Photo Essay: The Rose Parade, Never on a Sunday Edition

One of the biggest traditions in the LA area—one that is of national repute—is the annual Rose Parade.



Every year on New Year's Day, dozens of floats, marching bands, and teams of horses parade down Orange Grove, Colorado, and Sierra Madre Boulevards to wish the camped-out locals "Happy New Year."



That is, unless New Year's Day is on a Sunday, like it was this year.



Both the Rose Bowl game and Rose Parade operate under a pact to never operate on a Sunday...



...so, in the rare cases that New Year's Day falls on a Sunday, the big events in Pasadena get moved to Monday, January 2.



My first time actually watching the parade was last year, when I forewent all monetary concerns and splurged on a ticket to a viewing party, high above the Paseo on Colorado Boulevard—which is more or less "ground zero" for the Rose Parade.



This year, I wanted to try something a little closer to street level, so I joined a viewing party closer to the northern terminus of the parade route, a less popular but still crowded area.



And this time, I brought a friend who was a first-timer.



Are the floats different every year? she asked.

Oh, yes they are. And this was the first working rollercoaster I'd seen. (Kudos to the Downey Rose Float Association.)



Are the bands just from local schools? she asked.



Oh no, they are not. They come from as far as Georgia and Texas to perform in the parade (and at Bandfest).



Are they all made of flowers? she asked.



Well, not entirely, but pretty much every inch of every bird, bear, dragon, and whatnot is covered by some natural material. And the really good ones—like the fire-breather from the Rotary Foundation—have some action going on besides just the roses and other flowers.



And it's not just marching, either—but also dancing, baton twirling, flag carrying, and so on.



For everyone performing in the parade, this is serious business.



The passion is infectious.



But beyond those who make their "Journey to the West" to actually walk the parade route, there are also the hundreds of volunteers (come of whom travel as well) who donate their time to build and decorate the floats...



...those who ensure their safe passage from wherever in LA County they were built and decorated to Pasadena...



...and those who make sure everything runs smoothly along the route (including the unseen drivers who likely can't see where they're going).



This year's Grand Marshal was Olympian Greg Louganis, not only because 2016 marked the 40th anniversary of his first Olympic medal, but also because of LA's bid for the 2024 Summer Games.



We even got our annual visit from the Budweiser Clydesdales and their pal dalmatian.



This event is all about LA pride—and that includes encouraging our Trojans to "Fight On."



Every year, though, the Rose Parade does have a different theme—and while this year's was "Echoes of Success," that got expressed very differently depending on the float.



Whether it was "Waves of Hope" or "To Honor and Remember Orlando"...



...or "Books Bring Us Together," our different ideas about success—even if it was just about rising above adversity—echoed throughout the two-hour parade.



Over on that stretch of Sierra Madre, the street is wider and the buildings are shorter...



...giving the parade a real "hometown" feel that I don;t think could ever be accomplished by, say, the Thanksgiving Day Parade in Manhattan.



But the more I witness the Rose Parade, the more I regret not at least trying to watch the Thanksgiving parade in New York.



But while our tradition has been somewhat corporatized (it is sponsored by Honda, after all), we still get to see the Twenty Mule Team recreating their appearance 100 years ago at the Rose Parade...



...and celebrating the legacy of one of the most recognizable icons of the Old West (and of Borax).



We celebrate La Cañada Flintridge, where a "backyard rocketeer" can set in motion a series of events that lead to deep space missions.



We turn over "A New Leaf," especially when things don't go exactly as planned. (The Cal-Poly chameleon, for instance, lot an animatronic eyeball and didn't change colors like it was supposed to.)



We've got our California milk...



...and we drink it, too.



We embrace our lions...



...and the rest of our wildlife, too.



And we're proud of our skyscrapers being a little different than anywhere else.



We applaud our military.



Our firefighters save kittens from our trees.



And we never give up—even if we finish last. (As long as we finish.)



It's a shame that South Pasadena Tournament of Roses—the oldest self-built float in the Rose Parade—didn't win an award for their The Tortoise and the Hare-themed float, after completing it against all odds. Their decorating shed was burgled several times over the past year, which meant they lost building materials and other supplies more than once.

But they did win the National Trophy last year, and there's always next year...

Related Posts:
Photo Essay: New Year's Day at the Rose Parade
Photo Essay: The Floats of the Rose Parade, 2015
Photo Essay: Rose Parade 2014 Floats, In Progress
Photo Essay: The House of Chewing Gum and Roses
Photo Essay: The Marching Bands of the Rose Parade, 2016
Photo Essay: The Horses of the Rose Parade
Photo Essay: Welcoming 100 Mules to LA After Walking the Aqueduct

Photo Essay: The Fortification of Havana

The thing that probably surprised me the most about Havana, Cuba was how fortified it is.



