Music Festival in Casco Viejo

The Spanish word for umbrella is la paraguas and the word for raincoat is el impermeable. And while I never quite understood the language’s need to designate whether an inanimate object is male or female, being that neither an umbrella nor a raincoat is capable of having intercourse, both were needed the night of the music festival as an impromptu rainfall graced the event, steady like the patter of the local drums. Some people braved the storm, wandering around plazas and getting wet, while others huddled on street corners shivering like a bunch of woeful puppies.

I believe the rain was God’s way of saying he doesn’t like music or festivals.

The homemade griddles of local meat vendors became watery and cold and once-large tubs of ice melted down to resemble small, dangerously deep baby pools. One man came prepared for the drizzle, cranking out an awning built above his cart to cover a human-sized leg of pork. The pork looked bloody and raw, and the marinade he poured over appeared to evict lots of tiny little worms.

The tourist traps were out in full force too. I was charged extra for pineapple and grilled steak, but I wasn’t in the mood to argue. The Kunas had their molas and bracelets set up on picnic-like blankets and children ran around shoe-less begging for a dollar so they could have something to eat for dinner. This begging thing is really starting to get to me, but I guess it’s what you sign up for when you go to the Casco.

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