Saturday, Feb. 25th, Carnival begins... slowly.

I awoke at dawn. I was the first one up. I was as dry as a sitcom in England and there was nary a drop of water I could drink to be found. Ah, i snuck out of bed and let a sleeping Jojo lie (something I think you are all aware was a good move by now). I slipped on my hiking boots, which were the only shoes i brought due to their durability and waterproofness, and ventured out into the courtyard.

Glory in the sun that sloped in softly illuminating the very air, clear in this high desert town. Wind rustled the leaves of the tree growing out of the central planter that occupied the central third of the ground, the rest paved in stone and concrete. A large concrete sink, propped permanently on concrete block anchored the end of the central planter and glistened with the promise of water, and sever diarrhea. Peeling paint and chipped plaster, rough red brick and curtained windows all around, tile and corrugated metal roof sloping in, teasing my tongue with toughs of collected rainwater. Tall double doors barred the entrance, and exit. I tested the lock. Familiar in it's function, easy out, but only a key to let you back in.

I opened the doors... another set let out onto the street. Propping the doors open I peaked out onto a foreign street that hours before I had arrived on, but now, in light, something completely different. And yet the same. Across the street and down a bit was a storefront, barred and closed in the early morning hours. No water. Not yet. I tried sleep again. The light kept increasing. Primary colors enameled my view of the window. Blue paint on the walls of our shared room. Red sill and yellow outside, the light picking out the contrasts and softly illuminating the day. I lay in repose and pondered the world, the hemisphere, the country and city i was in, all foreign, but for the warmth, and softness, the even calm breaths of the body next to me. Jojo in peaceful slumber, warmly reassuring me. I lay down and calmed my breath and in that peaceful pose I relaxed into a state of composure and serenity, and I knew, all was well, and our adventure only just beginning.

The doors creaked open and three Pacenans entered. Two assisting one (I've just learned that he was Condor, arms spread like the iconic bird of the Andes, it's a term used here for just this situation, and now one of my favorite words). We met Pepe. He was _wasted_ like it was carnival, and his job was to set the standard for all of us sleepers. Good natured, hilarious, and complete in his waking-ness of the inhabitants of the room. He knew some english and was sure to use it. Eventually he fell asleep and his companions as well. Pepe could have been one of those moments of disaster but instead he was excellent and humorous. Everyone fell back asleep but me, so this time i rose again and went out to the street. Much to my mouth, throat, and body's delight the store across the street was open. I purchased four large waters and went back to the hostel. My dehydration was about to be confronted and the day met with vigor.

As everyone else began to wake and gather we donned our clothes in preparation for debauchery and dirtiness. Jojo, Maren, Lauren, Juan-Ma and myself donned ponchos. Most people have clear plastic ponchos that rip easy but cover completely and look sorta futuristic. Others have light but opaque plastic ponchos more like mine, and a few, hard core soles have the full on tent-forming snap closure poncho like me. They are all hot in the intense sun, and they trap not only heat, but all the swat and moisture you can generate to boot. However uncomfortable they are, they're worth it. Globos rain down from balconies and rooftops, or are thrown from people passing by on foot or by car. Squire guns are a common factor as well, although they pale in comparison to the globos for sheer soaking ability. But most hazardous is the spray foam. It comes cheap and goes a long way. some spray a mist of soap type foam and others a stream of suds, more akin to shaving cream.

It's out and out warfare like when you were a kid and the entire neighborhood was armed on the hotter days of summer. People of all ages hawk globos (pre-filled or in a bag, full of potential) and foam. People of all ages buy and use said armament. Just walking to the parade rout, which is the center of carnival, is a test of evasive maneuvers and dampened pride. A globo thrown and 40 kph from a van moving 30 kph is a 70 kph surprise that is a test of strength, of both character and reflex. Showing too much of either will only attract more, semi-unwanted attention. But it's all in good fun! And the fun doesn't even remotely stop there.

Towards the center of town (and believe me, that is an assumption I cannot back up. Usually, I make it a priority to understand the lay of the land, but in this case, Carnival overcame any 'usual' activity or understanding, and I left Oruro with little of the usual knowledge i generally gather) is a square, and around this square the parade route goes, "U-ing" around three sides. Lining the parade route from beginning to end are bleachers, assembled specially for carnival, various in number and type, and made of wood, metal, or some combination of the two.

We waited in line for a few minutes for a gap in the parade. Once clear has been signaled by the police (again in amazing numbers! more than I could ever have guessed) the people on either side are allowed to pass through a gauntlet. The gauntlet is made of a metal cage with two lanes, in and out, between the bleachers on the "out" side of the route. Bleachers tower over both sides and the gap is constantly being crossed above by beers, globos, and other products purchase from vendors below and outside the bleachers. Police line up to create a gauntlet across the street, presumably preventing people form impromptly joining the parade up or down the street. Passing trough this gauntlet is risky business, as you are prime and easy targets for globos.

We got to see Pepe again right before we went in. He was being kicked out by the police much to his dislike to which he protested passionately. The police, so cavalier in their displays of force and tear gas were surprisingly gentle with him. It did take some serious poking for him to ultimately weave and sway his way off, through the crowd

Once through the interior of the square was a have of quiet and a modicum of peace. Being surrounded on three sides by a degree of insanity and excitement only lets a person relax so much. Juan-Ma led us to an area of bleachers that supposedly housed our seats. There is no way, in all the chaos, that 'seats' can be saved, reserved, or acquired. It's a free for all of good fun and cheer. And Beer.

