This weekend Lolo and I traveled to Caceres to see a world music festival, WOMAD. The activity drowned the normally quiet city; multiple stages for concerts, hordes of vendors, street performers, and lots of clowns. The music, above all, succeeded because of its diversity; Spanish ska bands played after Somali rap that led into sad wailing Portugese singers. The street performers were even more amazing. I think that I saw the best beat-boxer of my life; a clown juggling 5 bowling pins; an old man with a dancing old woman suit; humongous puppets. It seemed like the street vendors came from all corners of the globe; I saw hundreds of them. They all sell the same artesenal things, poofy pants and braided jewelery. Everyone lives in vans, travelling from festival to festival. For me, WOMAD was really exciting, like a whole different facet of culture exposed. But I wonder, what could life be like for these travelling people? Is each festival like the one before, melding into a constant stream of crowds and music and hippies?
The old city district also lent an underlying sense of magic to WOMAD. Wandering around century-old churches and stone stairs, you suddenly stumble upon a hidden concert with hundreds of people packed, literally, into a hole in the wall. You feel stimulated and excited, with the urge to keep exploring, imagining that the city holds an infinite amount of these surprises, and that all you have to do is just open your eyes.
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| Some gigantic puppets riding on humans |
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