With all the craziness of preparing for our trip to the States and “other stuff” I didn’t think I’d have time this week to do what I mentioned in Monday’s post, i.e., sharing a few Carnival experiences from the Gringo perspective. Insomnia being what it is, suddenly I find I have some time.
I’ll say right now that Riobamba has at least one thing going for it when it comes to all the water being thrown right now. At least it’s all been clean water . . . so far.
Manta was a different story. If it was liquid, it got thrown. It was common to see people recharging their weapons from standing water in potholes. We know of people who got hit with motor oil. But that wasn’t the worst . . . you see, Manta is home to a good portion of Ecuador’s seafood processing industry. For many celebrants, the waste water from these plants was the projectile of choice. Bleah!
I’ll never forget one of our first Carnivals. I was sitting at my desk when Donna came home. I turned around to greet her and froze. The look in her eyes filled me with the urge to scoot my chair back a few inches. “They got me . . .” she said. Here’s what happened:
Donna was out and about that morning doing her thing. She had gotten on the bus, and was engaged in pleasant conversation with one of her fellow passengers. Suddenly, a Carnival celebrant boarded the bus with a LARGE bucket full of water. He motioned with it threateningly a few times which resulted in a lot of screaming and ducking for cover. Then he let the whole thing go. Just as he did this, Donna, with cat-like reflexes, opened her umbrella against the soggy onslaught. It worked. She didn’t get wet. Not a drop. So what happened? The bus finally arrived at Donna’s stop with its load of dripping passengers. On exiting she was shocked to feel the impact of about a half a gallon of water hit her from behind. Turning around she saw the DRIVER holding a now empty bucket and sporting a big grin!
Lesson learned?: During Carnival you’ve got to think like a fighter pilot . . . Always watch your six.
There were a few times when we got out of getting soaked by using our heads. The soaking instrument of choice in Manta was an ingenious yet simple device called a “bomba (pump).” It was constructed from two lengths of PVC pipe, one length having a slightly smaller diameter than the other. The end of the smaller pipe was capped and inserted into the larger. The larger was also capped with a small hole drilled into the cap. It was loaded by placing the drilled end into a bucket of water (or mud hole) and drawing back on the smaller pipe thus filling the chamber. Pushing the smaller pipe sharply forward produced a respectable stream of water (or mud).
One fine day during Carnival, we turned a corner and came face to face with two little kids armed with one of these WMD’s (weapons of mass drenching). They broke into huge smiles as they anticipated soaking their newly acquired targets. What to do? “Wow! That’s a beautiful “bomba!” I said to the little stinker whose turn it was with the soaker. “What’s it’s maximum range? Can you show me?” He promptly fired it off, throwing water quite a good distance and half emptying the chamber. “Pretty good,” I said, “but I bet you can shoot water farther than that . . .” He made another attempt, passing his first shot by a good distance, and emptying the chamber at the same time. “OK, see you later!,” I said as we walked by them at a brisk pace. Realizing what had happened, they hurriedly tried to refill the “bomba” but it was too late. We were out of range.
Lesson learned?: During Carnival, it’s survival of the fittest. If you want to stay dry, you can’t be above outsmarting little children . . .
So there’s a few accounts of what it’s like to be a Gringo in Ecuador during carnival. If you ever happen to visit during this time of year it can be exciting, to say the least. Don’t say I didn’t warn you . . .
Until the next post,
Mike
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