However, before we could attain our seats, both Jojo and I needed some food, and finding a good vegetarian option within the square was an impossibility neither of us had considered. So out through the gauntlet again we went, through both bottlenecks (before you enter the street and then off the street through the cage again) and into the streets full of vendors and carnivalers alike. We walked for a block and then another, following the rule of 'left' (always go left first, duh) until we stumbled across a pizza joint. We ate vegetarian pizza (for anyone who doesn't know yet, Jojo has sacrificed her veganism for the huge amount of convenience of being able to eat anywhere other than home), had a liter of Coke, and then coffee. We used the relatively clean facilities and after the hour and a half all that took, headed back to the entrance.

The line had grown, and lengthened in duration proportionately to the intensity of revelry brought on by the increased energy of the parade. We waited. And waited. The line itself was an atmosphere of revelry. People passing by selling things, food, globos. People stationary selling things. Everyone in line was involved. A group of people in front of us were purchasing globos and throwing them at passers by with regularity. Their targets seemed to be of two varieties; other groups with a water war in action, and gringos. Let me digress; gringos stand out. It's a fact of life here. Gringos tend to be taller, and of course there's the skin. The people of Bolivia range in shades, but most are a dark brown, with dark hair (although not always brown, and not always natural). There are many gringos, from all over, not just Americans. Argentineans, who tend to be lighter, seem to attract similar attention, Europeans from all over, and some Australians. There do seem to be a number of Asians as well, but it is very hard (for me) to distinguish Asians from South Americans. Some of it is due to ancestry, some to culture. But as far as I can tell there is a clear division of Gringos and Locals.

Let me affirm here that I do not mind the ever present label of Gringo, as I am here, giving gringos a good name. It is not a negative, or a pejorative. It can, and often does, connote dismay, but just as often it's a descriptive word. On the other hand Yankee is most definitely a pejorative. "Yankee go home" is a catch phrase, and is sometimes the only phrase in English some people know. It will come up again.

I will add that after a good amount of observation in the line, Jojo and I joined in the globo warfare, buying a bag of our own, which I then smuggled into the square. Not a big deal as people sell them everywhere, but I was told that if the police gauntlet saw them, they might discard my precious globos. After waiting about an hour and a half in line we made it into the square. We found the tell tale boots of Maren, and the sneakers of Jamie, and slithered our way into the stands with them. This is where carnival is truly appreciated, and where I came to understand the fun and humor with which carnival must be celebrated.

Jostling and positioning for a stable stance of a wide wooden plank surrounded by the multitudinous rabble of carnival I made friends. It didn't matter who or with whom, if you were nearby, you were a friend. Beer is shared and spilled, poured onto heads and lost in a frenzy of globo onslaught. Beers are shard. They are given away. Metas matas, 'seca' (dry it, or bottoms up to you), anything, just avoid the spray foam in my beer please. I will forever have a fear of soapy beer now, and the bitterness that follows a gulp of beer, laced with foam will stick with me, but let's not kid here, nothing like that can ruin the fun of Carnival.

I can only imagine that if i ever see again and meet the guy with the curly hair and white t-shirt across the parade route in the stands opposite me we will be friends. It would be a testament to non verbal communication and our accurate throwing arms, and above all, our good natured taunting. I know he nailed me, right in the hat (with a wide weave to emit heat, and permit water from a globo), and I know I got him, high in the chest, with a spray to cover both head and abdomen. I remember giving Jojo a globo at one point and she hurled it high and short, and it drenched the entire front of a police man across the street. the expression on his face, of hurt pride for an instant, and that reflex passing, of good natured submission to the spirit of carnival, will be with me forever. If only I had a camera.... but on second thought, I don't think cameras work well covered in foam, beer, and water.

We danced with the dancers, parading for miles to the tunes wrought from tuba, baritone horn, trumpet, drums and cymbals. We whirled with the devil costumes and stomped in step with the diableros. Men scurried between the dancers and musicians feeding beer to parched performers. Costumes were diabled in accidental attack by gleeful globosers. And field repaired just as quickly. Women in native garb of layered and ruffled skirts, and hand sewn and embroidered camisetas. All adorned with the standard bowler hat of the indigenous women. The parade is hard to describe. Every province, town, and region is represented by a group and most are a variation on a theme. I am sure there is a very well studied, professional description of the reasons, and culture, that the parade expresses. This is not it. The men dress as devils, and the women as she-devils. Wearing masks of erie expressions and vacant stares with garish makeup. The dance is choreographed and representative of something. The music is a three step beat that keeps the whole parade moving, all day saturday, all night saturday night, all day sunday, and I can only presume, all night sunday.

Jojo and danced and drank in the stands for hours. Hours that stretched until near sundown. We left in a haze of heat and booze, the smells of beer, people and other unseemly odors mixing with our own sweat. We faced the dual bottlenecks again and escaped through the confusion of street vendors and globos. Jojo bought some beautiful earrings from a traveling artist (most likely from Argentina, it seems to be a thing for them) and we headed home.

Once back in the quite of the courtyard and our rooms we enjoyed a collective nap with our friends and friends of friends. I have no idea how long we slept, except that it seemed like hours and could have been minutes. I woke up more or less sober, and a group of us gringos, Juan-Ma in tow, went looking for grub, and found a Hare Krishna vegetarian place that served an amazing lasagna.

After dinner, and some hand washing with dish soap that left my hands worse off than before, we went back to the square. I couldn't find it within myself to drink again, but that is what the situation called for. The tradition is to dance and drink all night, then follow the parade route to a big plaza and dance while the sun came up. Jojo and I felt the pull of this tradition, but the sounds, and smells, and our lack of insobriety prevented us from joining in. We sat in the square for a while, watching, talking, listening, and deciding. Bed time for us.

We returned to the hotel, and found the room quite alone, and together, comfortable and warm, fell into peaceful, sleep.