There is a saying in Mazatlán, “Time is measured by Carnival.“ In this city of endless fiestas, Carnival is the biggest party of the year. This year’s theme is Somos América: Pasión, Alegria y Esperanza. We are America ~ Passion, Joy and Hope. The mangotes, giant statues representing the theme, are always impressive. This year they are spectacular.
Carnival starts next Thursday and ends on Tuesday, February 25. The following day, Ash Wednesday, marks the beginning of Lent. One of the largest Mardi Gras celebrations in the world, the Mazatlán Carnival, is everyone’s party.
My first Carnival was in 2006, not quite a year after I moved to Mazatlán. The main entrance to the party was half a block from my front door. A lot of Americans and Canadians chose to leave town. I stayed and loved it.
Music from multiple stages ~ a lot trumpets, drums, accordions and tubas ~ blasted non-stop along the beach for six straight days and nights. The parade, a spectacle of lights and girls in skimpy costumes, rode right past my house. Beautiful dancing horses, kings and queens, clowns and floats! I’d never seen anything like it. I couldn’t take pictures fast enough.
Neto warned me not to go alone along Olas Altas beach, the area most known for non-stop music, unruly drunken behavior, and extravagant fireworks. He tried to convince me, “There are lots of activities for tourists and families along the side streets ~ food and souvenir vendors ~ that you will like.” But I wanted to go inside.
“Then let me take you to the fireworks on Saturday night. My daughter wants to go. We’ll stop by and get you. Don’t bring a purse.”
Neto showed up at my house at 7:30 with his ten-year-old daughter, Vannya, and her mother, Loca. I was surprise to see Loca. I was even more surprised to see her wearing a surgical mask over her face. “To protect her from germs,” Neto explained. “It’s her birthday and I had to bring her. It’s the only way she’d let me bring Vannya.”
We found a restaurant with an empty table and three chairs in front of the ocean, something that still amazes me today. People usually reserve spaces months in advance. We grabbed the chairs, ordered french fries and drinks, and waited for the fireworks to begin. With a blast of color and gunpowder, fireworks lit up the sky just as Vannya put her head on the table, closed her eyes, and fell asleep.
The Combate Naval, the most poplar of all Carnival events, is an over-the-top fireworks display that recalls a naval battle of 1864, when the French Navy attempted to seize the Mazatlán harbor and were met by cannon fire. More than 500,000 people come to watch the re-enactment every year.
Fireworks continued for nearly an hour. Beer and tequila flowed freely. The crowd became more boisterous with every blast. Vannya never woke up. When it was time to leave, the crowded surged toward the entrance. We were swept along in a mad rush of bodies. Neto picked up Vannya, put her over his shoulder and told Loca and me to follow him through the crowd. Loca grabbed him by his belt and I was left behind in a crush of bodies, almost all of them taller than me.
I grabbed the shirt of a burly Mexican man in front of me. He turned around to see who was hugging his back, “Don’t worry,” he said. “Just hang on. I’ll get you out of here.” I peeled myself away from the crowd as we approached my front door. Neto was waiting for me there, Vannya still asleep on his shoulder. “Thank goodness you are ok,” he said. “I almost lost you.”
I went inside and continued to listen to beautiful mariachi music from a party next door. Neto hailed a pulmonia (golf carts that operate as taxis throughout the city) and took Vannya and Loca home before he returned to meet his friends at the beach.