It rains off and on every day, and it seems to really pour just before dusk, but this generally lets up before darkness falls and things in the streets grow lively again. The calypso, on the other hand, does not stop. Guitars, bells, maracas, whistles, bumbac drums, and layered voices act as the engine that keeps Carnaval going.

The processions of devils loop around the main square, head through some of the side streets, sometimes collide with another group of trident-wielding maniacs, and then head back to the square. Some of the devils wear all white, some only red. A curious devil group covered in black paint asks for coins while dancing and screaming, and those refusing to donate usually find some of that black paint flying through the air and splattering their clothes. A lot of the devils have whips, too, and along with the calypso, the other steady background sound is their constant crack against the hard, paved streets of downtown El Callao. Care is needed when passing by the whip-wielders--sometimes they don?t look before they lash.

Fangs and flames galore.

Fire-breathing, rum-guzzling skull devil.

Lording over these dark angels are huge fire-breathing skull devils, who really get the party going when they shoot flames out of their hideous mouths in between sucking down swigs of Gran Reserva rum. This spirit is also poured randomly down the throats of fellow revelers, friends and strangers alike. I have a few of these. Some rum also finds its way into big bright plastic supersoaker water guns, which demons or dead nuns or skeletons rapid-fire at unsuspecting passersby (who seem not to mind).

In the midst of the dancing crowds, I gyrate and swig and sing. At one point I borrow a papier-mache mask of a fanged red demon and jump around and see dancers in 20-foot-high stilted costumes get tangled in electrical wires. Later I march through a war zone of flying rum, water, beer, silly string, and bottle rockets. Hundreds of people are getting hit with all sorts of things. I somehow make it through unmarked, and feel like Tony Curtis in the pie-fight scene of The Great Race.

A soft smile in the middle of it all.

It isn't all macabre and sinister, though. There are plenty of little troupes of young girls dressed as butterflies, princesses, and fairies, and there is one famous group of dancers called the Madamas who parade around in fancy finery inspired by the rich matrons of the Caribbean Islands. Most of the traditions of Carnaval here date back to the influx of slaves from Trinidad during the Gold Rush in 1853, so there is a definite Caribbean flavor to the festivities, most obviously in the calypso.

I have a blast. One night I get to run around and act crazy with Orlando and Miguel, two locals who came prepared with battery-powered light-up devil horns and what appears to be a ten-gallon bottle of rum hooked up to a pump. That's all you need, man, and that goes for anywhere in the world, all year round. My cornigerous friends must be credited, though, with explaining a little bit of the town's history to me as we sip hooch in the eerie red glow emanating from their plastic appendages.

After three full days living on a steady diet of beer, rum, yucca, bananas, cachitos, cotton candy, popcorn, and peanuts, I think maybe it is a good thing Carnaval ends. Maybe. But it isn't really over until the ringing and buzzing of calypso in my ears subsides, and that takes another week or so.

The journey back home -- watch your heads!

The next day when checking out, I learn a hard lesson about the black market economy in Venezuela. Stay tuned.