I Was In The Parade!
On the surface, Panama might not look like there’s a lot going on in the countryside and smaller communities like where I currently live in Coronado, a beach town about 90 minutes west of Panama City.
I can see why people might say there’s not much to do other than beach, hike, eat, golf, sleep. But there are community markets, dancing and paddle board lessons, good live music and many cultural events that you just have to do a bit of internet sleuthing to find out about. The Las Tablas Mil Polleras Parade is a perfect example. I happened to pick up a copy of a newspaper, The Panama Good Times, and read about the parade happening the next day in Las Tablas, about a two and a half hour drive west. But was there information on what time it started, where to park, how to navigate around, a parade route map? Of course not! This is Panama!
After getting a little more information from various FB groups, on the morning of the parade, I decided to drive out past Penonome, a larger city and the furthest west I’ve ventured so far. The highway is mostly empty with an occasional fruit stand selling pineapples, plantains and jugo de cana - which I haven’t tried yet. I drove through the flatlands of the Azuero Peninsula to historic Las Tablas, an area known for its rich cultural history from crafts like wood carving, beading and hand sewn polleras, to the music and the food.
The traffic on the small streets of Las Tablas started to get a bit congested so I figured I’d pull into a grassy lot where I saw other cars parked and a man collecting money. I watched people walk toward a path at the corner of the lot which I assumed led to the parade festivities. I paid my five dollars to the cheery man happy to say a few words in English in response to my paltry Spanish, packed up my water, put on a bit of sunscreen and secured my hat and off I went.
Women in flowing polleras walked proudly down the streets towards the center of the activity. Their tops of pressed white cotton, some with lace designs, others with cascading ruffles, were spotless, and remarkably crisp considering the humidity and rising heat. And their make-up, also somehow managed to stay on their faces and not drip down onto those stark white blouses. How did they manage to stay so cool looking?
My pace quickened in rhythm with the swelling beat of music, drums, recorded tracks, horns and vocals as I made my way through a small neighborhood side street that intersected with what I discovered was the behind the scenes parade line up. Somehow I’d found my way into the heart of the parade participants as they readied themselves for their debut. I was in the parade!
Vendors to the right and left of the street sold everything from hand-held fans to aromatic grilled meats, ice-cold water and sodas. The energy was high; festive, celebratory and proud. I walked past tractor-pulled floats decorated with bright colored fabrics and flowers, groups of women in matching polleras and draped in delicate gold necklaces, their heads held high and adorned with intricate beaded accessories. The women fanned their decorative skirts open like proud peacocks displaying their feathers for all to see the magnificent colors and design. Polleras can be hand-stitched and passed down in generations of a family. From young girls to their abuelas, I felt the dignity and strength of the women all around me.
“All women in the world are like the different colored flowers of one meadow. All are beautiful. As children of the Creator, giver of life and source of all human life they must all be respected.”
I was excited to be there, grateful I’d made the last minute decision to go even though I couldn’t find much information online. I thought about life before online; how the heck did we know things were happening? All we had were newspapers with ads and articles, maybe a phone number if we were lucky, and even luckier if someone answered it. Then I recalled the times I just happened to be in the right place at the right time; a small well-dressed marching band on the streets right outside my hotel room in Samedan, Switzerland; the jazz fest happening at the same time I traveled through Newport, Rhode Island; choral singers in stone-built churches, food festivals, artisan markets; sometimes we just have to show up for the magic of the unplanned to happen.
While I’ve typically been a person who feels a sense of stability in planning social outings, travel, and to some degree, my daily schedule, most of my major life events have been relatively unplanned. I show up for life, stuff happens, I see how I feel about it and make decisions. I hadn’t planned on moving to California until after working on a Woody Allen movie, Scenes From A Mall, filming in my hometown of Stamford, Connecticut. I never planned on becoming a massage therapist until after my mother died and I spent time contemplating how I could do meaningful work. And I never planned on moving to a foreign country until a review of my post-divorce finances made it a valid option.
Things will happen in our lives that are out of our control. The way we respond either strengthens our heart and soul connection or tears them apart, leaving us with an empty yearning. I’ve done both. Of course we’d all prefer to make smart choices but part of becoming wise necessitates that we make some misaligned choices and learn from them. As I grow older and wiser, I’ve been blessed with the gift of trusting my heart more fully. It’s a work in progress and one I’m joyfully curious about deepening.
I’ve also been paying more attention to the messaging from my body.
It was a deciding moment; to continue on and see where the parade route ended, or pay attention to the wave of over-stimulation-exhaustion that drained my strength out from my feet. My face was hot, my back, wet with sweat. My pulse quickened. As the parade crowd condensed, the music and heat rising in volumes, I paid attention to the signals my body was giving me; find a way out. And so instead of ignoring that, like I did in the night-market in Bangkok where anxiety got the best of me, I found my way to the periphery of the crowd and traced my steps back towards the side street where bands and dancers readied themselves for their moment to shine proudly. I was proud of myself for listening to my body’s cues that she was reaching her limit for the crowds, heat, volume and visual stimulation.
Back in my car, air conditioning cooling me down from the outside in, I readied myself for the drive back to Coronado. I drove out of the maze of cars all heading in to Las Tablas for the parade festivities expected to go well into the night. I took a few curvy scenic roads to nowhere, enjoying the fincas of corn, cows and fruit trees, caught a glimpse of the slate blue ocean slipping into the evening sky and in peace, rode the way home.
