CARNIVAL !

The high point of Martinique for me was that it was to be my first experience of carnival. I have dreamed for years of spending Mardi Gras in Brazil - and it continues to be high on my list - but Martinique's carnival was no slouch, to be sure. It is well known for the fact that it runs a whole day longer than most. Carnival usually ends with Mardi Gras, or "fat Tuesday" - the last day for vice and indulgence before Ash Wednesday and the beginning of the strict observances of Lent. But Martinique extends the festival an extra day into wednesday making it a four day extravaganza, beginning with the glorious return of Vaval, the carnival king, on Dimanche Gras (fat Sunday). Then on Lundi Gras (fat Monday), there is the mock burlesque wedding where everyone dresses in gender reversal and the streets are clogged with cross dressers parading about. On Mardi Gras, the streets are filled with waves of red devils as the crowds dress only in red and black, and on Mercredi Gras (fat Wednesday), the final day, they hold a funeral for Vaval as his effigy is burned at the end of the night. All the streets are veiled in black and white in honor and respect of the solemnity of the ceremony. Vaval is dead! Long live Vaval. Now begins the long wait for next year's carnival and Vaval's return.

I was able to attend 3 out of the 4 days of this elaborate celebration. Being anchored in Marin at the south end of the island made it a bit difficult to get in and out of Fort de France. I tried to catch a bus for Lundi Gras. I stood for more than an hour by the side of the road and began to wonder if there were any buses, when finally one arrived. The drive north was very green and lovely with endless fields of sugarcane rolling away on all sides. The bus dropped me off in midtown because the entire parade grounds had been barricaded to all traffic. I wandered my way through the streets of Fort de France until I stumbled upon the main drag of the parade route next to Savana Park. The most common element of costume wear seemed to be fishnet stockings, which nearly everyone wore in some variety or color. Fishnets, lingerie, jingly belly dancing skirts, feather boas, beaded headdresses, anything sparkly, glittery, or shiny, bold clored bandanas and leg warmers - often each leg a different color - glitter glossed makeup spiralling across faces, glo-bright wigs, clown paint afros, and tinsel moptops. The main theme was sexy, saucy and scantily clad. For Monday of course, it's also about cross dressing, so many of the men were dressed as scantily and "femininely" as the ladies, with heels and miniskirts and push-up black lace bras. A number of women sported fedora hats and painted on moustaches. It was a less popular day to attend with fewer people on the streets, but a fun introduction day with plenty of room to move about and explore without the crowds setting in. I barely caught the last bus out at 5, which meant my experience was somewhat abbreviated - since the parades all begin at 3pm and go on into the night, often with lavish parties in the evenings continuing the mayhem.

Tuesday I was prepared with costume in hand. But to my chagrin, I learned that not only does every business on the island (except a few restaurants and bars) close for the duration of this festival, but the long distance buses had stopped running completely by Tuesday as well. I was not to be daunted. Hitching is relatively easy in the Caribbean. I think I got there even faster than by bus. It took less than 5 minutes to get each ride and only 3 rides to get me to the capitol. I managed to assemble my red devil costume including a glowingly red wig with little red devil horns attached, and all sorts of other red and black sparkly, shiny, glittery, feathery, jingly fun... Mardi Gras being the most famous day of the festival, there were throngs of people - the ferries continuously pumping fresh blood into the throbbing circulation of abstract art circumambulating the city.

The marching bands were primarily all percussion, all with their own costume themes and groups of devoted fans who danced along with their posses. The color theme remained true. Red and black in all it's variety bled across the parade grounds with a stray shot of hot pink or flourescent orange as someone tried to stand out. It was great fun to be in costume and therefore incognito - one of my favorite things about festivals of this type. No matter how free we are in our lives, or seem to be, there are always sides of ourselves we hide away for no one but ourselves. Amazing how putting a mask on can allow us to relinquish so many fears without a second thought. Someone who normally might be too shy to let loose and dance goes to a party en masque and finds their inner beat. Anyone who knows me, knows that it has been a long time since I was too shy to dance, but we all have our little layers of fear to peel away. Besides - painting my face makes me feel like I'm diving into a world of magic which is the world I prefer to live in most of the time. Again I had to leave the festivities when they had barely begun in order to try to make my way south before it got too dark. It was a bit harder hitching out of Fort de France than it was hitching in....because everyone was still at carnival. But I still made it back to Marin in just 3 rides. Maybe it was the costume....


