P laza Alfonso Lopez shook to its 16th-century foundations as I squeezed through the whiskey-drinking, sombrero-wearing crowd. On stage, a fast-fingered accordionist played, a sweat stain spreading across his chest. The crowd held aloft framed photographs of their accordion heroes and roared approval as musical scales swooped and soared in the sultry air. Valledupar is the spiritual home of vallenato music. Typically, it is performed by a trio: an accordionist, bongo player and someone playing a guacharaca , a rasping stick not unlike a cheese-grater.
More recently, it has become spearheaded by commercialised pop reinterpretations, notably by Latin superstar Carlos Vives.
Every 10 years those winners compete against each other to be crowned King of Kings. The last of those was last year, and was also the 50th anniversary of the festival β so any previous winner could enter. I watched the best of the vallenato accordion greats alongside , other spectators at the four-day festival.
Valledupar, home to , people, is an unremarkable city on a hot flat plain; to the north, cattle-rearing pasture gives way to the La Guajira desert.
The city does, however, have an agreeable old centre of whitewashed lanes that provided shade from the arid heat while its Spanish colonial plazas feature ornate churches with huge wooden doors. I arrived in time for a traditional breakfast of cheese-filled arepas and chicken soup β the latter a local hangover remedy for a festival hangover.