There was literally a wall that used to surround what's now considered "Old" Havana (or La Habana Vieja)—and although that wall now exists only in small pieces, the coastal part of Old Havana appears much as it did in its colonial era, when Spain had to protect it from capture and seizure.



I stumbled upon the Castillo de la Real Fuerza after wandering off from the Plaza de Armas—and I was shocked to find how undeniably medieval it looked.



Protected by a moat, this "Castle of the Royal Force" is considered to be the oldest fort in the Americas...



...completed in 1577, thanks mostly to the work of slaves and prisoners.



Spain still had control of Cuba back then—and it needed to protect its island from being further pillaged by French buccaneers. It ordered the construction of the fort but forced Mexico to actually pay for it.



Unfortunately, they built it just a little too small and a bit too far from the mouth of the harbor to protect much of anything.



From the upper story (which was originally used as barracks and storage of munitions), you can see
the Faro Castillo del Morro lighthouse, which is far closer to the seaside entrance to Havana's port, via the Canal de Entrada. (More on the Puerto de la Habana in a future post.)



In fact, the view is so good from up there that in 1634, Cuba's Governor Juan de Bitrián y Viamonte built a watchtower up there, topped by a bronze weathervane cast in the form a woman. He named it La Giraldilla, after a similar sculpture in his homeland of Seville, Spain. (The original is now protected in a museum, while a replica stands atop the watchtower today. You can also find her depicted on the labels of Havana Club rum.)



When the castle had proven its ineffectiveness as a military fortress once and for all, it was commandeered as a gubernatorial residence and then subsequently a national archive, a library, an art museum, a ceramics museum, and most recently a maritime museum.



As usual, I was more interested in the building itself than in its exhibitions and displays, so I climbed as high as I could go—delighted when the security guard allowed me into the watchtower.



"Just don't ring the bell," she said. I don't remember if it was in English or Spanish, but I knew immediately what she meant—probably because that's exactly what I would want to do, once I got up there.



From across the canal, you can also see the Castillo and Fortaleza de San Carlos de la Cabaña, which is the largest Spanish colonial fortress in the Americas. You couldn't accuse this one of being too small for anything.



Spain ordered this one to be built after the British attacked and took over Havana (briefly) in 1762. The Spanish wanted to make this massive fort absolutely impenetrable, and it worked—although not exactly in the way you might think. In truth, it was so formidable that nobody's ever even tried to invade it since is completion in 1774. However, that doesn't mean it didn't see its share of violence and military action.



Batista (the dictator overthrown by Castro and his fellow rebels) ended up using it as a military prison. After the Revolution, Castro's "Executor-in-Chief" Che Guevara moved in, commanding the torture and firing squad killing of Batista's officers and anybody else deemed to be a traitor, dissenter, or any other sort of "class enemy."



Despite its grisly and bloodthirsty historical context, the fort is now a tourist attraction.



You can visit the original chapel, which was built out of rough stone and masonry with a Spanish baroque facade designed by Pedro de Medina of Cádiz and contains an 18th century baroque-style communion table, relocated here from the Iglesia y Convento de Santa Catalina de Siena.



La Cabaña also houses an armaments museum and a museum dedicated to Che, but most famously it hosts a colonial parade and ceremony called cañonazo (which literally means "cannon shot"), which draws hordes of people every night.



El Cañonazo de las 9, as it's called, concludes with a historical reenactment of the firing of a cannon over the Havana harbor, every night at 9 p.m.



It's a tradition that dates back to the 18th century, when the gates of the city walls would close every night at nine o'clock...



...and be signaled by the firing of a cannon over the bay.



During the ceremony, while everybody else lined up along parapets and on rooftops, I took the opportunity to explore what was inside the walls of this fort, along the avenues between its many buildings.



Che's old office was there somewhere, as were the vaults that once stored gunpowder.



By the 16th century, Havana had established itself as a large port city; and by the 18th century, it had "the most complete dockyard in the New World," according to UNESCO.  Between its shipbuilding industry and the fortunes earned as a requisite stop when sailing to the New World, Havana had a lot to protect from pirates and other colonial forces.

After the Revolution, despite having achieved independence, Cuba still had to strengthen its forces to fight against its worst enemy: itself.

Related Posts:
Photo Essay: Fort MacArthur and The Battle of Los Angeles
Glimpses of Havana in the Final Days of Fidel
Photo Essay: To the Bell Tower