resurrection

I've just enjoyed the laziest and quietest easter I can remember. The palace was more-or-less empty, with Dave in the coffee region, Jess on the Rio Magdalena and Chappy at the Caribbean coast. This left just Chris and myself, along with one key for a broken front door, that could only be opened from the inside. In the spirit of messianic sacrifice I agreed to sequester myself in the palace for three days, starting, like Jesus in his tomb, on Good Friday.

The door was out of order because of the landlord's botched attempts at improving the security of the palace. The thieves got in last week through the garage door, which he had left secured by a single external padlock, saying he wanted his own access to the front courtyard. Since the break-in he has festooned the front of the house with a baffling array of locks, which would take a Hindu diety to open, if indeed they worked.

So it was that I spent easter as a prisoner in the palace, like the Man in the Iron Mask, but without the mask, and wearing pyjamas.

Despite not leaving the house I still got to join in the easter celebrations, with the neighbourhood procession passing right in front of the palace on Sunday night. This was led by a marching band, playing a bizarre medley of music including, I think, Colonel Bogey and the Damnbusters' March. Behind the musicians came a long line of hooded men - exactly like the Ku Klux Klan but in colour-coded robes - carrying statues of Jesus, Mary and various saints. These seemed to sway drunkenly on their flower-laden biers as they were carried up the hill. There were also chaps dressed as Roman centurians, which added a surreal aspect to an already odd event.

Following up behind was a large crowd of local people, all wearing looks of grave piety. I got a feeling of hostility from them as they passed me, Chris, Sam and Bruno standing in our doorway, and I wondered if this was because Chris was taking pictures. On the other hand it could have been because we were the only people not crossing ourselves furiously as the garish plaster icons staggered past us.