Ooops! Did I forget to tell you about Carnaval?

So I was looking back at my blog and I realised I completely forgot to write about this and it would be a shame not to since it really was my favourite weekend on exchange and soooo Dutch. This happened in mid-February, Valentines weekend, so you know only running a month late…

10981546_10202839357779179_1109387397874033774_nCarnaval or Vastenavond (in Limburgish: vastelaovend) – where do I even start? Probably with a bit of context – Carnaval is apparently originally a European Pagan Spring Festival (and spread to Latin America via colonialism) and was later adopted by the Catholic Church (hence why it is only celebrated in the Catholic south of the Netherlands). It is celebrated in the days leading up to Lent, but actually goes on for weeks before with small parties and events. Wikipedia describes it as a “role reversal” event in that all social norms about behaviour are disregarded and I think I can certainly agree with this – it is rare you see actual adults (as opposed to students) in fancy/costume dress partying in the streets. People of all ages dress up so crazy and it is clear the amount of time some people put into their costumes it’s incredible. Honestly I have never seen something like it. So with a small, tiny bit of context so you know what I am talking about, I will now tell you about my experiences of Carnaval.

I was lucky enough that one of my kids from introweek has family in Limburg (o10947216_10155276995290193_59989664192673250_nne of the main provinces where Carnaval is celebrated), but even luckier when it turned out her family actually were key in organising the Carnaval in Venlo and would be DJ-ing at one of the stages. So not only did we have a fantastic house in which to stay in, but also experts on the Carnaval. I arrived Saturday morning and the first order of business was to create a costume – the sillier the better. Our costumes were not quite as co-ordinated as a lot of the people we saw but I feel we looked good in a very mix-matched way – especially once we obtained co-ordinating aprons later of people in lingerie (you know the ones I mean). The amount of people from Venlo though who seem to own crazy printed matching suits – four leaf clovers, dollar bills, balloons, you name it I think I probably saw a suit with it on. I think my favourite costume I saw though was a group of 4 people who came as Piglet, Winnie the Pooh, Eeyore, and Tigger, and in a move of peak Dutchness had brought a bag of cubed Gouda and ham as a snack which they were more than willing to share. I chose an all-in-one white overall, accessorized with 10329212_10155276996810193_2912524472991954031_na delightful Hawaiian shirt and tiger mask – the tiger mask was quite a challenge to keep on especially since actually wearing it over your face really obscured your vision.  I think the bit of our costume that got us the most attention though were our signs around our neck saying where we were from. It is a tradition to take signs with you, or wear badges etc. stating where you are from and since we came from all over, we really couldn’t not. So there we were with signs from Toronto, Sydney, and London. This lead to so many people all day asking us “are you really from Sydney?”, “Did you come all the way to Venlo for this?” which was pretty entertaining. The best part though was due to Lotte’s uncle being a DJ on one of the stages we got to go up on stage and sing along to one of the songs about how the allied forces saved Venlo in the war. We didn’t really get many of the lyrics other than “Jeep, Jeep, Jeep” and “Petroleum stinks” – but after a few drinks, you really feel you can do anything. 10994062_10155271840025193_4672229607606611533_n

The day was fantastic, a real festival feel with multiple stages, music, and huge amounts of day drinking. We very sneakily hid alcohol in our bags and in various pockets and under items of clothing, so avoided paying for drinks in any of the stages all day until the evening. Our favourite was Rudolph’s though which are shot sized bottles of an energy drink and vodka mix – similar to a Flugel but cheaper (and probably not quite as tasty). Although all day we couldn’t understand the lyrics to any of the songs, by the evening I think we started to get the hang of mouthing along pretty well – no one would have known we weren’t locals…

That evening we went out, the bars were all so full, and there was a great street party going (fortunately we were absolutely blessed with gorgeous weather the whole weekend) – so we danced in the street and walked among the debris of the days activities, sat on the stages, and most importantly got a kroket and pataats special to end the night. Pataats special is essentially chips/fries, onions, mayonnaise, and 10978568_10202839369779479_6077745091890516114_nsate sauce – personally I did not enjoy it, but the kroket was great. The Dutch love to deep-fry everything, but some of it you can’t deny tastes good. We did also go to a bar which was absolutely rammed and so hot, and we had really dressed to wrap up. Something about Carnaval though brought out all the creeps, so we spent a lot of time trying to avoid strange men trying to hit on us. Why do they never get a hint and insist on putting a downer on everyone’s nights? Oh the rant I could have on this topic, but I will save you that pleasure.

After the madness of Saturday, we had a far more chill day on Sunday. We didn’t dress up as much, only wearing10994238_10155276996245193_4927180511552017398_n our aprons and location signs and walked over to the next village for a Carnaval parade. This was far more like the carnivals I am used to at home with local organisations having floats and parading past. However we were right near the end of the parade, so it was somewhat… disjointed. We had a great time getting sweets thrown at us though, sitting out in the sun, and eating Limburgse Vlaai (super delicious pie). It was a shame to go back to Utrecht that evening, but having such a wonderful weekend with such lovely people just made me so happy – even if I did manage to pull a muscle Irish dancing at the street party. And next year… maybe I’ll be back!

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