Baila, baila

13 hours of dancing and music. I feel as fatigued as the performers must have been - the sun waas scorching hot today and most national costumes seem to be made of layer upon layer of wool. The instrument of choice was the pan pipe, the dance move of choice was swirling round.

The games began at 7 am at the local stadium, where different groups representing a certain village, island or tribe performed. Over 100 groups performed during the day - I clocked out around group 50. I didn't know what to expect, but it was like the opening of the Olympic games - well, not always so perfectly choreographed, but some villages turned out over 300 performers all dressed in the colourful native costumes of the region. There were some truly beautiful dresses to be seen - and some imaginative costumes also. Often the performances had men dressed in a kind of Indiana Jones meets the white explorers in Tarzan movies outfit. An as often as not these gun toting figures tried to drag off the women. Hmmm, there may be some historical facts behind these shows.

The groups had dancers of all ages - from white haired grannies to toddlers, who could barely walk, but toddled around the stadium in full native costume. This must be the highlight of the year for many of the performers. Watching the good natured groups perform I was stuck by a semi sad though about how tight knit the community here is and how people of all ages are included in the activities of the community. Something our western world has to a large extent lost along the way.

As the groups finished performing they spilled out onto the streets. There the real party began. The locals had lined the streets to watch the performances and the groups gladly obliged - dancin and playing and parading through the town. 

And by the looks of it the party might continue the whole night through. I gave up soon after dark, but no doubt I will fall asleep tonight to the sound of pan pipes blowing.