Southern Belgian carnival is one of world's craziest Mardi Gras

By Julian Mieth Feb 7, 2012, 3:06 GMT

Binche, Belgium - The roads in this sleepy southern Belgian town are deserted under the pale gloom of the streetlights. The clock in the church tower has just struck 4.30 am and Olivier de Angelis is yawning and rubbing his eyes.

'For goodness sake keep still,' says his father Guy while stuffing large quantities of straw into his jacket. He tugs and presses away before looking at his son from all sides.

After a while he seems satisfied with his handiwork. Oliver has been transformed into a Gille, a barrel-chested, humped-backed figure dressed in a garish scarlet and gold costume, his face behind a waxen mask and bound by white ribbons. 'Voila, now there's a genuine Gille for you,' says Olivier.

For two days now, the town of Binche, some 60 kilometres south of Brussels, has been in the grip of carnival fever. On Sunday, local women are allowed to take part in the festivities but Fat or Shrove Tuesday - Mardi Gras - is strictly for men only. The very idea of a female Gille at large during the climax of festivities is unthinkable.

The carnival in Binche takes place this year from February 19-21 with Mardi Gras or Shrove Tuesday as the highlight before the ritual fasting, which begins on Ash Wednesday.

'We like to keep out of all that,' said Olivier's wife Marie-Anne. 'Despite all this talk of emancipation the whole thing is just too exhausting for me.' After all, the Gilles are on their feet for nearly 24 hours during which they do not take off their uncomfortable costumes. One privilege they do enjoy on Mardi Gras is that their activities are fuelled largely by a generous intake of champagne and oysters.

Friends and relatives are usually on hand when the local men turn themselves into Gilles. Bottles of champagne are handed around freely along with chunks of cheese and sausage. Shortly before 5 am, the drone of what will become relentless drumming starts up from outside. It's time for Olivier to get going and in the meantime, his son Adrien has changed clothes too. The 14-year-old is joining the Gilles procession for the first time. He used to be with the local harlequins.

The drummers are now touring the streets to pick up the Gilles who join the throbbing mass of around 1,000 masked men. They shuffle their way through Binche to the sound of their wooden clogs on the cobblestones and the little jingling bells attached to their belts.

'The beating of the clogs has something magical about it,' remarks a woman from the town of Tourai on the French border. 'It's almost hypnotic and you can't resist.'

The carnival in Binche is one of the oldest in the world and its origins can be traced back to the 14th century. The town's carnival museum tells visitors how the tradition began. In 1549, Mary of Hungary organized a festival in honour of her brother, Emperor Karl V and King of Spain. To mark recent Spanish conquests in South America, local Binche folk donned elaborate feather Inca-style headdresses of which today's plumed Gille hat is a legacy.

The Gilles are proud of their town and its customs and only those born in the community of 33,000 are allowed to take part in the annual Mardi Gras festivities. 'A true Gille would never turn his back on his home town,' says Olivier emphatically. Indeed, this is not just any old carnival. In 2003 UNESCO ruled that the event is of global cultural significance.

In the meantime, Olivier and his son have caught up with their group at the rallying point of the Societe Les Reguenaires - the name given today to the craziest chapter of the 13 carnival societies in Binche. It seems that all of the 10,000 people who live in the central part of the town are attached to the boisterous tradition in one way or another.

For days in advance, Binche residents have been putting up wire mesh at their window as protection against the coming onslaught of flying oranges. Hurling the fruit at the crowds of revellers is an important Gille activity as the masked men totter through the streets. The procession becomes even more chaotic and the music louder as the crowds dance, thronging the streets and pavements.