Last weekend, I took a trip down south to my hometown, the land of the Buccaneers and the Rays – Tampa.
Every year, during the last weekend in January, Tampa Bay fills with pirate ships, college students, and copious amounts of rum. Along the parade route from Ashley Drive to Bayshore Blvd., the atmosphere is full of all types of people, from children to seniors who have been engaging in the tradition for years.
I pull out the pirate hat that sits in the back of my closet and prepare for what I consider my favorite holiday, Gasparilla, but even so this year was one for the books. Here’s a timeline of my experience:
12 p.m.
I slipped on my pirate boots and my anchor necklace, embracing the culture of the troublemaking swashbucklers. If you don’t dress up, the Gasparilla parade is only half the fun.
12:30 p.m.
I like my men like I like my pirates. I tried to convince my boyfriend to wear eyeliner like Jack Sparrow. He wouldn’t, but he did agree to put on a red bandana.
1 p.m.
We met our mates who were more interested in the drunken aspect of the day.
2 p.m.
The rum was gone…
3 p.m.
We arrived to the parade route near the end of the parade. Gangs of scalawags roamed the premises in search of beer and beads.
5 p.m.
My boyfriend scrounged around getting me as many beads as he could pillage. Apparently, if you’re asking for beads for your girlfriend, Jack Sparrow impersonators are very generous.
6 p.m.
As the parade came to an end and the police proceeded to clear the parade route, we entered a restaurant called “Top,” but it was more like walking into a duplication of the Black Pearl. Drunken men with eyeliner crowded the bar and women crowded around trying to get them to surrender their booty (Gasparilla beads).