As I mentioned in a previous post, Peruvians celebrate “carnival” during the entire month of February. I’ve been doused a few times with water by random kids, but up until now I didn’t realize that some Peruvians like to take carnival to the next level.
Susan, Andres, and I went with Luz and her family to a Valentine’s Day celebration at a restaurant in a neighboring town. I use the word “restaurant” for lack of a better word, but in reality it was a huge piece of outdoor property surrounded by a fence. Within the confines of the fence were tons of picnic tables, a bunch of kiosks where chefs were cooking things like pig hearts, and a stage with a very loud sound system.
Hundreds of people sat around eating while hundreds more gathered around the stage to dance to music supplied by various bands onstage. It was ridiculously hot, so I was grateful that I didn’t know any Peruvian dances. I was safe to watch from a distance while nibbling on my fishy-looking fish.
Yrma, however, didn’t seem to think it mattered that Susan, Andres, and I didn’t know any traditional Peruvian dances. She dragged us to the front to join the other dancers, so we had no choice but to awkwardly jog in place. I could feel the eyes on us, and I’m sure we were quite a spectacle, especially since we were a head taller than everyone else.
At one point Yrma pushed us to the front so we could get pictures. I’m not sure if she knew what would happen or if she was innocent, but as soon as we got close, the singers on-stage motioned us to join them. No way, I thought. No way. I felt Yrma pushing me from behind, and soon a miniature singing man was pulling my arm. Before I knew it I was dancing on-stage with Susan and a bunch of enthusiastic Peruvian entertainers. It felt like a very bizarre dream.
Awhile later, after we had escaped the mania on stage, a new band came on and started throwing small packages of talcum powder into the crowd. Before I had figured out what was happening, there were white faces everywhere.
At one point I looked around at the sea of black hair below me, the madness on stage, the white powder all over my arms, then the Peruvian foothills in the distance. I burst out laughing. How on earth did I get here, and what the heck am I doing?
After one beer too many was splashed on me (the white girls, it turns out, were great targets), I made my way back to our table to pout a bit. My hair was wet from the beer, my clothes were a mess, and I was ready to leave.
Eventually the rest of the group made its way back to the table too, but so did the owner of the whole facility–the man who had previously been on-stage with the band, covering everybody who would come near him with powder. Sure enough, he approached me from behind and smashed a fistful of talcum powder all over my face as Andres caught it on camera. I sputtered and spit and gasped for powder-free air.
Oh what an odd tradition carnival is. I had thought the kids splashing water on strangers was somewhat bizarre, but adults whitewashing strangers with talcum powder? Now that’s just crazy.
