At the oppressive hour of 5:00 AM Saturday morning we boarded a bus and made the four-hour trip to Oruro to take part in the first day of this four-day celebration. This day consists of a staggeringly long parade in which groups made up of dancers donned in exquisite costumes proceed directly in front of and directly behind raucous brass bands that blare traditional Bolivian music with reckless, musical abandon. The 2.5 mile-long parade track winds through the city, every inch of which is lined by bleachers, 12-15 levels high, that are covered by colorful and tenuous tarps (ours was halfway collapsed by the end of the night) and are filled to the max with exuberant Bolivians and awestrucken gringos.
By some accounts, our introduction to this festival was unexpected and even a little harsh. Our guide miscalculated the exact location of our seats along the parade route and we were forced to walk along the side of parade track itself, vicariously placed between the rowdy crowd and the paraders themselves. It took a mere 15 seconds in this precarious location to be hit in the chest with a water balloon and a mere 3 minutes to be soaking wet and covered, nearly head-to-toe, in shaving cream. All of this was thanks to the good-natured crowd which possessed seemingling endless caches of water balloons, super soakers, and high pressured shaving cream cans and that ensured that we were properly welcomed and initiated by the time we arrived to our seats.
After settling into cramped seats on unforgiving, bound wooden 2x4´s we began to take in our surroundings. Groups of dancers and bands processed one after another, producing somewhat of a doppler effect that mirrored the emotion of the crowd: both the volume of music and the energy of the onlookers grew, peaked, and diminished as the bands and dancers came and went. As soon as the immediate vicinity was clear of paraders, water balloons flew in every direction, some of which landed on intentional targets but most of which doused innocent and unseeming onlookers, all of whom were legitimate targets on this day. It took less than 3 breaks in the action before we were on the hunt for water balloons to throw ourselves. A quick trip down a wooden ladder at the top of the bleachers took us to the sub-bleacher terrain, an area filled with enterprising locals selling anything from lukewarm Peceña beer to shaving cream cannons to water balloons. In short, a thriving sub-economy had been created for this event. Four Bolivianos later (equivalent to US $o.50), we were equipped with two bags of water balloons and we began picking out and picking off our targets. The process of descending the rickety wooden ladder, buying warm beer, using a local´s home bathroom for 1 Boliviano, and restocking on water balloons was one we undertook literally 20+ times throughout the day and it is safe to say that we hurled over 400 water balloons in total, dislocating our shoulders and adding to the mayhem that was Carnaval de Oruro.
By the time the afternoon rolled around, we began to anticipate the finale of what was already an overwhelmingly extravagant and impressive parade. Much to our surprise, the groups of bands and dancers kept coming as if being cranked out of an overworked parade machine whose switch was constitutively placed in the "ON" position. There was literally not one minute in the entire day during which we were not watching a group immediately in front of us or viewing one in the pipeline, minutes from our direct gaze. The afternoon sun, which for hours beat down on colorful streamers and created equally colorful shadows on the ground, eventually began to set and with it came a reciprocal elevation in the energy level of the crowd. Not a single festival-goer, present since dawn, had departed and even more people packed the stands, bringing with them more water balloons and shaving cream to add to the mix.
Around dinner time and in response to a nearly complete lack of blood flow to the overworked padding of our buttocks, we took a walking tour of Oruro and found the energy outside the parade to be just as high and contagious as that within the vibrant festival chute. More enterprising spirits lined the streets and the tragectories of water balloons and shaving cream could again be followed from their originators to their targets. As we walked along the outside of the parade track, we found the exact same scene time and time again: Bolivians dancing in their bleacher seats to the sound of the marching band and the jingle of bells attached to the dancer´s ornate costumes. The uniformity of the response to the parade was overwhelming and inspiring and directly reflects the love and respect these people share for their culture.
We eventually returned to our seats and got the immediate impression that we hadn´t missed much: the parade machine continued its diligent production of group after group of performers. In close conjuction with the now darkened sky and the ever more festive (and drunk) crowd, los grupos en fuegos emerged, bringing with them dancers donning fire-shooting helmets, jumbo-sized sparklers, and roman candles all set to the backdrop of a 15 foot-wide rope of some innocuous burning material, all of which created the impression of a group of devil dancers emerging from the fiery depths. With these groups came the greatest surges of energy in the crowd which began to take on the form of a raucous, carnal mob though one still deeply respectful of the traditions for which it was celebrating.
Our group´s promised 11 PM departure time came and went as the Bolivian operators, equally as mesmerized by the parade now as they were upon our arrival 13 hours ago, insisted that we stay for "one more group"! One group turned into two groups which turned into five groups and by 12:30 we were finally crossing the parade track towards the exit. This time, however, our trek was free of assault by water balloons and shaving cream, partially because these activities had ceased hours ago but also in part, or so we´d like to think, because we´d now been initiated in the ways of the Bolivian culture. The increased respect we now possessed for the people and their traditions made us worthy of a peaceful walk out. That, and because we´d proven ourselves to be a pretty good shot and we wouldn´t hesitate one bit to throw a water balloon right back.
-Will Bynum
Josh, Will, and Daniel in Oruro
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