As you may realize, our time down here in South America will coming to an end here in about a month. A few long stays, unexpected excursions, and added plans for the end of the trip have suddenly made our time tight, forcing us to make tough decisions about where and what we can see in the time we have left. Because of this, Bolivia has had to happen much quicker than would have liked — outside of struggling with the high altitude, we LOVE the place. Because of this, and because so many people give it bad reviews, it was looking like iconic La Paz was going to get short changed. Well… Then we heard about the biggest, baddest celebration you’re likely to encounter, “La Fiesta del Gran Poder” — since we couldn’t stay longer, we figured, we could at least dig deep into the culture of the place, and join in with all walks of life in La Paz to partake in one of the most important celebrations of the year. It’s one of the best choices we could have made, La Paz and the Gran Poder proved to be truly unmissable.

The story of the festival is a funny one. In the 17th century, a painting depicting the “father, the son and the Holy Spirit” turned up. Controversially, the trinity figures were depicted with mestizo features. Over the years the painting grew a following, for it was said that it had the power to evoke miracles. When the painting finally found a permanent home in 1928, growing numbers of devotees turned up to plead for it’s favors. Originally, simple candle light vigils, today La Fiesta del Gran Poder draws over 30,000 dancing processioners accompanied by over 64 marching bands, through miles of La Paz’s grueling hilly streets, for a monster parade that lasts “over 12 hours long”. An unbelievable figure, if only it were true: this year the parades went on for at least 17 hours.

The costumes are fanciful, shining, often with accompanying masks and noisemakers. Lines and lines of cholitas in parade finery. Men and boys of all ages in matching suits, blowing countless horns, banging countless drums. The themes vary but largely it’s all a massive collision of Catholicism and local folklore.. And drinking.

We had the perfect setup — we paid for bleacher seats, and our hotel was half a block away. It’s nice to know you have a little quiet and a clean bathroom waiting for you when you’re drinking beers and watching a parade for 17 hours.

Something really remarkable began to happen… We made fast friends with the Bolivianos in the seats. Bolivianos have thus far seemed a little distant, impenetrable and stoic. Tourism is relatively new around here, and people are poor, so there’s a lot of distrustful glances and dismissal. Well, after a few hours we were sharing beers and stories and chewing coca with a rather riotous cholita and her husband. A cab driver and his family began to pour us drinks, toasting us, inviting us to stay with them, offering to show us town. A guy, a complete stranger, looks up the stands at us, pours us drinks, holds his hand to his heart and thanks us for being there, for being part of his culture. And we accepted it all, because we were there for it — not to snap a few pictures and move on, as every one of the other foreign tourists had done, but to cheer the dancers, to celebrate, and to give our hearts collectively and fully to something that was very truly in the hearts of all of these people. It was extremely touching. Many of them expressed wishes to visit the states (and we welcomed them to), almost impossible for them both politically and financially… In the end, it wasn’t resentment that they brought to us, it was absolute pride, and I think a sense of assurance, that what they did here was something beautifully universal that could be shared by anyone that gave a shit. It was love and acceptance, and now, as then, I struggle to choke back some tears about it.