We live in a village that for all intents and purposes can be defined as “sleepy”. Yes it’s quiet (such a thing is possible in busy Madrid) and for at least three months a year, the entire village stops working at two in the afternoon. However, once a year, our village has a local festival, where this sleepy village turns into a carnival hell, or heaven, depending on your point of view.
This past week during our morning meanders, the red dogs and I spotted trucks loaded with tents and strange looking carnival rides being installed being set up in an open filed area close to our house. Glaring at these strangers and strange things suspiciously (I, because I can spot noise a mile away, the red dogs obviously because they don’t know what carnival people taste like).
As such, last Friday night, our village was invaded by the most visitors that have been here, probably since the festival last year. We had no alternative but to investigate the festivities, and I must admit, I don’t think I have ever seen anything quite like it – the rides, the blinking shining lights, the smell of fast food Spanish style, and the noise…I don’t know enough English adjectives (or Afrikaans or Spanish ones for that matter) to describe the experience. I think to state that it is similar to a Carnival which we knew as children, on steroids, with rides for adults is probably the only way in which I can describe it, however, it has some Spanish twists, for example, I did not know that music can be at that volume. And they complain about vuvuzelas? Secondly, I have never seen bull rides quite like this.
The male Engela in this marriage was left drooling after the go carts. The things you did not know about your spouse boggles the mind.
So, for our first village fiesta, it was interesting, but I can honestly say that I am thankful the fiesta is only once a year. I don’t think my hearing is quite normal, yet.