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Published: February 23rd 2010
You may know it as Mardi Gras in New Orleans or as the biggest party in Rio but not many people know that Carnaval is just as happening in Oruro, Bolivia as it is in these other monsters of party capitals. Rather than throwing beads or throwing back yards of margaritas, the only things thrown here are...water balloons and plenty of them. The best part about this is about ninety percent of the time they are directed at girls and young women. It apparently doesn´t matter how big of a target I am, basically screaming "HIT ME AT ALL TIMES," the young chicos love the ladies.
It all started on our arrival to Potosi. Potosi was the box of sugar cereal called Cerro Rico and silver was the toy in the bottom; however, there wasn't just one toy in this box, there were thousands...of tons. It is said that over 200 years, 45,000 tons have been stripped of this mountain. The Spanish, who took it upon themselves and the direction of the Bible to open this box, didn't stick an arm in elbow deep to get to this toy but rather turned the entire thing inside out. All of this
Jess' First Hit
Oh it got worse...work was, of course, carried out on the backs of the indigenous people, of whom 8 million didn't survive to see the fat stacks produced.
On the bus ride in we were bumping along the road that was under construction. Turns out that even the road workers wanted a piece of the fun. The driver of a water tanker, responsible for dust control, turned on the pumps as he drove by our bus that was stopped for traffic control. The effect was basically a water canon directed sideways that gave the bus an unexpected washing. Also unsuspecting were all the passengers on the right side window seats that got about a gallon of water each to the face, Jess being one of them. Classic. I was surprised; she took it in stride!
We settled into a hostel and watched as young boys chased young girls, squirting them with giant Supersoaker water guns and hurling water balloons. Some of the boys fancied what looked like a can of shaving cream that blasted foam at a pretty decent range. Anyone is fair game during this week, including unarmed tourists. I for one was nervous and tense all afternoon as we
walked because I knew the hell to pay if Jess was attacked. I don't mean the lashing I would give but the lashing I would receive from one wet Jessica. My stress was apparent as Jess told me to calm down and that I shouldn't let it get to me. I was thankful that she said this as it relieved me of all chivalrous duties and she was free to take any soaking she had coming. It didn't take long before she was royally pissed at anything pre-pubescent wearing a sweater. Hey, she said it wasn't anything to stress about...
Our next stop was Sucre, the constitutional capital of Bolivia, and another town plundered by the Spanish yet still a beautiful colonial city. The water and foam affair was in full swing upon our arrival. We quickly found a cheap hotel to store our gear and then took to the streets attempting to go unnoticed; not an easy task when the average height of locals is in the 5'3" range. We did find sanctuary in a market surrounding a courtyard that was lined with vendors selling magical fruit salads. For a dollar you could have the breakfast of a
lifetime. A tray piled high with fresh fruit: mango, papaya, oranges, apples, strawberries, grapes, star fruit, peaches, passionfruit; this covered in yogurt and granola, all for a US dollar. Divine. Unfortunately we couldn´t sleep here and had to head back out into the mayhem. It was Thursday and every one was preparing for the biggest party of the festival (which technically hadn't even started yet) which was on Saturday and celebrated at its peak in the city of Oruro. The parade that takes place there is considered one of Mankind's Masterpieces of the Oral and Intangible Heritage of Humanity by UNESCO. Thousands of Bolivians and tourists alike line the streets in bleachers to view the spectacle. Over 28,000 costumed dancers and 10,000 musicians participate and the procession lasts for 20 hours. The parade is a celebration of a fusion of Andean people's beliefs with a twist of Christian themes and figures. The indigenous people praise Pachamama (Mother Earth) and Tio Supay (Uncle God of the Mountain) but the years of Christian influence have transformed these two figures into the Virgin Mary and the Devil. The celebration depicts the battle between good and evil amongst other themes. The costumes are incredibly
elaborate: parade groups sport everything from festive masks decorated with real owls to colorful uniforms with bells lining tall boots.
We arrived in Oruro at 6:30am and set to trying to find a place to stay. Everything was booked, short of peoples' garages that you sleep thirty to a slab of concrete in a sleeping bag. We decided to store our bags at the bus station and buy tickets for a late night bus to La Paz. By 8:00am we were sorted and by sorted I mean we were crammed into a rickety bleacher and I had three cans of beer in my lap and the parade was underway. Jess thought she would be civilized and wait a couple hours before cracking a cold one. Between getting up for more beer, snacks and bathroom breaks, the locals were getting tired of us. I guess we should have brought giant blankets complete with fried chickens, dozens of ears of corn, full dining wares for ten people all strapped to our back too. We had come and gone several times and had watched three hours of the parade. I couldn´t stay any longer. Once you've heard one Bolivian marching band you've
heard 'em all and these grasshopper legs of mine couldn't be disconnected and stashed in the overhead compartment (as my sister likes to say about these fine stems).
