Fancy Sailor in Trinidad. This was my first Carnival!
Yesterday, I was walking through Praça Edmundo Bitencourt, a quiet park near where I live. Small dogs greeted each others behinds, neighbors lounged on the benches and octogenarians flung their limbs about on the green exercise machines that the city has set up in every park. I love Copacabana for its energetic octogenarians. Beyond the tweeting of birds and the yapping of those ugly white/yellow/pink dogs that old people always have, a thumping caught my ear. As I neared Rua Figueiredo Magalhães, the thumping clarified into a samba school’s endreo, the song they made to illustrate this year’s presentation.
“A minha Ilha e ouro é prata,
Tem o bronze da mulata,
Canta meu Rio em verso e prosa,
Com a cidade ainda mais maravilhosa.”
I couldn't find any pictures of Carnival in Baton Rouge. This will have to do.
A poetic reference to the upcoming Olympic games...Quickly I was engulfed by the bloco: the urgency of the thumping bateria, the joyfulness of the people dancing and singing along with the loudspeaker. I stood to the side and smiled as they passed, but didn’t even have to resist an urge to jump in. It’s the Saturday after Ash Wednesday. I’m a little tired of Carnaval! When does this party end?
The Infamous Negrita Puloys in Barranquilla! This picture was practically the advertisement for Aliarse, it was so prolific.
Please don’t shake your head and say, “Oh, Eliza, what’s happened to you? Are you getting to old for Carnaval?” No! According to my wonderful neighbors, no one is too old for Carnaval! As I pressed against the wall and passively enjoyed the passing excitement, a grey haired couple sprung hand-in-hand out of their apartment’s gate, skipping and singing along. Two weeks ago, at my first bloco, I jumped in with untapped energy, too. And that was two weeks ago. Every other Carnaval I’ve ever been to has ended with uncharacteristic punctuality on Ash Wednesday. I was pacing myself with that information in mind. But where others stop, the Cariocas keep going. Last night, on the Metro to Lapa for a concert, I spotted a man waiting on the opposite platform. He sat there, alone in his platic seat with an enourmous shiny collar on, his only company a 3 foot tall feathered headress sitting next to him. I think his carnaval was over. In Lapa, fireworks and blocos and unending energy. But finally, on the omnibus home, I saw a homeless person sleeping on a statue. Keeping watch was another beplummed headress. It was a quite and poetic image for me to end this experiece with. Now it’s Sunday. I think it’s over, and I'm not going outside 'till I know for sure! Haha just kidding. I’m going to describe the two main Carnaval activities I participated in in two separate entries because this is getting too long!
What am I doing?? I'll just wear some glitter and try to blend in!
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