Quarter Century

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Deibyn's in Palomar

Our buddy Deibyn, who Mel and I met in a bus station outside of San Augustine (while I was being fed shots of Aguardiente (local liquor) and given an overly-friendly interrogation and lesson as to why I was better than Colombians by a super drunk walking example of internalized racism) invited Mel and I over a few weekends back. He lives about an hour north of us, on the route up the Andes that you gotta take to get to the Pacific Coast. Deibyn's the man, he knows plants and wildlife (bio major at UniValle), he's all about this sacred psychadelic plant called Jagé, and he's super positive, friendly, and generous. We went for a walk down the valley behind his house, and over to some swimming pools (complete with a natural slide!).

Great weekend. Thanks Deibyn.

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Cow tracks

Pasto - Carnaval de Negros y Blancos

Think this pictures encapsulates it best. Eight hours south of Cali, Pasto hosts its main claim to fame, their "blacks and whites carnival" - a three day orgy every early January - full of painful chemicals thrown into one's eyes, spray foam packed out pores, and music bored through one's lobes, all while vicious liquids runneth over one's liver.

This fellow above is Patti. He's a Brit, and has a constant positive energy that's surprising for one of such skinniness, crackheads aside. He put it out there on New Years I believe that he and Mel and I ought to trio this three day festival. We hopped on to the idea, and upon meeting at the bus station found ourselves four men extra. The more the merrier and the more protection in the siege of silly string, talcum powder, espuma, and face paint this carnival turned out to be.

10 am round. I was basically devoid of energy at this point,

after a redeye bus and some sort of nap in the morning hours.

Upon venturing out into the town, we realized that lots of children had foam spray cans, and that when they attacked passersby, grown men turned out to be packing the same stuff, retaliating with gleeful and childlike mischievousness. So obviously we armed up fairly early on. And attacked each other as much as anyone else around. This was a dangerous place for digital cameras. And unprotected eyeballs. And open mouths...

This fall happened because I was being blinded by foam, turned quickly and smashed my shin into a low barrier. Then I got turned into a snowman.

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The Central Park, ground zero surrounded by tented drinking establishments. Slightly safer from the constant barrage, but not much.

Oh Pedro.

Day two we took a trip up out of the city, this is cloud and smoke rising from the nearby volcano, which had been belching rocks and lava days before we arrived. Swam in a natural hot spring, took a nice little break from the kidlike warfare.

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There were parades every day. The best part, maybe, was that the crowd, all of us, were just as much part of the scene as the marchers, as everyone on the sidelines sprayed each other with foam, or sprayed those parading, or sprayed the cops walking or motorcycling by. No one, absolutely no one, was exempt. It was an anarchist's dream, utter playful mayhem.

The last day was THE parade, and it went on for hours and hours. And hours. Started off with people on foot, then huge heads and crazy walked in contraptions, and by the end of the day, after I could've have possibly imagined more creativity, came the massive floats. The entire day was a skip back and forth between the edge of the street, the store ten feet back, and dancing and foam/powder fights in between.

(thanks Pat and Gabriela, for the plethora of pictures)

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Finale

And...the spectacle watching the spectacle.

And spraying the spectacle and chucking handfulls of talco at the spectacle.

Our wonderful adoptive Pasto friends. These two and their whole crew befriended us all instantly and danced with and fed drinks to and regaled and cajoled and did all those great things hosts do, yet having just then met us. Thanks you's.

Basically what our world looked like by the end of the day.