Carnaval

I go back and forth on Cádiz, and its third largest Carnaval celebration in the world. It is a ridiculous spectacle to say the least, and it puts to shame a few of my epic halloween extravaganzas on Sixth Street back in Austin. A million people line the narrow streets in costume, strange alcoholic concoctions  in hand, shoulder to shoulder in the shadows of old churches. Those not too drunk were in good spirits, kissing boyfriends and girlfriends and strangers and taking photographs they might regret tomorrow. I won a costume contest, myself. It was all a pretty good time, I guess.



A wise woman told me once we all have our course to run. For some those last longer than others and for some those courses never end. This woman once asked a man on the first date if he had in fact run his course, and I thought it such a perfect, direct question: one that could solve the world's problems. I do not know if my course is over, or if I'm ready for something else, but I do think I am changing. I hate to death the phrase, "I'm too old for this," but after walking soggy streets soaked in piss, even I was leaning that way. I liked Carnaval, but I didn't love it, and I find my actions these days to be much more deliberate.

I paced my evening well. There was a cute Dutch guide, responsible for getting everyone there and back alive, and while 55 people fell into drunken slumbers, her and I talked the hour back to Seville. I got off the bus without any regrets, the first stars fading away on the horizon, but I very well could look at tomorrow's wretched costume with a few.