I believe in the communal need to put on costumes and get wasted. (Apparently, so does Nietzche. Something about Dionysian revelry leading to a sense of belonging to a higher community thus causing us to momentarily transcend universal suffering. Whatever. I believe in alcohol).A few weeks ago, after much deliberation and complication, I went to Cadiz for Carnaval. The University of Malaga sent 29 buses full of students and other costume-clad enthusiasts to Cadiz for one night. We left at 4pm and returned at 8am. After my friend saved me from my original plan to go alone to a city packed with drunken fairies, nuns and devils, I ended up going with a group of Spaniards. The girls dressed as Eskimos and the boys as monks. (I dressed as Dorothy from the Wizard of Oz. Ask me how many times I had to explain that one). As monks were once the keepers of alcohol, these young men carried their own barrels, filled with mojitos.
From what I remember, which is far more than I expected to, the whole night was a rush of conversations with strangers in black face or dressed as clowns. After seeing my second group of Spaniards dressed as black people (honestly, “What are you?” “I’m black.” “Seriously? Just black? You’re not even, like, Beyoncé or something?” “Um, no. My costume is that I’m black.” “Oh, yeah. Sure. Ok.” Except in Spanish), I gave up on trying to explain the historical significance of the offense and had another mojito. All in all, the night was joyous, and although everything in my basket was stolen including Toto, I felt very close to my fellow man, if only because I saw him pissing on every street corner and tree in Cadiz.
I’ve also included, for your viewing pleasure, a video from a drag show I somehow stumbled upon the night before. Every year, in Plaza de la Constitución, at the top of Calle Larios, there is a parade followed by a drag show. Needless to say, between the lip-syncing to “We Are Family” and the sparkles, I couldn’t have been happier.
