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fiesta of the Virgin Rosario, La Paz
La Paz sits in a bowl shaped valley, high in the Bolivian Andes and has a claim to fame of being the highest capital city in the world, at 3,600m above sea level. It’s sprawling mass covers the surrounding hillsides with endless adobe brick built apartments. It’s a poor city, evident from the state of the buildings and the numerous markets, selling everything from plastic containers, jeans and other fashion clothes, to hardware and toiletries. The nearest supermarket is in a local suburb, a taxi ride away from the centre. Although, in the UK, we view supermarket shopping as the cheapest, here the imported goods in supermarkets are generally too expensive for the average salary and the street stalls of the city boast much more reasonable prices and more selection.
It’s obvious that Bolivians love to celebrate, from the endless shops specialising in masks, cardboard cakes and hats, streamers and confetti. Again, a contradiction in that the more hard up people are it seems the more they plough whatever money they have into fiestas and carnivals. We are ‘fortunate’ to be staying at Hotel Rosario and it just so happens that the celebration of the Virgin Rosario is taking place directly outside our hotel on the very weekend we are here. Music is pumped out in the street till 2am each night and people either crowd round the stage watching the various live acts or set up camp on wooden benches with crates of bottled beer to hand.
On the day we leave a procession takes place through the city streets, starting at our hotel. The brass band, playing traditional Bolivian tunes, leads the way, followed by a girl in gold platform boots twisting her way along in a skimpy gold lame minidress. Making their skirts twirl in sync are many groups of indigenous women dressed in identical striking colourways and following them are bizarre, holographic ‘armoured’ men with crazy masks and bright red and white feathers coming out of their heads. This spectacle would be enough in itself without the added bonus of simultaneous dance steps, bringing the whole occasion to life. I can see why so many local people come here to take in this amazing display in an otherwise drab brown city.
Sucre, by comparison, is the political capital of Bolivia, meaning it houses the parliament buildings and is where the current government sits. It’s much smaller than La Paz but outweighs it tenfold in the beauty of it’s architecture. It’s pretty, cobbled streets are lined with colonial whitewashed buildings, each with it’s features well-preserved. On each corner of the main square there are extensive newspaper stands, which is unheard of in La Paz (no-one seems to read anything apart from sensationalist tabloids). And the newspapers in Sucre are intellectually sound.
Small food and drink kiosks in La Paz are ‘replaced’ by comprehensive stationers and book shops in Sucre. It’s possible to tell that the inhabitants of Sucre are more wealthy than La Paz, due to their choice of clothing (more westernised) and more in keeping with current fashions. The funny thing is though that I don’t find these people half as visually interesting as the charismatic, crumpled but still smiling faces of the variety of local peoples in La Paz. And I wonder whether the people of Sucre would be as much into the fiestas and celebrations as the people of Paz?
It’s obvious that Bolivians love to celebrate, from the endless shops specialising in masks, cardboard cakes and hats, streamers and confetti. Again, a contradiction in that the more hard up people are it seems the more they plough whatever money they have into fiestas and carnivals. We are ‘fortunate’ to be staying at Hotel Rosario and it just so happens that the celebration of the Virgin Rosario is taking place directly outside our hotel on the very weekend we are here. Music is pumped out in the street till 2am each night and people either crowd round the stage watching the various live acts or set up camp on wooden benches with crates of bottled beer to hand.
On the day we leave a procession takes place through the city streets, starting at our hotel. The brass band, playing traditional Bolivian tunes, leads the way, followed by a girl in gold platform boots twisting her way along in a skimpy gold lame minidress. Making their skirts twirl in sync are many groups of indigenous women dressed in identical striking colourways and following them are bizarre, holographic ‘armoured’ men with crazy masks and bright red and white feathers coming out of their heads. This spectacle would be enough in itself without the added bonus of simultaneous dance steps, bringing the whole occasion to life. I can see why so many local people come here to take in this amazing display in an otherwise drab brown city.
Sucre, by comparison, is the political capital of Bolivia, meaning it houses the parliament buildings and is where the current government sits. It’s much smaller than La Paz but outweighs it tenfold in the beauty of it’s architecture. It’s pretty, cobbled streets are lined with colonial whitewashed buildings, each with it’s features well-preserved. On each corner of the main square there are extensive newspaper stands, which is unheard of in La Paz (no-one seems to read anything apart from sensationalist tabloids). And the newspapers in Sucre are intellectually sound.
Small food and drink kiosks in La Paz are ‘replaced’ by comprehensive stationers and book shops in Sucre. It’s possible to tell that the inhabitants of Sucre are more wealthy than La Paz, due to their choice of clothing (more westernised) and more in keeping with current fashions. The funny thing is though that I don’t find these people half as visually interesting as the charismatic, crumpled but still smiling faces of the variety of local peoples in La Paz. And I wonder whether the people of Sucre would be as much into the fiestas and celebrations as the people of Paz?
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