carnaval

An escape from the heat and the chaos in the city came in the form of Carnaval in Gualeguachú, a small Argentinean town in the province of Entre Rios that comes alive once a year for the celebration. Shane and I had previously made all sorts of hypothetical plans for going to Brazil for Carnival but one by one, they all fell apart, as did our bank accounts, as all great plans do. One of Paul's former workmates was dancing in the Argentine, bastard stepchild version of the celebration so we figured it would be a pretty good substitute. In Gualeguachú we met up with several of Paul's colleagues who were kind enough to secure us camping space.

Leaving bright and early on Saturday morning, we arrived at the campground which was a hellava scene. Tents everywhere, young, drunk, half-naked porteños covering every square inch of space, trash as far as the eye could see, and music pumping all around from personal stereos to pimped out car stereo systems requiring earplug action. I suddenly felt like I was at a Latin version of Coachella or that I was in Acapulco for spring break 5 years too late. I felt very old and very tired. We passed Saturday afternoon drinking mate on the beach, beer on the patio of the Costa Azul restaurant, and watching the madness unfold.


The main event was from 10pm-2am and was larger than expected. A giant arena filled with visitors from all over the world as giant floats, elaborated costumed dancers, and a bad carnaval song playing on a loop cruised down to entertain the masses. I have spent the last 3 months just generally being in a state of way too hot. I sweat on the subte, hide in the house during unnaturally warm hours, and wake up drenched with trouble breathing from the stickiness. I spent most of the day Friday carefully choosing my smallest, most heat-friendly clothes for hanging out by the river.

When a storm rolled in on Friday and the wind picked up on Saturday, I found myself standing on the bleachers at a giant Carnaval event chilled to the bone, teeth chattering, and without a sweater. My body was in serious shock from the sudden drop in temperature and try as I might to make a Paul-Shane sandwich, drink hot coffee, and warm my numb hands on the fire of the crackling parilla, I didn't warm up. No one else had as much trouble as me but to be fair everyone else was assisted by quickened, drunken heartbeats. Instead I became the sober party pooper and left the celebration early to seek refuge in my tent. Turns out it didn't really help as I was up until 5am shivering and chattering without a sleeping bag and cold as fuck. I am not sure what happened to the rest of the group that night. I know that after the Carnaval, they went to a nightclub until about 6am and that there were strobe lights and transvestites involved. The rest is a mystery and should probably stay that way.

Sunday the weather was back to its normal hellish ways and now I sit, back in Buenos Aires, slightly sunburned from a Sunday outdoors by the river, and just a bit miffed that the weather went feo only long enough to ruin my Carnaval and then back to its old self. My own fault really. Next time I will pack more appropriately and drink WAY more Fernet and Cokes.