El Gran Poder, Festival of Epic Proportions

So I arrive in La Paz, obtain some dinero, and settle in for the night, weary from travel and cold. The next morning Emma, my friend from my bus ride to La Paz, who´s from England, and I head out to find some breakfast, check our email and get a feel for the city. Upon arrival to the main street in front of San Francisco Church and Plaza we find the mainstreet blocked off, beacher seating lining the street and rows and rows of exquisitly costumed dancers dancing in unison with thier groups down the street. It turns out that we have arrived in La Paz on one of the biggest festival weekends in La Paz. El Gran Poder, roughly translated The Great Power, is a festivel wherin each dancer makes a wish or request of God, or a higher power and then dances from sunrise ´till long after sunset to appease the diety and have thier wish or request granted. The result is a all inclusive city-wide party. It is like a carnival, streets are closed off, businesses shut down, except for those selling alchol and food, and everyone is caught up in the magic and music that blares from every street in the city. The parade route begins at the top of the canyon that the city is built within and proceeds through the city for all to see the costumes and well practiced coordinated dancing of each group. There are business men dressed in tubular barrel-like costumes adorned with glitter, fringes and bobbles with noise makers in hand and wigged masks over thier faces in seas of 40 to 100 in each group. Then there are groups from each high school, each barrio and each indigenous group. They all sway , swing, shake and move to the same rhythem, with marching bands keeping the beat for them where the speakers are unable to reach.
Emma and I stare in awe and wonder at the spectacle and enormosity of it all. We make a search for some friends, Dhiresh and Andrew, whom Emma met on the same bus as we did, but to no avail, the streets are packed with people and its like finding a needle in a haystack. We finally make our way to the main drag in front of San Francisco church, two bleacher sections down from the Presidential tent, where the president of Bolivia is taking it all in, where the cameraman is perched and where the dancers perform to their utmost ability. We are able to procure 2 bleacher seats at the top of the section with the best view for only 20 bolivianos each, roughly $2.50 american. Perched there, with the parade to the front and a walkway to our back we are able to procure food, drink and still maintain a pristine photo-taking position. The sun warms our backs and turns our skin pink, the locals smile at us, offer us drinks and toast the day and our revelry in a long-practiced Bolivian tradition. We are petitioned by some of the dancers to join them in the parade, ahhh the minor celebrity of white skin and blonde hair. Those sitting around us are amused and we all raise our glasses together to toast the day and the abundance of life that is felt in such a gathering.

The President makes his debut, surrounded by police and secret service, taking a dance with three amazingly attractive sexy dancers with red costumes, high -heeled sequined go-go type boots that rise to the knee and exquisitly sequined hats with red feathers rising 2-3 feet above their heads. The dancers all look like performers in any show found in Las Vegas. After pictures and news footage the President is whisked away to his seat and the procession continues on, much to the delight of the spectators, who applaude and whistle at their favorites.

6 hours later the sun dissappears behind the buildings and a chill sets in. Emma and I decide to abandon our seats and head back to the hostel where we find a note from Dhiresh and Andrew saying that they have checked in and hope to find us soon. Starved and dehydrated, Emma and I visit an Arabian restaruant down the road and return an hour later to find Dhiresh and Andrew in the lobby with their guide, José, with whom they had just completed a 5 week tour from Ecuador, through Peru to Bolivia. We all make arrangements to meet around 10pm to go out and José returns to his hostel to get ready, while we search for a place for Andrew to cash his travelers checks, and an ATM for Emma to procure some fundage. Along the way we get some fantastic photos, as I ask to borrow masks, musical instuments, hats, and parts of costumes from the dancers who have paused to drink along the way. By this time all the dancers are weary and the parade is pausing every few minutes and spectators are rushing the dancers with drinks. So everyone is well over the edge of drunk and all in good spirits of the festival and more than willing to share their props with a passing gringa for a photo.

We make our way back to the hostel and wait for José to arrive, and when he does sit around for an hour or so while people get ready, then finally make our way, the five of us stuffed into a late ´80´s Toyota Camry cab, to Mongo´s, a house that has been converted into a club, with rooms leading off to eacherother, some with fireplaces, some with a mishmesh of tables and bars at each end. The place is already well full and its only 11:15, early by Bolivian standards. But the atmosphere is quite with cliques and groups crowded around tables quietly talking and sipping their drinks. As our group of five walks through its as though someone has painted¨"Look at us" on our foreheads, as everyone stops their conversation and looks up to watch us pass by as we peruse the place. Finding no empty tables, we order some drinks and stand in the middle of what would become the dance floor, talking among ourselves until a nearby table clears out. After about 45 minutes the music picks up and a small group of locals and gringos begin to get their groove on in a variety of international ways. Soon the tables and chairs are pushed to the side of the room, drinks are cleared and the room packs out with barely enough room to dance, much less move. The music ranges from "Paradise City", to european techno and house, to latino tango and salsa beats. Everyone is dancing, smiling, laughing, making moves on eachother, and the music takes over. The hours pass like seconds, the temperature in the room rises, the windows fog, we glow from sweat and laugh as old overplayed songs make their way to the speakers and the dancers change beats and partners, dancing moves and drinks. We find ourselves exausted and check the time; 4am. We all decided we´ve had a night, and leave the still-packed dance floor in search of fresh air and a taxi back to the hostel. In we cram again and exit, attempting wind down and go to bed, with the music and adrenaline of the club still pulsing through our veins.

We finally drift off. Emma and I wake at 9, despite our late night and shower the night off, making our way to "our" restaurant for a hearty meal and then proceed to make reservations for a Salt Flat tour in the south of Bolivia, starting from Uyuni. Its Sunday, and the tour starts on Monday. We return to the hostel, leave a note of our plans for the guys and head out for the 1pm, three-hour bus to Ororu, where we hope to catch the 7pm, seven-hour train to Uyuni, where we will arrive at 2:30 am, stay at a hostel, then leave for our tour at 10:30am.