Carnaval is a Blazing Ritual
Going to Carnaval is an agreement to suspend time and orientation. Carnaval in Bolivia is like unregulated Disneyworld with booze. Or perhaps even more accurately, what Disneyland would be like if placed on the island from Lord of the Flies, complementary booze included. The celebration of culture is sandwiched somewhere between the organized chaos and debauchery. Total harmonized discordance. Giant water war included.
For me enjoyment of Carnaval requires absolute suspension of any concept of time, sanitary standards, and ego. Being a young woman and a gringa automatically placed me amongst highest value targets for water balloons and spray foam. That is where suspension of ego comes in. I would have been absolutely miserable all weekend if I would have taken any of that personally. The key for me was to participate without judgement and sometimes honestly, without thinking for too long about where I actually was and what I was actually doing. Again, fruition of successful Carnaval requires suspension of any previous concept of time, health standards, oreintation. I suppose all that ads up to what is called ego. I love Carnaval precisely for that reason. For me Carnaval in Bolivia is an exercise in stripping away the many layers of social domestication we literally wear, on our faces, in our clothes, in our actions. Toxic spray foam strips the synthetic layers of self leaving ballloons to tarnish a new sense of self onto skin and finally, water balloons (traditional name does no guarantee water as contents in ballloon) to give a purifying rinse. This process leaves me literally and figiratively feeling the most raw possible, so entirely stripped from ego the only remainder is essence, pure love, pure light, pure life. Whatever essence is, it is the final product of post-Carnaval Jojo.
Trash seems to be the only element of Carnaval unharassed by the water balloon brigades. Whilst lounging upon a mid-summer’s eve in the middle of the central plaza of Orurenan Carnaval for ten minutes or so I intentfully watched my littered water bottle complete it’s destiny. Carnaval in Oruro may be the only time I have even actually felt my no littering would make a difference. Even Eli threw more than two sheets of TP to the wind. Watching my bottle scuff along the chatty tile, set into motion through unaware feet, I had an insight into the trash/waste debris blanket covering the town. At first all the trash seemed echoes of a violent past, the ruins of a bear-den Carnaval. As I allowed my mind the freedom to wander I thought, “well, in actuality, the scattered evidence of human presence and consumption that is trash makes a significant contribution to the beauty of Carnaval.” The trash is like the foil in major literary works. The trash makes the constumes, the music, the deep fried cheese fritters, all so comparitavely brilliant the parades and dances of Carnaval truly convert into spectacles of momentous glory. Chincey glitter becomes profound grace. The parade path is for Bolivian steps resounding cultural richness alone. BTW, insight was not beer talking. Was sober.
Another magicalization of life achieved by Carnaval in Oruro is philosphy of sharing. From the hands of strangers that pull you up onto benches between beer-soaked slats to the inability to ever find one’s cup even half-empty, the general attitude at Carnaval I found akin to a “if your cup is full, may it be full again.” Metaphorical and literal. Of course carnaval is not all romanticisms and joy. There are plenty of brawls, deth count in Bolivia at about 54 this year. The population in Bolivia also harbors serious alchohol challenges. I am hesitant to make a judgment call by using the phrase “alcohol problems” but by (internationally comparitvaley strict standards) U.S. standards at least half of Bolivians would merit a stay at a rehab center. interestingly (at least to me) many parallels can be drawn between Bolivian cultural history and alcholism and “Native American” cuultural history and alcoholism. If you are interested in what I mean by this, read some about it or let me know. Otherwise I will leave that comparison at ‘nuff said. If it is of concern to you, it will be pursued. If not, wouldn’t want to make you less likely to read my future blogs by babbling on and prosthelitizing about it here and now.
To end since time is running out quickly before I am headed to the Pacific Ocean, the only thing Carnaval is really missing in my opinion are live llammas. Llammas are so regal, they are the only thing besides trash that could make Carnaval any more stupendous and organically classy.
