CARNAVAL
How do I begin to describe Carnaval? I've already started this post six times without being able to perfectly capture the madness. I apologize for the delay. I tried to give Carnaval an easy comparison and say that it's like the pregame celebrations surrounding the Big House on football Saturdays at Michigan -- but lasts four days instead of four hours before a game. I wanted to say that Carnaval has the spirit of Color Wars at Camp Chickami, or St. Patty's Day hopping around Ann Arbor, or the Fourth of July festivities of dancing around with Avi David's marching band in Rhode Island. All of these encompass aspects of the Carnaval fiestas, but none could live up to the hype as well as Carnaval has.
The first night of Carnaval I participated in the Samaipata Parade. About ten comparsas (40 person frat-like party groups that spent the weekend participating in activities together) circled the small plaza, dancing to the beat of small marching bands attached to each group. The comparsas each showed off their own float displaying an ornately dressed, sparkling painted Queen waving her beauty pageant hands as she blew kisses to the crowd, a crowd equally as large as the parade. Part of the joy about venturing to a smaller town like Samaipata for Carnaval was that I actively got to participate right in the center of the action, dancing along as a member of the parade, not just a booze infused sideline spectator that larger city processions attract. My comparsa, Los Murgueros, were so joyfully singing and jumping around during the spectacle, excited to finally welcome in Carnaval, that we won the city's "Most Festive" trophy. Along with the large golden cup, the mayor presented our comparsa with five cases of beer. After the awards ceremony, we ascended our strides over to a hostel housing the majority of the Murgueros visiting from the city. Our band played into the early hours after sunrise, as the endless flows of cerveza accompanied us as we danced along to our new stage, the dirt roads in front of Doña Lucia's hostel turned "1012" frat house.
I quickly found that Carnaval festivities last from sleepless dawns until the sun rises again 22 hours later. Anyone who knows me well doesn't have to stretch their imagination too far to figure out how much Mate de Coca, or Coca Tea, I chugged down this weekend to stay awake. Pair that the fact that I was doubling up meals three times a day -- first a pig roast with the Murgueros then a home cooked surprise at a friend's house with steak and rice wrapped in grape leaves -- my stomach was always fully satisfied.
During the days, the entire town of Samaipata flooded over to the plaza. Children ran wildly, throwing the traditional water balloons and spraying a silly string/shaving cream substitute on all passerbyers. For a quick historical fact, the Spanish first inhabited Samaipata for its streams and drinking water, the cleanest in the country. Now, as is all too fitting, for four days straight, the streets dripped constantly with water from exploding balloons. I was strongly advised not to bring along a camera for fear of getting it soaked (my sly way of hinting at the fact that I don't have the pictures or videos to properly invite you all to experience the festivities with me). As sad as I am to not have photos of the weekend, I'm lucky to have listened to these wise words. Under the steaming sun, bursts of random fire, friendly fire, and enemy fire -- balloons shooting from all unseen directions -- cooled my drenched bright green/yellow Murgueros uniform shirt. Young kids eyed out smiling, yet vengeful Carnaval participants, to sell bags full of 10 balloons for a peso. All day long we would toss balloons around amongst our own comparsa or tactfully hold a balloon over the head of a dance partner, tightening our fingers until, in an instantaneous pop, water covered their now soaked backs.
The marching bands played all day long. Feet pushed against the ground with every beat, like pattering rain on the cobble stone streets. We would sporadically march laps down the streets of town, bringing our dancing spirit to all the houses we passed. Yet, we always returned to one corner of the plaza where a single CD on repeat all weekend offered the club experience at all hours. Still dancing, still raining down balloons, still the same CD. An anthem for the weekend would be the Bolivian Carnaval song, "Voy a beber, voy a saltar, No me importa si me duele la cabeza," "I'm going to drink, I'm going to dance, and it doesn't bother me if my head hurts later," rang true.
Carnaval is endless dancing, drinking, and delicious food. It's the pure festivities. It's the celebrating spirit of everyone, from toddlers old enough to hold a water balloon, to elderly men and women skipping through the streets laughing. The town's mayor danced around, proudly getting sprayed in the face with silly string from young kids, throwing back cans on Paceña with Generation X, and conversing with the white-haired, older crowd over a meal of grilled pork. Samaipateñas of all ages participate as this small mountain town comes alive in the heavens. I had reluctantly agreed to return to Samaipata (where I had spent a quieter New Years), wanting to go to one of the extravagant parades in the city. I clearly made the right choice. I could never have had as much fun at any other Carnaval celebration in the world.
