Enrique Vega Ayala
Official Chronicler of Mazatlán
For some years now, the Mazatlán Carnival has been considered one of the best in the world. Forbes magazine, specialized in business and finance and famous for publishing the annual lists of the richest men in the world, has highlighted it in its entertainment and travel guide section as such, ranking it just behind the carnivals of Rio de Janeiro and New Orleans.
It is said that “in Mazatlán time is measured by Carnivals,” because the most common popular reference to important events for the community is that of the carnival identified by some detail, such as the name of the queen or a striking event that took place during those days of celebration.
During the five days preceding Ash Wednesday each year, the people of Mazatlán celebrate what is considered their “greatest celebration.” It is a tradition dating back to the early nineteenth century and, despite having undergone changes—especially radical ones, such as transforming from a popular diversion known as “flour games” into a community celebration of confetti and streamers; adopting the modality of parades of decorated floats and establishing the designation of sovereigns, leaving behind the crowds of flour-covered masqueraders—the essence remains.
Each year, on carnival dates, Mazatlán shifts into celebration mode, not only because of the decorations installed along some of its streets and avenues, but also because of the evident attitude of the population predisposed to collective festivity and joy.
The Mazatlán Carnival distinguishes itself from other carnivals, nationally and internationally, because here entertainment is offered to the rhythm of the “banda,” in any of its formats: that of the local Tambora music or its derivation into “banda,” which has reached the world through what is known as “regional Mexican,” originating in the versatile expressions of what came to be known as “la onda grupera.”
Moreover, the program of this celebration, as a unique case, includes cultural activities involving representative manifestations of the recognized “fine arts” (poetry contests, a literature prize, a painting biennial, and ballet and dance performances of enormous artistic quality that set the stage for the coronations), through which the celebration extends to all sectors of the population and embraces the full range of tastes of locals and tourists alike.
The style with which the floats are designed and built is another characteristic that differentiates the Mazatlán Carnival, distinguished by the elegance of their classical forms and meticulous finishes, complemented by luxurious costumes for the participants, especially the queens and their courts.
The modifications the Carnival has undergone throughout history have not altered the original character of this popular celebration. What did change was the setting, for reasons of space, as the population of the port grew. Now the main stage of the celebration is its extensive boardwalk.
The coastal avenue is closed to vehicle traffic to create within it a parenthesis from everyday life, an exceptional season in which some social rules become lax, in which situations normally frowned upon are tolerated, within an atmosphere of security—sometimes reinforced according to the regional or national context—resulting in celebrations held in peaceful harmony (they call them “white carnivals”).
Every night from Thursday through Carnival Tuesday, Olas Altas and Paseo Claussen—the finest landscapes of Mazatlán, the favorite postcard views—become a gigantic gathering and dance venue beside the Pacific Ocean. If the sound of the waves crashing against the rocks and the beach is not heard on those nights, it is because of the decibels of the music and the uproar. On an avenue closed to traffic, with streets and intersections blocked by barriers, an enormous celebration opens to individual choice. Along the entire promenade numerous stages are set up, on which various musical groups perform the best of their repertoire. Gone is the nostalgic twentieth-century custom of “pulling the banda.”
On the Saturday night of Carnival, additional attractions are offered: the Burning of Bad Humor and the Naval Combat. The “sea wars,” as the striking fireworks festival was originally called, takes place in Olas Altas Bay immediately after the destruction of Bad Humor. Ships anchored off the inlet begin an offensive of fireworks toward the sky, against the festive avenue. From the sands of Olas Altas the aggression is answered with more fireworks of different varieties. This impressive visual spectacle holds strong local historical reminiscences. It is said to allude to Mazatlán’s most resounding feat, the successful defense of the port in 1864 during the French Intervention, when a French vessel attempted to seize the city with cannon fire. Recently, the Naval Combat has been enriched with the introduction of lighting technology, laser beams, and drones, as well as ambient music, provoking a greater emotional impact on spectators.