Going to Carnaval is an agreement to suspend time and orientation. Carnaval in Bolivia is like unregulated Disneyworld with booze. Or perhaps even more accurately, what Disneyland would be like if placed on the island from Lord of the Flies, complementary booze included. The celebration of culture is sandwiched somewhere between the organized chaos and debauchery. Total harmonized discordance. Giant water war included.
For me enjoyment of Carnaval requires absolute suspension of any concept of time, sanitary standards, and ego. Being a young woman and a gringa automatically placed me amongst highest value targets for water balloons and spray foam. That is where suspension of ego comes in. I would have been absolutely miserable all weekend if I would have taken any of that personally. The key for me was to participate without judgement and sometimes honestly, without thinking for too long about where I actually was and what I was actually doing. Again, fruition of successful Carnaval requires suspension of any previous concept of time, health standards, oreintation. I suppose all that ads up to what is called ego. I love Carnaval precisely for that reason. For me Carnaval in Bolivia is an exercise in stripping away the many layers of social domestication we literally wear, on our faces, in our clothes, in our actions. Toxic spray foam strips the synthetic layers of self leaving ballloons to tarnish a new sense of self onto skin and finally, water balloons (traditional name does no guarantee water as contents in ballloon) to give a purifying rinse. This process leaves me literally and figiratively feeling the most raw possible, so entirely stripped from ego the only remainder is essence, pure love, pure light, pure life. Whatever essence is, it is the final product of post-Carnaval Jojo.
Trash seems to be the only element of Carnaval unharassed by the water balloon brigades. Whilst lounging upon a mid-summer’s eve in the middle of the central plaza of Orurenan Carnaval for ten minutes or so I intentfully watched my littered water bottle complete it’s destiny. Carnaval in Oruro may be the only time I have even actually felt my no littering would make a difference. Even Eli threw more than two sheets of TP to the wind. Watching my bottle scuff along the chatty tile, set into motion through unaware feet, I had an insight into the trash/waste debris blanket covering the town. At first all the trash seemed echoes of a violent past, the ruins of a bear-den Carnaval. As I allowed my mind the freedom to wander I thought, “well, in actuality, the scattered evidence of human presence and consumption that is trash makes a significant contribution to the beauty of Carnaval.” The trash is like the foil in major literary works. The trash makes the constumes, the music, the deep fried cheese fritters, all so comparitavely brilliant the parades and dances of Carnaval truly convert into spectacles of momentous glory. Chincey glitter becomes profound grace. The parade path is for Bolivian steps resounding cultural richness alone. BTW, insight was not beer talking. Was sober.
Another magicalization of life achieved by Carnaval in Oruro is philosphy of sharing. From the hands of strangers that pull you up onto benches between beer-soaked slats to the inability to ever find one’s cup even half-empty, the general attitude at Carnaval I found akin to a “if your cup is full, may it be full again.” Metaphorical and literal. Of course carnaval is not all romanticisms and joy. There are plenty of brawls, deth count in Bolivia at about 54 this year. The population in Bolivia also harbors serious alchohol challenges. I am hesitant to make a judgment call by using the phrase “alcohol problems” but by (internationally comparitvaley strict standards) U.S. standards at least half of Bolivians would merit a stay at a rehab center. interestingly (at least to me) many parallels can be drawn between Bolivian cultural history and alcholism and “Native American” cuultural history and alcoholism. If you are interested in what I mean by this, read some about it or let me know. Otherwise I will leave that comparison at ‘nuff said. If it is of concern to you, it will be pursued. If not, wouldn’t want to make you less likely to read my future blogs by babbling on and prosthelitizing about it here and now.
To end since time is running out quickly before I am headed to the Pacific Ocean, the only thing Carnaval is really missing in my opinion are live llammas. Llammas are so regal, they are the only thing besides trash that could make Carnaval any more stupendous and organically classy.
posted by Jojo at 7:47 AM
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