids chase the bull until the ammunition sputters and fades leaving the frame dark and silent.  The crowd returns to eating, chatting, and playing. The music is turned up, the carnival resumes.   

OMG!  Every culture has its celebrations and I’m sure that this one has some meaning for which I am still searching.      

Cruising in the fast lane

The seas were the smoothest we’ve experienced in Mexico, like skating on a sheet of ice, as we motor-sailed north to Puerto Vallarta. We left Barra at 10:00 a.m. on Tuesday.  The light westerly winds that changed to southerly in the early evening joined with southerly seas and pushed us northward at a steady 6-7 knots, a mighty speed for us, which at the end of our trip left me feeling like I had travelled in the fast lane all day. 

Cabo Corrientes means “Cape of Currents”.  It is notorious for feisty, nasty winds and ugly, confused seas as north meets south at this point of land that juts out into the ocean.  Well, the point was smooth as silk as we glided around at 1:00 a.m. and we thanked our lucky stars for such fabulous conditions. You see, we left Barra in a huff, frustrated that we had waited ten days for injectors sent from our mechanic’s supplier that turned out to be the wrong ones.  Now, staying at this luxurious resort wasn’t a problem, but we did think that the new injectors would be the icing on the cake and would make the marina bill all worthwhile.  The ending was not exactly what we envisioned and we released our dock lines thinking that we would be better off making repairs in PV where we could also have our ripped sails repaired.  Leaving Barra in our wake, we knew that we would be cruising on two bad injectors but no problemo.  One has to adapt to challenges and so we headed out into the coastal ocean.  When additional engine issues reared their ugly heads early in the cruise, Ken began to baby the engine, checking it every hour, pouring in a little oil now and then, cutting off a piece of the fuel line to rid it of pinholes that were spewing fuel here there and everywhere (after the mechanic worked on it), and tightening loose bolts.  We crossed our fingers that the engine would get us the 188 miles to Puerto Vallarta.   

We dropped anchor in La Cruz in Wednesday’s early morning darkness.  Shutting off the engine was pure bliss.  We had traveled with the engine compartment open to vent the over-heated space and after listening to every nuance and ping for 18 hours, the silence was deafening. 

Now we spend quality time pouring over parts catalogues and researching Yanmar engine repair on the web as we create a plan to fix this puppy. Whew.