It's Carnival!

“This is the second best Carnival in South America, right?”

I thought I was being clever and honouring the Bolivians, putting them second only after the biggest Carnival in Rio de Janeiro in Brazil.

How wrong I was.

I was instantly corrected and told that there wasn’t a second best because each were grand in their own way.

Should’ve known. Even though I’m not a Gringa by definition, I had just acted like one.

We had landed in Bolivia on the 7th of February and after spending a sweaty day in Santa Cruz, taken the night bus to Sucre - The capital and our home for the next month. We were here to celebrate a milestone for a friend’s social project and to assist in whatever way we could. I was thoroughly enjoying Sucre but most of my friends (old and new) who had lived here were like the Grinches of Carnival.

“It’s too loud!”

“MESSY!!!”

“It’s boring”

Now let me preface by saying that there was more than one reason for us not wanting to go to Carneval de Oruro. In the run up to Carnival, Bolivians forget all semblance of civilisation and seem to descend into a state of primal fury where war must be waged at every corner, on unsuspecting passerby. Their weapon of choice? Water balloons.

I cannot tell you how disgusting it feels to step out of the house, freshly showered, only to have a water balloon hit you right on the head with considerable force. Not only is it dangerous, it’s downright annoying once it has happened 6 times in the span of 10 minutes. The cold water trickles down your back in a steady stream, cold and a constant reminder of the fact that most kids thoroughly make out with the balloons as they wait for their next victim. That’s disgusting even pre-corona! Central plazas were inaccessible and the rubbish left behind would make even the Pacific garbage patch shudder. If you thought reprimanding the kids would work, what would you say to their parents that were driving them around so they could pelt-and-run in a wider radius?

Tom and I were on the fence and almost decided against going when a little miracle called alcohol happened and we met some new folks at a bar who managed to revive the spirit of the fiesta in us! 3 days later, we were on a semi-cama (semi-sleeper bus) with a bunch of people, making our way to Oruro - The Bolivian Capital of Carnival; and pickpocketing.

We had been warned by everyone. We had split our money up into different locations. We had bumbags on and were on high alert. Less than 30 seconds into Oruro and Tom knew his wallet was gone. In 1,5 years of non-stop travel, this was a first so we cast that aside as tourist tax and looked forward to what was ahead - 3 days of absolute debauchery!

Oruro is a mining town and has seen its fair share of economic ups and downs. Once the silver mines were exhausted, the miners switched to tin and that is still the major occupation here. The streets were dusty and at the risk of sounding rude, the people looked a bit dusty too. Faded in time and forgotten by former colonisers who prance on their streets paved with (or rather by) the riches of their past conquests.

We had been recommended this tour guide by a new friend and we had carried out the process of booking this trip in an unnecessarily shady manner - in a public park. Handing him a wad of cash as the dozens of fluttering pigeons hooted their judgement at us. In a stroke of common sense, we had asked him for a receipt. As a traveller, I do not recommend this method and temporary lapse in our otherwise sharp senses!

We needn’t have worried. The arrangements were great. Clean and safe sleeping quarters, access to a clean bathroom, and the front door opened out onto Carnival Street!

Bolivians like a good drink. And they like sharing it with you! It isn’t uncommon to have a cup shoved in your hand and being politely but firmly offered a drink of whatever bright green, purple or shimmery blue substance is in there (Most likely Fernet *shudders*). The idea of sharing cups in a post-Corona world will probably be as forgotten as floppy disks and Britney Spears shaving her head but we were still pre-corona, baby! The world was our oyster and freedom of movement was still just that - free!

Historically, the Carnival was an ancient indigenous celebration as Oruro, then known as Uru Uru, was a religious pilgrimage centre for the Andean communities. With its annexation by the Incas, new good and evil Demi-Gods got added to the mix. Spanish colonisers tried to suppress this tradition and were met by a clever opposition; The Andeans started dressing up and concealing their Gods in Catholic icons and continued the celebrations. The Christian ideas of Virgin Mary and the Devil blended with the

Andean Pachamama (Earth Mother) and Tio Supay - A Yin for every Yang. A Black to the White.

Carneval is celebrated today with the same pomp and glory, reflecting the same blend of Pagan-Catholicism that a lot of Andean cultures have adopted.

What a lot of us visiting Carnival miss out on is that it is more than just elaborate costumes and street drinking. Above all, it is still a festival of the Gods - The old and the new. It begins 55 days before Easter and ends 46 days before Easter. Since the alleged appearance of an image of the Virgin Mary in Uru Uru, on the walls of the city’s richest mineshaft in 1756, the Carnival has been dedicated to Virgen de Sacovan (Virgin of the Mineshaft)

Undeniably, the highlight of the celebration is the 3 day and 3 night parade of about 48 groups of dancers that walk the 4 km stretch to the Sanctuary of the Tunnel.

The difference in performances is obvious with the Spanish influenced dancers having very similar dresses and very limited moves involving a lot of walking on stilettos and mainly just shaking of the booty. You can ask for a ‘beso’ and if you’re lucky you’ll get one!

The indigenous performers on the other hand exuded the kind of energy I had paid good money to go and watch. I was in love. The energy in the air, the glint in the eyes of the dancers, the tireless, repetitive moves but nothing brought them down! Each State sends groups of dancers, each group trying to outdo the other in costumes and regional representation. Today, a signature dance associated with the Carneval de Bolivia is the Diablada - Dance of the Devil.

Performers of the Diablada

A couple of things to know if you ever choose to attend the madness! - Beer and other alcohol and amazing food will be sold by passing vendors throughout. If you have the financial capacity, buy from them. These are folk that come from surrounding rural areas and make money mainly during this time.

- For hygiene, carry your own glasses. Not only are you saving on plastic going into the bin, you can use your own glass when someone inevitably offers you their drink. I realise this might mean nothing post-corona but I hope we will be okay again :)

- Watch out for the foam. For some reason, spray cans of foam have now become associated with carnival. It gave me chemical burns on my face. There is exactly 0 ways to avoid it being sprayed on you. Do the environment a favour and refuse one when the guide offers it to you. Every can makes a difference. Feel free to assert that you do not want any sprayed on you by the people around you. You’re not going against any tradition by doing so.

See that white stuff making this look like the end of a glorious adult film? It's foam.

The Carnival was one of the most amazing experiences of my life. It never had been on my bucket list but it should be on yours. Would I go back? Absolutely! But I’d do it differently. I’d do it on my own and I’d take more time to explore Oruro. In the same vein as Potosi, I want to see this town that carried the Spanish Empire on its back till it couldn’t any more, a town that saw ancient Andeans walk through it, calling out to their multitude of Gods with interesting characteristics and a town that today lives for the 9 days when the world remembers it again.