I convinced Jess, unwillingly at first, to hit the streets to catch the rest of the action. One walk through the alley of bleachers and food vendors left us pretty much soaked from head to toe with water and foam. Apparently Saturday is the day when it no longer matters what sex you are and now we had Bolivians of all ages pelting us. This means war. A couple shots of Johnny Courage (not actually shots but a brilliant mixture of cans of beer and Cuba Libres...yes, the cocktail in can form, SWEET) had Jess fired up and ready to take blood. I personally fancied the water balloons that were sold by the bag, ready to go, whereas Jess was a cold-blooded killer with a can of spray foam. As it turns out, I am not Rhoald Dahl's BFG after all but possibly the Swamp Thing or an ugly ogre in a child's fairytale. I would attack small children, naturally, with a balloon and then wait for a friendly war to
ensue. No war ensued but more likely a tear or two as these children pondered what they could have ever done to have deserved this frightening punishment. I couldn't understand it. Jess decided we needed to take it up a notch and open a can on the teens that were stalking the streets. "Oh, baby! They didn't even see it coming!" Jess would exclaim as she filled a kids face with a pile of foam. Staged behind mini-buses she planned ambushes with the precision of a general. Ruthless this woman is. All of her frustration and threats directed at me soon melted away and a wicked grin spread across her face. Thank goodness for the hell of an exchange rate in Bolivia because Jess and I would have been washing dishes back home for the amount of money we emptied into water balloons and cans of cheap booze. Ten at night and the parade was still in full swing as we stumbled onto our bus exhausted and wet. We fell into a much needed snooze as we bounced along on our way to the twinkling hills of La Paz.
We awoke to the command of the bus attendant to
hand over our tickets. I searched my pockets repeatedly in vain. All I could find was a Twix bar, a half dozen caramels, an empty flask of rum and some lint. Upon the chest-pocket-pat-down I discovered the tickets to Jess' relief. We straightened in our seats to find our windows sparkling with brilliant orange and blue lights that peppered the cliff-lined hills that surround La Paz. A quick cab ride from the bus terminal landed us at Adventure Brew Hostel. Yes folks, that is the word brew you have read in the name. It is a brewery hostel that grants you one free beer per night that you stay. Can you say, Brilliant? Especially when you are travelling with your wife and get to drink her beer too when she isn't up for it. I hate to say it but our stay in La Paz was petty pathetic on a traveler's scale...well, a mature, culture-seeking traveler that is. Here we encountered about two dozen travelers that were actually our age. This was a huge bonus as you all know how sensitive I have become lately in the age department. We all hit it off majestically. Our hostel was directly in
front of the parade route and had a balcony on the 4th floor that gave us a bird's eye view and not to mention the high ground when it came to attacking parade goers with buckets of water.
We thought that we were leaving the crazy water fights behind us but as it turns out we just entered a city that was starting a four-day parade binge and that this city fancied the foam over water. I left the hostel four times in three days (ATM run, searching for mid-day scraps of food, one Kamikaze raid on the parade goers with two cans of foam and to buy bus tickets). Jess did not leave once. Steve and Cathie, if you know your daughter, she was rabidly stir crazy and not to mention sick from something she ate in Oruro. She put on her game face though and held in there. Mom and everyone else, if you know me, I was in heaven. Cheap beer on tap all day for three days, hilarious travelers we befriended, first-class meals guaranteed not to make you sick and all-night Texas Hold 'Em. I really have to thank Jess for allowing this to take
place. What? You literally could not leave the hostel if you wanted to without getting wrecked by all the drunk locals. What would you have done? We also couldn't leave the city because all the bus drivers were drunk celebrating the holiday. Stuck, boohoo. I was a hero because I helped carry two kegs up four flights of stairs for free pints but nearly threw my back out in the process. I would love to actually tell you something worth while about La Paz but you will have to read someone else's blog for that info. For now, check out our next blog as we leave this mess behind us and head for Lake Titicaca. Ciao amigos. See you soon.
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John
non-member comment
Great Story
I'm an Aussie who spends a lot of time working in Bolivia os I really appreciated this story, but I'm a lot older than you guys and I left Carnaval at 4.30am after a serious night of challa the night before. you need to pick your game up. It's such a wonderful country though, enjoy the rest of your stay.