Home »

[Odler]

http://www.jeanlouie.com/

(Feb 23, 2004)

The Dream Team members are getting old, feeble, and don't know about it;

don't tell them. I am the only one who made it to Jouvert this morning.

Jouvert is the official opening of Trinidad's carnaval. It starts at 5:00

a.m., on Monday. It used to be 2:00 or 3:00 a.m; the time was officially

changed this year.

Everyone got splashed with paint or covered with mud; the party went on in

that apparel. Right there, in the streets of Port of Spain. The poor and

the rich, the old and the young, the fat and the skinny, partied with no

barrier. It is carnaval in the sense it intended to be: one big party

under God...

After Jouvert, everyone went on a break, on a break, on a break (sounds

like soca's "jump away" when you repeat it three times). At 10:00 a.m.,

the parade, with its many thousands masquaraders (we are Gladiators),

occupied the streets.

On Carnaval Monday, anyone may join any group. Though we are with

Barbarossa, we have decided to play (common use of the verb here, not

found anywhere else) with Poison for one day.

Poison is supposed to be the best group. Now, don't ask me why we are

with Barbarossa instead. This is a long history that started the day

Christopher Columbus discovered the Americas. Do you really, really,

really (sounds like soca) want to hear it?

We walked, walked, walked, from the town center where Barbarossa

originally met, then we hopped in a bus to join Poison for a few hours,

then we walked, walked, walked, jumped, jumped, jumped though the streets

of Port of Spain. I saw every playing band, every marching group.

I stopped in the North Stand for 1/2 hour, nothing was going on there. I

pursued my walking tour all the way down to the end of the parade route at

King George Park. Walking from downtown to King George Park is like

walking from Miami to Boston, for people who have parking lots reserved by

their elevators, at work.

After nine hours of walking, jumping while taking pictures of half-naked

women, I had by then lost the rest of the group, somewhere in the crowd.

I stood by King George, and found myself unable to raise my legs. They

were suddenly made of lead. I looked for a cab, none was visible. I

searched for money in my belt pouch, there was none left... And the

Hilton was far, far, far away (sounds painfully like soca).

(The Traveller, Carnaval Monday, February 23, 2004)