By Jerry Davis
It took all our willpower, but we rolled out of bed at a decent hour even though it was a sleep-in morning, drank some coffee and decided to eat breakfast downtown, hopefully in a restaurant with a view of the Palm Sunday procession.
We made an optimistic tour around the Parque Juarez hoping against all odds to find a parking space and lucked out.
Our day was off to a good start.
We crossed the Parque Juarez where the procession was forming, just in time to hear the organizer’s announcement that the altar society was in place number 16 in the procession, and that the catechism class would be number 17.
At the exit we pushed past the 12 apostles in their sateen robes, some barefoot, some in their best Nikes, squeezed through the band and out onto the street leading to the main church on the square.
About a block away we found a comfortable curb to sit on and wait, but after a few minutes the curb became less comfortable, and we decided press our luck again and look for a restaurant.
The pavement on the last block before the church was strewn with chamomile, anise and rose petals and we stomped our feet on them to release their perfume.
Christ entered Jerusalem on a street paved with the cloaks of his followers and with palm fronds, symbols of Nike, the Greek goddess of victory.
Three little boys with baskets of rose petals sat on the curb waiting, I assume to scatter more rose petals in Christ’s path.
Again, it was our day and at a restaurant we settled into a table with a view through the door onto the street.
We enviously eyed the four tourists who had staked out the window table and then coffee was served just when we heard the approaching band.
They wore sharp looking black and yellow uniforms and were playing enthusiastically.
Girls in white robes carrying lighted candles followed. ...
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