Blame it on the rain

Catchup post from May 19, 2012.

Rain.
Sheets, buckets, cats and dogs of rain. Rain submerging our feet, saturating our clothes, and flying from our head-tossed hair. Yup. The unexpected but undisputed star of my going away party was rain. And goddamn it gives good guest.

It wasn't really a going away, so much as a see you later. I was leaving my beloved Cartagena for 7 weeks of wedding (go LARK!), New York, San Diego, Mexico and Central America (more on that in other posts.. hopefully) but I was definitely coming back. Still, many of the friends I had made over my 3 months of living here would be taking off while I was away, so I figured a last-hurrah was more than called for. Plus, as many of you can attest, I really really love parties. 

Given I was not only sharing a room, but a bed too.. I totally did not have a home environment suitable for party. Also, most of my friends, like me, were totally broke, which kindof excluded traditional venues. So I got creative and decided to have a proper Costeno street party. 

The preparations, in themselves, made me fall in love with Getsemani anew. I began by canvassing the permission and advice of my neighbours. 

You will need decorations.
And food.
Definitely balloons.

Really? Picture proper grade 4 party planning. I'd previously attended the birthday party here of a 25 year old male complete with themed soccer cake, candles, balloons and signs.. so I wasn't totally taken by surprise. I acceded to the extend of purchasing some of that festive coloured bunting, but put my foot down at the cans of party foam (they really really love that stuff here).

But raising the coloured paper flag decorations necessitated the procuring of a ladder. I asked someone who led me to someone who led me to the smiling face of my leering neighbour. After 3 months of walking past this man on a daily basis as he eyed me lustily and called me "Precious" and "Queen" we had eventually reached something of a friendship. So now, he was excitedly issuing instructions to his son as we went to his house to get the ladder. He proudly showed me his house. How big it was. Its bathrooms. He proposed marriage. I did my head-shake, eye-roll "youuuuuu" laugh that you need to employ constantly here in order to decline advances without offence. Then I joined his two sons as we carried the enormous ladder through the backstreets of the barrio. 

Next thing I am on the near to highest rung of the ladder, with streams of kids jostling to hold the papered lengths, world-wise women cackling out directions and my leering neighbour holding the base of the ladder for support (and more than likely, looking up my skirt). I took a mental photograph of this crazy scene for future reference and then continued to finish the job. Decorations in place, the beers were passed around, backs were patted and the ladder was returned.

Another neighbour, Nelson, then came and insisted I inspect the sound equipment. Picture speakers that are too big to fit inside a doorway. He proceeded to explain the very important process of song selection: 3 salsa, 3 reggaeton, 1 vallenato, 1 Rhianna. Repeat.

The gossipy, here they say Chismoso, neighbours were already abuzz with news of my party. What time? 10pm. Can we come? Yes! Yes! Everyone is invited! I felt so happy and appreciative of my barrio and the way it just comes together to help and support each other. Even embracing the non-Spanish-speaking gringa. I was on a heart-swell high (yes, this happens to me a lot here) and had my silly big grin on all afternoon.

Ok.. the party itself.  By now I was long use to having an all-covering layer of sweat as my constant daily companion.. but tonight, the humidity was something else. The sweat pooled on my upper lip, backs of knees, arm crevices and small of the back almost instantly upon my exiting the shower.   So as my friends gathered, the rum was passed around and dancing sweat was added to the general environmental sweat.. I started to silently hope the imminent rain would hurry the heck up. We drank. My amazing friend from Brazil, (miss you Vini!) sang the team song for my afl club the Brisbane Lions, which he had learned in my honour. We talked. We reminisced. We made promises to keep in touch. And ofcourse, we danced. Some of the neighbours joined in. Most continued playing their games of cards or ludo. Then, about 20 minutes shy of midnight, the skies opened up and poured down its heat-quenching relief. 

And that's when the fun really started.

There's a reason rain features so prominently in music video clips and cheesy dance movies. All that rain-licked skin, the glistening bodies and the clinging clothes makes for some seriously sexy scenes. Add in copious quantities of hot latino blood, and things were positively sizzling.

The music blared, the street was packed with writhing bodies and the water kept rising. We kicked off our shoes (ahem, thongs) and stomped and splashed theatrically in time with the beat. It kept raining til 3am and we kept dancing. Everyone ecstatic in this shared moment of recklessness and extreme fun. This night definitely is included in one of my best ever.

The party was such a hit, the venue and theme has since been borrowed by other party makers. although when I asked someone after one of them they told me sadly.. "It was pretty good.. except.. it didn't rain". Its fame spread to Panama where I heard it spoken of in hostels with great reverence. And then, on my return 7 weeks later, strangers were calling after me and giving me a thumbs up. Kristy! Despedida! Chevere!

So I guess this story snapshot shows that Cartagena is the type of place where when you throw a party, the whole barrio throws the party with you. It is the type of place where pervy neighbours end up being your greatest ally. And it is the type of place where they make limonada from lemons and really frickin amazing parties from rain.