Do you want to play Carnaval?

                 

Despite having grown up Catholic, I was not exposed in my youth to the raucous fiestas that precede Ash Wednesday and Lent in predominantly Catholic countries. I was, however, thoroughly imbued with forty days of Lenten deprivation -- giving up chocolate one year, ice cream another, and, of course, meatless Fridays. Much of Protestant US does not celebrate this point in time before Lent, but in French-Catholic New Orleans, the celebrations are famously called Mardi Gras. In Brazil, Ecuador, and the rest of Latin America, the fiestas are called Carnaval (note the slightly different spelling than the English "carnival"). 

Source: www.etymonline.com

In reading about the origins of Carnaval, I learned that the etymology of the word Carnaval (now obvious) is "carne", meaning meat or flesh, both of which are important during this time of the bawdy, bodily, and revelry, not to mention, the impending compulsory meat restrictions of the Catholic Church. As an interesting side note, the more typical American use of the word "carnival" as a circus or fair was not coined until the mid-1920s. 

Sixteen years ago this week, Paul and I landed in Brazil, the beautiful coastal city of Rio de Janeiro, quite literally in the middle of their annual Carnaval festivities. It was a blast, even for fairly stodgy, mostly sober gringos like us. Elaborate parades with costumed dancers and drummers in the street, a fair amount of drunken revelry, and a lot of just plain wholesome fun for us. We danced, joined in the processions, and participated in the merrymaking with glee. 

Ecuador's Carnaval, like many of its celebrations, is more low key than Brazil's, at least in these parts. To be sure, there are some citywide fiestas up in the Andean cities of Guaranda and Ambato (we didn't go), as well as Cuenca in the south, and there was even a parade in nearby La Maná, sponsored by the recently re-elected mayor.  But, by far, what dominates the experience of Carnaval in our neck of the woods is the act of "playing" Carnaval". 

"To play" is not a standard adult action, except perhaps if one is talking about "playing football" or "playing the piano". And yet, to play Carnaval in Ecuador is a multi-generational game for all.

Carnaval in Ecuador is the equivalent of a nationwide water fight that begins Saturday morning (sometimes earlier) and lasts through Tuesday night. Four days. Buckets of water, super soakers, water balloons. You name it, any water delivery mechanism is your friend and weapon. This means you could be walking down the street in town and have a bucket of water poured over your head, or be riding along in the back of a pick-up truck and find yourself soaked. Or greet your neighbor with a friendly hello and have the response be a water balloon to the chest.

The funny thing is that, even if you might feel mildly annoyed, you are not really allowed to complain. It is Carnaval, after all. It is four days of play. It is open season. Fair game. Equal opportunity. It is wet. 

Luckily we live in a nice warm, tropical climate, so getting soggy is no big deal. It's actually quite fun. We have had brief moments of respite from playing, as the heavy winter rains temporarily suspend our running water for a few hours each day. But, don't worry, there is always the river, a constant supply of fluid fun.

If water is not sufficiently entertaining, you can try your hand at carioca, one of the strangest substances I have ever seen. It is basically canned foamy water. Some might call it artificial snow. It comes out of the bottle almost like silly spray. You squirt it at anyone you might come across; the face is fair game, but don't aim for the eyes. Luckily it is so benign it does not sting the eyes (much). If carioca is too tame, try powdered or liquid paint. And if you are really into it, even eggs, mud, and flour are acceptable ammunition (yup, you read that correctly). 

Kids and adults are astounded that we have never "played" Carnaval before. Even little old ladies ask, their mouths agape in astonishment, "Really, you don't play Carnaval in the US?" And it is in the midst of these moments of national silliness and fun and games that there is much to learn about cultural exchange, about tradition, and about our own common humanity. 

It is funny to watch my own children, so completely acculturated to Ecuador in some ways, but so obviously American in others. They are unused to the ease with which we are expected to tolerate being squirted or dumped on. Two do not particularly love paint being smeared on their face. They really don't like having to shower it all off. That being said, it has been a blast, and by the end of the fourth day, even Brynna was chasing off some of the neighbor kids with carioca. 

Paul, as those of you who know him might suspect, has thoroughly enjoyed furtively soaking the most unsuspecting friends and neighbors. Let's hope he doesn't try to bring the tradition back to the West End. I am not sure our neighbors will be as tolerant of his antics as our Ecuadorian community is.

If I could capture Lucia's giggle as she is about to hurl a jug of water at Pat, the look on Leyver's face as he stealthily approaches our porch with a bottle of water behind his back, or the grin of satisfaction on Sandy's face as she smears paint all over her grandmother, I would. 

But, alas, these are brief moments in time. Ash Wednesday comes tomorrow, and Carnaval 2023 will come to a close. 

At least I don't have to worry about wearing wet pants. :)