Picking the right chair

Bolivia seems to have plenty fiestas. Perhaps every religious event is a reason to dress up in colorful clothes and just let go. In my original travel plan, I had intended to be in Oruro for carnaval. However, I was traveling way too slowly and didn’t reach Bolivia until June. To my surprise, I was right on time for la entrada del Señor Jesús del Gran Poder, one of the biggest celebrations in la Paz. The day I arrived by night bus I walked into my hostel’s street moments before the street was blocked off and a huge parade started.

I couldn’t shower until check in, so I went outside to watch the show. It was the preentrada of what was coming a week later. A pre-party to a celebration in honor of Jesus. I watched dozens of groups come by. They had an orchestra playing typical music and big groups of dancers. There seemed to be a few predominant styles. I loved the people in glittery suits with bells on their big boots. They jingled away to the beat. Their dance would often have some jumping and skipping, or legs being thrown high into the air. They formed a contrast to the cholitas in traditional outfits, although perhaps more expressive and sparkly than in regular life. Their skirts, made out of many layers to accentuate the hips, would move as they stepped gently to the music. Mostly younger girls wore shorter skirts that moved with their hips.

Hearing this was only the practise run, I got curious about the real fiesta and made sure I was back in la Paz the following Saturday. Whereas people had put out chairs for the preentrada, now they were setting up some stands the night before. All the leftover space was filled with mostly plastic chairs. You can rent these chairs for the day to enjoy watching the parade. I decided to rent one from the hostel, right in front of the building. I paid 40 bolivianos, but found out the neighbor only charged 20. It seemed like even at my own hostel I was paying a gringo price. In the morning it was still quiet. Not with groups in the parade, but with visitors. From about lunch time the chairs started filling up. This fiesta had better advertising banners, more visitors and slightly more elaborate costumes, especially masks, but the principle and the dances seemed the same. However, I now saw groups from throughout Bolivia, such as Oruro and Cochabamba. I guess they managed to get through the road blocks somehow.

An older man sat next to me. “I just need to relax a little. Someone I know should pass soon”, he told me. We talked a little bit and it turned out he’d been living in France for a long time and had even lived in Utrecht for a few years. He was here visiting family and joined all his nephews and nieces to watch the parade. He said he’d also danced some of the dances, but not in a while. During his long time abroad, he hadn’t even spoken spanish much, so he’d felt a little uncomfortable at first. He told me the dancers were all people from well-off families, because it costs a lot to be part of the parade. He said the situation is difficult at the moment and the poor people are trying to sell things and take advantage of the event. Vendors came by selling beer, snacks, dishes of food and souvenirs. There were ice cream sellers and people who would cut off a piece of meat from a big roast and serve it with potatoes. As two pretty drunk people told me later in the afternoon: “Bolivians won’t die of hunger.” Bolivians pick themselves up and find business.

As the day evolved, more alcohol was consumed. More members of the family had learned my name and started offering beer. Then a group of guys next to me offered me a whole can. It was hard to say no. We had some conversations, mostly about the price of things and a little bit of drunk politics. Then the family offered more and more beer and what seemed like a diluted whisky. Luckily I also learned to give some to Pachamama, or mother nature. At the start and end of each plastic cup I would poor some onto the street, for luck and a thank you. At 7.30pm I had to pick up my laundry. I noticed there had been a few too many drinks on an empty stomach. So when I went inside the hostel with my laundry, I thanked the people I met. They told me to come back out after, but I couldn’t drink any more. I watched for a bit from the top floor of the hostel. The fiesta continued and people got rowdier and pissed on the streets. It went on until late. Even the next day there were some events because I passed very drunk people in their party outfits. This is a party in Bolivia. Such luck that I stumbled upon this!