Devils Dancing

I oversleep, so it’s nearly 11 when the Waygoer and I head over to the parade route, camera protected by a raincover. We’ve decided not buy stand seats, so we have no idea what to expect. Perhaps we won’t even be allowed to view the festival. The route is a loop of the nicer section of the town and the locals have built up 4-level stands all along it in the two days prior. There’s just a small opening for people to cross the road, which is guarded by policemen.

The Waygoer shamelessly eases past the cops and starts walking down the route facing the oncoming bands, masked monsters and dancers with short skirts. I follow him. Kids with water guns and white spray cans fill the stands, but we waive the cameras and get through ok. We pick a spot halfway down the block and begin shooting the strange and boisterous procession. First a car covered in copper plates and other shiny trinkets passes by, followed by a group of about 20 dancing people in full diabolical costumes of all colors, next a group of a couple dozen Rockette-like girls come strutting their stuff, and finally a 40-strong brass band plows through hitting on all cylinders.

This spectacle repeats itself every 10 minutes and while the costumes change a little bit from outfit to outfit, the pattern and the music don’t. The Waygoer has taken a particular shining to a group of dancing men without masks – just black face makeup and grapes hanging from their hats. He gets into their faces with the camera and then runs over to a shady spot to see if he’s got a good shot, focus and exposure. The light is harsh – half the street is bathed in sunshine, while the other is in shade and the Waygoer isn’t happy with the results he’s getting.

In between the different outfits coming through, there’s a ten minute long lull during which all hell breaks loose in the stands. Boys are destroying the passing girls with water and foam, while girls are doing the same to the passing boys. Every once in a while a major skirmish erupts between opposing stands. Everyone is involved – from 3 to 40 year olds. The first 2 hours are quite amusing. After that it becomes very annoying. I can’t believe there’s going to be 3 days of this…

The Waygoer and I head to lunch and on the way back some Irish drunk decides that he doesn’t care if we have cameras or not and sprays us. I nearly lose it, but decide to retaliate with water bombs made by a nearby kid. The Irish coward ducks behind an old Bolivian woman and I almost plaster her instead.

We spend the afternoon doing more filming and ducking. I’m growing quite irate as I’m having a hard time working the camera through the raincover and getting sick of people sneaking up and soaking me. This whole festival is beginning to appear to me as a big excuse for unruly behavior.

Toward the evening we climb onto the high end of the town near the church where the parade route ends. We are beginning to see many very drunk people, some passed out, others relieving themselves wherever they see fit. In the church itself, however, the sight is chilling. As the bands end their parading, each of the 40 men enters the cathedral, gets on his knees and crawls 20 meters to the altar to pray.

We mingle a bit in the nearby covered market. I feel a tinge of nostalgia for Barcelona’s boqueria, but enjoy the beauty of the dilapidated and much poorer Oruro equivalent anyway. From here, we return to the Waygoer’s lodgings to find Pedro alone. Apparently, Jesus has left for La Paz and the two French girls are enjoying the mayhem in town. We grab the young Argentinean and go to the only vegetarian restaurant in town where I have a samosa and refuse some filtered water.

Finally, I get to the hotel. I’m exhausted, annoyed and a bit frustrated. I don’t think our footage is particularly good or exciting. In the best case, it’s similar to the tomato-fights in Spain on the travel channel. I find that the real story behind the Diablada is eluding me. The Waygoer, on the other hand, loves mingling with the crowds and taking shots of painted faces, old Altiplano women and babies, and is more concerned with the complicated functions of his camera than with understanding what makes these people tick… I’m going to have to sleep my bad mood off and see what tomorrow brings.