The first night of Carnaval I participated in the Samaipata Parade. About ten comparsas (40 person frat-like party groups that spent the weekend participating in activities together) circled the small plaza, dancing to the beat of small marching bands attached to each group. The comparsas each showed off their own float displaying an ornately dressed, sparkling painted Queen waving her beauty pageant hands as she blew kisses to the crowd, a crowd equally as large as the parade. Part of the joy about venturing to a smaller town like Samaipata for Carnaval was that I actively got to participate right in the center of the action, dancing along as a member of the parade, not just a booze infused sideline spectator that larger city processions attract. My comparsa, Los Murgueros, were so joyfully singing and jumping around during the spectacle, excited to finally welcome in Carnaval, that we won the city's "Most Festive" trophy. Along with the large golden cup, the mayor presented our comparsa with five cases of beer. After the awards ceremony, we ascended our strides over to a hostel housing the majority of the Murgueros visiting from the city. Our band played into the early hours after sunrise, as the endless flows of cerveza accompanied us as we danced along to our new stage, the dirt roads in front of Doña Lucia's hostel turned "1012" frat house.
I quickly found that Carnaval festivities last from sleepless dawns until the sun rises again 22 hours later. Anyone who knows me well doesn't have to stretch their imagination too far to figure out how much Mate de Coca, or Coca Tea, I chugged down this weekend to stay awake. Pair that the fact that I was doubling up meals three times a day -- first a pig roast with the Murgueros then a home cooked surprise at a friend's house with steak and rice wrapped in grape leaves -- my stomach was always fully satisfied.
During the days, the entire town of Samaipata flooded over to the plaza. Children ran wildly, throwing the traditional water balloons and spraying a silly string/shaving cream substitute on all passerbyers. For a quick historical fact, the Spanish first inhabited Samaipata for its streams and drinking water, the cleanest in the country. Now, as is all too fitting, for four days straight, the streets dripped constantly with water from exploding balloons. I was strongly advised not to bring along a camera for fear of getting it soaked (my sly way of hinting at the fact that I don't have the pictures or videos to properly invite you all to experience the festivities with me). As sad as I am to not have photos of the weekend, I'm lucky to have listened to these wise words. Under the steaming sun, bursts of random fire, friendly fire, and enemy fire -- balloons shooting from all unseen directions -- cooled my drenched bright green/yellow Murgueros uniform shirt. Young kids eyed out smiling, yet vengeful Carnaval participants, to sell bags full of 10 balloons for a peso. All day long we would toss balloons around amongst our own comparsa or tactfully hold a balloon over the head of a dance partner, tightening our fingers until, in an instantaneous pop, water covered their now soaked backs.
The marching bands played all day long. Feet pushed against the ground with every beat, like pattering rain on the cobble stone streets. We would sporadically march laps down the streets of town, bringing our dancing spirit to all the houses we passed. Yet, we always returned to one corner of the plaza where a single CD on repeat all weekend offered the club experience at all hours. Still dancing, still raining down balloons, still the same CD. An anthem for the weekend would be the Bolivian Carnaval song, "Voy a beber, voy a saltar, No me importa si me duele la cabeza," "I'm going to drink, I'm going to dance, and it doesn't bother me if my head hurts later," rang true.
Carnaval is endless dancing, drinking, and delicious food. It's the pure festivities. It's the celebrating spirit of everyone, from toddlers old enough to hold a water balloon, to elderly men and women skipping through the streets laughing. The town's mayor danced around, proudly getting sprayed in the face with silly string from young kids, throwing back cans on Paceña with Generation X, and conversing with the white-haired, older crowd over a meal of grilled pork. Samaipateñas of all ages participate as this small mountain town comes alive in the heavens. I had reluctantly agreed to return to Samaipata (where I had spent a quieter New Years), wanting to go to one of the extravagant parades in the city. I clearly made the right choice. I could never have had as much fun at any other Carnaval celebration in the world.
1 comments:
Loved reading about Carnaval.
Travel safely Greg...... Hope you are well.
Eileen
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