I was just pulling into Marin proper when we were waylaid by the local townspeople following their own version of carnival parade. A giant flatbed truck with about 20 huge concert speakers stacked and piled and strapped together haphazardly, moving slowly through the streets pulsing with a heavy pounding beat and a guy on the mic calling out chants and instructions and encouragements to the following stream of writhing humanity. I thanked my last driver, asked him to let me out there and immediately joined the stomp and beat. There were fewer costumes but no less enthusiasm and the crowd was filled with small children with their moms, and people of all ages. We snaked through town stopping traffic everywhere we went. People along the road in cars or houses would wave or beep horns at our dance. Sometimes the truck would stop and we'd all dance in place for a bit then move forward as one in a very specific continuous motion - with hips thrust forward - each leg in turn taking that next forward step in rhythmic swaying beat as though the music were pulling us all forward by a rope around our waists. At one point I looked down at my feet and saw that I was stumbling over the bloody remains of a chicken that had been slughtered in the street. As the truck went uphill the whole crowd would surge forward running to keep up. Finally they reached a spot inside an apartment complex and the entourage ground to a stop. Garage doors rolled up and the special home-brewed Martinique rum started circulating, it's aroma dark and sweet and spicy. The adults danced with abandon as the children roamed in little gangs on foot or on bikes weaving between their swaying elders. The party went on long into the night. Eventually I slunk away to find my way back to my boat.


I was determined to spend at least one night in Fort de France to experience the carnival to it's fullest extent rather than having to leave each day as it had barely begun. I managed to hook up with some couchsurfers who lived in Fort de France who kindly let me stay at their flat for the final day of carnival. Regine and Sylvie were lovely hosts with a beautiful home. I got there early in the day and took a nap before the festivities began. It was the first time I had slept on land in over a month. I was so tired, I fell asleep immediately even though I noticed that I missed the gentle rocking of the boat tht had lulled me to sleep for so long. So it surprised me upon waking to feel a gentle sway and I thought for a moment I was back on the boat - which disorientated me as I looked around at the airy room. Suddenly, Regine pops her head in the room. "Are you ok? Are you scared?"

It turns out we were having an earthquake. Just a minor one, but the earth swayed nonetheless. I haven't slept on land again since that one day.

When we went out to enjoy the final festivities - we browsed the parade like a bookstore - enjoying people's costumes, and the various musical groups.

When we found one that made our feet wanna move - we jumped into the street and joined the flow. We moved as one - like grasses in a field, but with individual strands of unique motion always within and throughout the field. Bodies pressed into one organism - pulsing and writhing and pumping ever forward to the beat. You would be sometimes pulled, sometimes pushed being dragged by the crowd as one possessed - not needing to direct motion just letting the movement of the mass ripple through your body. Then the chanting began among the crowd. First a few voices repeated the words. Then it rose smattered throughout the crowd. And the volume kept rising until the voices were all shouting with exuberance - repeating the chanted lines in French over and over... My own voice repeated the chant, mimiced the sounds of words I didn't understand, beating a counterpoint to the endless bass reverberations of the pulsing of the drums. We rushed forwards sometimes, filling gaps ahead, or slowed to a lull as the nuclei of the drums behind us lagged. Like an amorphous creature being sped up or slowed down by the uneven surface over which it flows. Literally crowd surfing, we were carried with the throng until having slowly migrated to the fringes, the coagulating force of the entity began to lose its grip at the tattered edges. Finally the crowd shook us loose like a leaf on the wind and we were free of it - stepping home in the dark, ears ringing, slightly dazed. We were still dancing to that endless beat only it was receding with every step. All around the city thousands of people thronged the streets, their costumes outrageous - or simply bold, standing comfortably, shoulder to shoulder, sharing a beer. The parade entities had diminished in force like cyclones unwinding. Occasionally some musicians pulled together like a water spout, gathering dancers in a whirl about it's small eye for a song or two - then dispersing again - only to have another crop up somewhere else and die down again. The energy had drained but no one wanted to let it go. It still pulsed in the air - even as the drums went still.