Martes Guerra

In Peace Corps—you really don't know what you're getting yourself into when you place those two feet on the ground in the morning.

A perfect example of one of these days, was this past Tuesday. Everyone had told me that as part of the Carnival celebrations Tuesday was known as “Martes Guerra”--Tuesday War in Huaraz. I was told by my host-brother that it was probably wise to stay off the central streets if I didn't want to be drenched by water balloon throwers.

Easy enough, won't go into Huaraz that day. Problem—my Peace Corps bicycle was ready that day, and my bicycle afficianado host cousin had time on Tueday. Well, it's' safe in the morning—who throws a water balloon before 10 a.m anyway? Easy enough, there and back before 10.

So Niba and I head in on our 9 o'clock combí, there by 9:30. The bike guy's not there. When will he be back? Noon. We'll get it and go, no problem. So we go to kill time—first to what I think was the Peruvian equivalent of the DMV where Niba got his driver's license—according to Niba he doesn't really know how to drive—remind me to stick to the bicycle.

Driver's license, we kill a few minutes on the internet, and it's about 11:30, ready for my bicycle. Now you know this story doesn't end with me heading back from Huaraz dry. Like I mentioned earlier, in a day you never know what you're going to do. When Kyle Blair (remember—the 22 year old psychlogist) calls you, you really don't know what the hell you're going to get into.

Kyle calls me and tells me to stay put, he's got 25 water balloons in a back-pack and he's ready for war. What do you think Niba? We check the festivities out, there's like 3 bands, and a couple groups of guys with buckets—yeah this looks like fun—I just have to be home by 3 for a JUMP Meeting. Sure Kyle, we'll stick around.

This was my first mistake—following Kyle's plans. Niba and I got a quick lunch and started to search for water balloons. We found some on the Plaza—now the question—where the hell are we gonna fill these things? Niba, after seeing a hose, enters a construction site—asks if we can borrow the spicket for a couple minutes—LISTO, we're filling up water balloons in some back alley construction site. While this is going on, I keep seein these guys with buckets. Not water ballons so much, but just straight buckets. They're filling them up in some type of public water supply (I don't want to say sewer water, but, I honestly can't rule it out).

Kyle shows up, dressed for the event w/ his rain jacket, remember Niba and I dressed to pick up a bike—jeans, jacket etc. Real smart.

So now we each take about 4 water balloons each for the “war.” Niba says the tradition is that guys throw at girls, girls throw at guys. Supposedly guys have a code where they don't throw at each other. That is Peruvian guys have a code. Kyle and I enter the fight thinking we're so smart w/ our four water balloons, only to hear “GRINGO” and then get chased by a dozen adolescent muchachos. Fuck—well at least I wore my Doc Martins for the ocassion—built for speed.

I get tagged w/ some water, and have some decent throws myself when I decide it's time to enter into an alliance before we get smoked.

I talk to some of the chicos, and in exchange for an impromptu street english lesson, we now have a team. Now we head for the main plaza, feeling protected by our Huarazino Entourage. This feeling of protection lasts for 2 minutes. I got onto the main strip where there were even more adolescent boys with buckets of sure water—but that's fine, I got my homies, and they're not gonna let anything happen to their North American ally. One of them even gave me the idea to buy a plastic bag for my cell phone.

Just as I finish placing my cell phone in the bag, I hear it. You can't confuse it, you hear it every day, but this time it was louder, it was shouted. GRINGOOOOOOOOO. I look up to see buckets, and more buckets, launched in my direction. I came into get my bicycle at 9 a.m. and there I am at 1:30 p.m. downtown Huaraz, soaked from head to toe...

There's really only one thing to do when you're soaked head to toe in Ancash (where it's not even that warm)--Dance. So we all headed to the central plaza square to dance. As the only two white people dancing (this is a very common occurence for Kyle and I) we naturally did a t.v. Interview where they asked us what we thought of Carnival—I remarked that it was fun, but kind of cold. We got the traditional streamers placed around our necks, and flour on our faces.

At 2:30, we headed back to Jangas, soaked, w/ flour and streamers, and one bike on top of the combí. Mission Complete. After a quick change, and funny explanation to my host family—yes I did return drenched, and yes it was completely worth it, most fun I've had in a while, I headed off to the JUMP Meeting.

Later that night I talked to my friend Ian—Ian told me that he had been to Carnival in Cajamarca—and it had been even crazier and included not just water, but paint—something to look forward to next year. Maybe I won't wear jeans.