"You just have to be careful you watch out for your belongings."
OK, I thought, it's a four day party, with some pickpockets.
"And you don't want to drive anywhere, because everyone on the roads will be drunk."
OK, so it's a four day party, with pickpockets, where I might be run over by a drunk driver.
"Actually, you shouldn't take anything with you. Hide cash in different pockets. Don't even wear your necklace."
OK, it's like a group mugging, with music.
"You shouldn't go anywhere alone. People are wild during the Carnavales. There are huge drunken fights and the men are crazy."
Ok, so it's like Sodom and Gomorrah, with a parade.
"You're going with your fiancé?! You're not supposed to go to Carnival with your fiancé!"
So basically it's like a big Roman orgy worthy of Caligula himself, full of pickpockets, swerving cars, brawling drunks, and neanderthals. On my list of things I want to do, I think that comes right after self-flagellation and listening to polka music while being waterboarded by the Fox News team. Remind me again why I get time off for this?
Thankfully, I did not have to go alone. My wonderful fiancé (and rugby-playing bodyguard) arrived just in time to share in the madness. Though I'm sure most of you know his name anyway, in the interest of not putting it on the internet, I shall refer to him only as Pulpo, in honor of one of the ten nouns he knows in Spanish (thanks to my obsession with the psychic octopus from the World Cup).
Pulpo and I went to the festivities on both Monday and Tuesday night, the latter of which happened to be his birthday. Even first impressions showed that there was a big discrepancy between the reports of Carnival and the reality. There were a lot giggling babies being toted around. The most threatening substances offered seemed to be warm Balboa beer and chorizo from a food cart. I was starting to get the impression that this was not going to be as scary as I thought, though we did run into a slight obstacle. To get in, you had to present an ID. Since the mugging, the only legal ID I have is my passport, which I refuse to take out of the apartment. After some rapid-fire explanations of my situation to the exasperated, camo-clad security dude, I was let in, with the understanding that next time I needed to bring my official police report to get in. Which I did on Tuesday. Yes, you can use a police report as a form of ID. (In fact, it's more detailed than a normal ID. In addition to my name and address, it also has my parents' names, my profession both in the US and Panama, my employer, the story of my mugging, what I typically carry in purse, and my declaration that I can speak and understand Spanish.)
Once inside, we didn't see any of the horrors I had been promised by my coworkers. Instead, there was something much worse. Something much more insidious. Small children. Armed with shaving cream. Silly string. And confetti. A trifecta of evil. They roamed the grounds in little ragtag militias. Some attacks were predictable. You would see a small kid looking at you with crazy eyes, like a shark, and you knew you were in for it. Other times, they used stealth attacks. Like when a little girl pulled on my shirt, yelling "Señora!," at which point I turned and inhaled a blizzard of confetti. Moving down the street was like running the gauntlet. Or being a plankton.
But aside from the lung full of paper bits, it was actually pretty funny. Especially since each attack was punctuated by Pulpo's demand for revenge. There's also something hilarious about the satisfied facial expressions five year olds get when they've just made a colossal mess. And it's not every day you get to walk into a nice restaurant covered in silly string and hole punch remnants without people looking at you strangely. All in all, not a bad way to spent your night, and despite Carnival's terrifying reputation, not in the least bit like a zombie movie. And yes, there was a parade.
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