Palm Sunday

Comedians and jazz musicians have been more comforting and enlightening to me than preachers or politicians or philosophers or poets or painters or novelists of my time. Historians in the future, in my opinion, will congratulate us on very little other than our clowning and our jazz.

Kurt Vonnegut, Palm Sunday: An Autobiographical Collage

Despite having slept late I made it to the supermarket before the throngs left their Palm Sunday masses, and so had time to breakfast at Maria Louisa’s and then finish shopping at the produce market.

The walk to town along Las Moras was deserted and the street was pretty with its red and white decorations.  By mid-afternoon, when I made it to the Jardin, the crowds weren’t as large as I had anticipated – perhaps the out of towners were having lunch or seeking refuge from the strong sun elsewhere indoors.

In front of the Parroquia the air was laden – as it was last year – with the scent of manzanilla (chamomile) for sale as vendors made crosses and other items from palm.  As is the case every Sunday, a horse-staring contest took place in front of the Allende museum.

Bach, Palm Sunday Cantata

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