Bad Humor is a large effigy; it caricatures the person or institution to whom the origin of the hardships suffered by the population during the previous year is attributed. Loaded with firecrackers and gunpowder, the figure is incinerated. Bad Humor symbolizes the exorcism of daily tribulations and sorrows so that no concern may impede the full enjoyment of the “pachanga.” Victims of Mazatlán’s popular mockery, personifying Bad Humor, have included former presidents of the republic and of other countries, local bosses, the infamous December error, inflation, high prices, unscrupulous merchants, moneylenders, corrupt politicians, and even the local baseball club—the region’s favorite sport—when it has very poor seasons.
Shortly before the dates marked on the calendar as Carnival, the queen of the celebration must have been chosen, as has been done since 1900. To select the woman who will represent this unusual festive monarchy, locals have practiced all kinds of methods, from a beauty and talent contest to the accumulation of economic votes (on one occasion the competition consisted of gathering caps from a bottled soft drink), even arbitrary single-person designation. The candidate who places second in the competition is designated Queen of the Floral Games (a title created in 1937).
To crown the Carnival majesties, the city’s baseball stadium is transformed: an enormous stage is erected in the middle of the diamond; special sets and choreographies are designed for each coronation; towers and trusses of lights, speakers, and monitors, ramps and levels are installed. The cry of “Play Ball!” is replaced by the third call. In this way, two great passions of Mazatlán are combined: baseball and Carnival.
The people of Mazatlán recognize in the Carnival parade one of the central moments of the celebration, a fundamental act in which the totality of the elements that make up the festival is summarized. Almost since its origins, two parades have been scheduled, one on Sunday and another on Carnival Tuesday—to bid farewell to the celebration. The magnificent procession, composed of striking floats, superb royal carriages, and colorful troupes, travels along the coastal promenade, with attendance estimated in the hundreds of thousands of spectators. The royal courts participate, ambassadors from various parts of the country and abroad, special guests such as athletes, television personalities, and figures from show business; as well as, of course, hundreds of thousands of Mazatlán residents of all ages and social conditions, in addition to visitors from every latitude.
In its beginnings the Carnival was not designed for a children’s audience, but the joy that the festive atmosphere, costumed adults, and allegorical parades awakened among Mazatlán’s children was evident. Nevertheless, children’s participation was never excluded. Almost always there have been local children as pages in the Carnival courts and appearing alongside adults aboard floats and in parade troupes. Occasionally there were children’s floats, until a children’s monarchy was officially and definitively incorporated into the Carnival calendar in 1968, its selection determined through a competition of economic votes, and its particular festivities reserved for Carnival Monday. On this date a children’s dance with a costume contest takes place, and a little queen is crowned before whom a popular artist performs.
The gentlemen who seek to occupy a place in the Carnival history of the port aspire to represent the port’s “ugly ones,” with the euphemistic title known as King of Joy. To access the crown there is also a competition decided by economic contributions. The King of Joy is crowned in a great popular celebration always enlivened by renowned “banda” groups or soloists of the same musical genre.
Each year a specific theme is chosen to give homogeneous expression to all the events of the Carnival program. The organization of Carnival implies continuous professional activity. Once the central concept established under the denomination or theme is defined, months in advance the construction of floats begins and promotional activities are carried out at the local, regional, national, and international levels. Likewise, the making of the costumes to be worn by the queens and the troupes begins well in advance.
On Tuesday night the celebration ends; Olas Altas trembles in farewell to the festivities of the flesh. Energy reserves are squandered, the last pesos are spent, sleep is fought off. As Wednesday dawn approaches, the most sleepless and Catholic, still under the fumes of intoxication, head toward the cathedral to receive the imposition of ashes. Carnival concludes; Lent begins.
However, the excesses committed are not such as to be forgotten, nor to be purged through Lenten penance. Not even the rigors imposed by everyday life erase them: devaluations and high taxes, unemployment and extraordinary exams, the soaring price of gasoline and tomatoes—in short, the high cost of existing. Because throughout the rest of the year it remains present that, no matter how much reality harasses us, there are days to forget sorrows and temporarily pretend not to notice them. Even if only for five days a year, we have Carnival.