Sundays in the Park with Jorge

Every Sunday, the Parque Forestal across the street from my house plays host to an unofficial, very popular and somewhat chaotic feria, or outdoor market. People come from across the city, trudging large backpacks full of homemade jewelry, stenciled t-shirts, political propaganda, used books and clothes, handicrafts, and pirated music and DVDs, among other things. They set up shop haphazardly on blankets around the museum, leaving narrow paths for the thousands of people who pass through every weekend. It's quite a scene: hippies, dredlocked and tie-dyed, smoking pot and selling soy burgers; punks, mohawked, wearing leather and metal and drinking 40s of Escudo out of paper bags; capoiera groups and drum circles and indigenous music groups; acrobats and clowns; hipsters and politicos; modest middle-aged working class people selling carnival food and sopapillas (delicious zucchini/flour biscuits). It's like a cross between a medieval marketplace and Woodstock. And it's a completely unsanctioned and unorganized event, and despite the enormous number of people that pass through every week, I've never seen a single cop. It's an anarchist's vision of paradise (minus the noisy drunk people who linger on into the night.)



Strolling through the Parque Forestal on a Sunday afternoon


Drum circle


Acrobat


Watching a performance at dusk


Hanging around at sunset