peregringos

November 1st, 2017 § 1 comment § permalink

Although I frequently describe myself as a pilgrim, I had never participated in an actual pilgrimage until earlier this month. I suppose now it’s official.

The festival of the Christo Negro (also called as El Santo, El Naza or a variety of other local names) is held annually on October 21st in the coastal town of Portobelo, Panama. The event is centered on a pilgrimage, which draws participants from throughout Central America, with many arriving on foot from Panama City or Colon, the country’s main hubs.

By walking these distances through the tropical heat, pilgrims seek atonement. Many crawl the final mile after entering town, with companions who brush the ground before them, pour candle wax onto their bare skin, and offer cries of “No dolor! No hay dolor!” as encouragement to cast off physical suffering for spiritual redemption. Also known as the “pickpockets pilgrimage”, it is rumored that career criminals will participate to wipe the slate clean each year.

Ultimately, pilgrims arrive at the parish of Iglesia de San Felipe, to seek blessings at the feet of the venerated statue of a cross-laden black Christ, carved life-sized from cocobolo, a dark, tropical hardwood.

The coastal town of Portobelo is a slim, humid crescent, braced at each end by Spanish forts built of coral blocks hewn from the reefs that border its well-protected bay. Historically, the town rose to global prominence in the late sixteenth century when it replaced the nearby town of Nombre de Dios as the Caribbean terminus of the Spanish Silver Train. It was here that mule trains would deliver the vast wealth extracted from South America, funneled overland across the Isthmus of Panama and onto colonial treasure fleets for the Spanish crown. The English pirate Francis Drake, having recently sacked and burned Nombre de Dios, succumbed to dysentery just outside of the bay. He was buried at sea within sight of Portobelo, in full armor.

In the modern era, the town is a cultural locus of Costa Arriba, the “upper coast” of Panama. This region is rooted in the Afro-Panamanian “Congo culture”, descended from the cimarrones, who were African slaves that rebelled during the Spanish colonial period and built a distinct culture here. Congo culture is on display throughout the town, in the forms of visual arts, dance, dress and food.

Descending into Portobelo on this day, having walked for hours with an ever-increasing cadre of villagers, it looks like a massive carnival – thundering music, dancing, street food and (lots of) drink. With tens of thousands of visitors overwhelming this normally sleepy town, visitors have camped on the roadside and pop-up kitchens are everywhere. The only hint of the piousness at the core of it all is the slowly moving line of purple snaking through the crowd. Those pilgrims that are here for the main event are clad in purple robes and cords, a reference to the story of Christ being mockingly draped in royal garb on the road to Calvary.

At the doorway of the church, the structure itself trimmed in bright purple, the pilgrims cast off their robes, along with it their spiritual burdens. As I stepped over the threshold, I too, turned my thoughts to the blessings to come.

resist

January 21st, 2017 § 2 comments § permalink

Oh how I hope this message reaches you, dear reader.

If I am being hyperbolic, hormonal, hysterical, so what; if I should be locked in the tower, I simply don’t care. Today’s global mobilization of women and girls, and the cisters, sisters, and men who love us has sent my heart on a wide boomerang arc – out… and back. What a week, amirite?

In my “old life” I would have hopped a train with friends and been in the center of one the largest and coziest of herds. What is a modern nomad to do when you get that homing mechanism that moves your feet on the FL/GA line?

You march around by yourself, is what! Then you go to a coffee shop and kill time until the next idea comes to you.

A group of older-than-me ladies asked if I was waiting for a friend, and I responded, “I think I am waiting for you!” We then invited each other to a bigger table, and I pointed out a pair of younger girls wearing 1920-2020 protest pins, and said, “Hey I think you are with us too.” All the sudden we had ourselves an intergenerational feminist quorum.

It is weird to sit down with strangers, but just think about what we have in common. We all left the house today with the intent to be on the right side of history on this historic day.

My intention for the next few days is to stick with this mind set – to assume that the people I encounter have something more in common with me at the core than different. We are women today, but tomorrow what will it be?

We are pro-love? We are daughters? We are environmentalists? We are neighbors? We are in line at Parkers?

arriving at the starting line

May 30th, 2016 § 7 comments § permalink

We are back on the water, although we have barely moved since we splashed five days ago. The last two years have been near-constant boat work, punctuated by “real work” to pay for it (and stay sane), with the last two months containing an absolutely inconceivable amount of heavy lifting. Last night we both scrolled through photos on our various devices, and I had a very hard time placing the images in their realistic timeline.

Do you ever have periods of your life that seem compressed, as if time actually slows down? It is disorienting when that sort of time comes to a close. It is also pretty awesome I have to say.

No sand dollars were harmed in the making of this mandala-to-go.

On our way down to St.Marys (to visit a locally-famous boatyard that we loved and enjoyed thoroughly), we stopped in the Brickhill River behind Cumberland Island to rendezvous with our friends Debbie and Brian, who – as luck would have it – were just wrapping their work period in the very same yard.

As we headed into the danger zone – leaving the water in May – it brought life to a harrowing moment to see these two fresh-faced beauties shaking off the yard dirt. Debbie and I took a jaunt across the island and hurled ourselves into the sea just for emphasis.
Lil DebSo it is with great flourish that I write this tonight, having miraculously re-splashed our boat, having both lost and found our cat, having cheered Dawn Treader to Bermuda, having watched an entire season of Battlestar Galactica in an embarrassingly short amount of time, and having finally gotten back to the starting line, live from Brickhill River.
Beta on deck

Where Am I?

You are currently browsing the gurus category at plankton every day.