With Their Backs to the Sea

A few friends that arrived from Barranquilla to attend the famous parade of the "Proclamation" of the traditional festivals of November in Cartagena, returned to the House, wet, wallow and smeared in white and blue, but happy, talking up to the ears and pondering the joy and rejoicing of the people at parties: 'shit crazy what a great stuff '.

 A lady who took her son, for the first time,  to see the same "Proclamation", return ranting, cursing and promising that she would not ever return to this madness. Her child got a slimy and sticky foam in an eye and from that moment, did not stop complaining and crying because: "it burns, it burns".

Those are the current celebrations of November, which are now called independence, probably because it occurred to some official that changing the name, maybe he would pass to the history of Cartagena. Something like if the October revolution of Russia, overnight, changes its name to "Revolution of the desperate".

Normally everybody tells about of the dance, depending on how they have fared.  The same happens with the parade of the "proclamation": for those who get drunk, hopefully without paying, throw maizana, squibs, foam, and they don't see anything, Proclamation is the best. For those who suffer stamps on, get rob, get   rare stuffs in eyes and neither watch anything, Proclamation is a fetus of the demon, the empire of the vulgarity and vandalism: a well organized disorder.

This year  "The proclamation" was with their backs to the sea, something that is becoming fashionable in the city and that some attribute to a strange Thalassophobia of the Mayor Velez, who hates the sea from when he saw the Spielberg film: shark.  The stands to watch the parade of the Queens were installed so that attendees were left with their backs to the sea and the Queens paraded through the tunnel that was left between the walls and the bleachers.  No one could understand so much trickery, when we all know that what they really wanted was to hide the disaster in which lane of the Avenida Santander, bordering the sea, have turned.

Dra. Luisa Romero Mendoza is right when she says that those who disbelieved the story of Gabriel Garcia Marquez, of the Central American satrap who sold the sea, are about to convince themselves. A few days ago, this same Thalassophobic Mayor, gave half a kilometer of beach to some slovenly contractors, who, with an infamous hill, blocked forever the idyllic sea of Marbella, where Noro Vanella and Farías Cabanillas, walked around their loneliness, searching for the tanned cartageneras. 

While the local leadership is shouting ensuring, by media, enslaved to the official advertising guideline, that decadent festivities were the best of the history, the airport and transport terminals overflow of passengers which, terrified, fleeing the city, looking for solace, peace and tranquility that never found in Barranquilla, the old Michael, father of the Master Adolfo Pacheco. 

@rododiazw