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Posts Tagged ‘zombie’

It’s 11pm and I’ve spent the past five hours scanning Google images for inspiration, cutting up old curtains and duvet covers, glueing material to pieces of cardboard, my fingers and the dining table and I still look more like someone wearing an old net curtain than Cleopatra.

Jack looking effortlessly good...and warm

Jack looking effortlessly good... and warm

Jack, on the other hand, has taken half an hour to pull some bits together and paint his face and he looks more like William Wallace than Mel Gibson did. What’s more, he’s got a nice warm cloak to wear and I’ve got bare arms. I don’t suppose the Ancient Egyptians had cardies did they?

The forty minute walk from our house to Plaza Charco is a lonely affair when you’re Braveheart and Cleopatra. Passing through the La Paz district we draw sidelong glances from the elderly visitors which are not dissimilar to the sort of looks on the faces of people in my dreams when, for some perfectly good reason, I’m the only one who’s naked.

It’s not until we reach Calle Quintana that the mantle of paranoia is lifted and suddenly, it’s the ones not in fancy dress that look out of place.
As we enter Plaza Charco it’s evident that the costumes are of a very high standard this year. The furry animal jumpsuits and gangster outfits are very few and far between, instead, everyone seems to have doubled their efforts and outfits are bolder, more professional,  more varied and every bit as politically incorrect as we’ve come to expect.

The benches around the fountain act as base camp for various groups who fuel up on rum or whiskey and coke before heading off into the melee, returning at intervals to replenish glasses. One bench is occupied by a dozen or so men dressed in Victorian baby costumes, another has witches and warlocks draped across it. There’s a bench of Charleston dancers and one of zombie nurses.
We spot several Batmen, an Incredible Hulk and three Spider Men but only one ‘Joker’ and clearly outnumbered, he didn’t try anything.

Hey! Im over here, to the left!

Hey! I'm over here, to the left!

As usual, the Trannies are show-stoppers. Standing well over six foot in their high heels with their dazzling frocks and theatrical make-up, it’s difficult to take your eyes off them but the draft from their false eyelashes is making me shiver so we move on.

At the newly created disco zone Jack decides to take my photo as I’m dancing like an Egyptian to Orishas. It seems to me the camera is a little off centre as he takes shot after shot and further investigation uncovers several frames of the Go-Go dancer and just one of me… dark and practically out of range.

I feel decidedly dull by comparison to everyone else and by the time we get home it’s 5 in the morning and I’ve got arms the temperature of a corpse.

I’ve got just a few days to come up with another outfit, one that’s warm, comfy and sexy…God, the stress of living in the Real Tenerife.

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Saturday 24th February
4pm
– closing parade. Another 3 hour standing marathon as the various dancing troupes, floats, Carnaval Queens and multitudinous winners of fancy dress prizes parade through the streets from Costa Martiánez to Castillo San Felipe.

10pm – Everyone’s in fancy dress for the closing party and looking forward to the final blow-out. I’ve opted for the Folies Bergère look in line with this year’s theme of ‘Paris in the 1920s’ and Jack’s gone for ‘Zombie Funeral Director’ – all white face, black eyes and top hat – very ghoulish.
Walk down to Casa Blanca and collect a Bishop, a fellow Folies Bergère, a monk, 2 angels and Chris wearing an outfit that no-one knew what it was supposed to be, including Chris.
Things are just beginning to liven up as we arrive in Plaza del Charco and, teenagers despatched to their various peer groups, we open a couple of bottles of wine that we’ve carried down with us, purely for the purposes of reducing the weight we’re carrying…
By 1 am the Plaza and harbour are jam packed with revellers and the music’s just beginning to take the crowd. By 3am the place is bouncing and it’s impossible to move in any direction at will. Allowing the ebb and flow of the crowd to drift us harbour side, we pop into Frigata and run into Cap’n Barbosa (alias Bob) who hasn’t managed to leave the bar yet and is almost oblivious to the thousands who are thronging the streets outside. A circuit of Calle Marina to Calle Perdomo and then to Calle Mequinez, which on an average day takes about 3 mins, takes us over an hour as we dance, centimetre by centimetre, tacking our way through the masses. By 5 am we’re danced out and exhausted, finally making our way homeward to sleep while the party continues to rage, ever more numbers arriving.
Our friends return to Blighty filled with memories and stories to bore their friends with, dates for next year’s Carnaval already noted.

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