Down in .....Copacabana!

Time is ticking away. I have much to see and not much time in which to do it. Further complicated by the fact that i decided to do my washing in a small Bolivian town that does have electricity (a good start!), but seriously lacking in machines of the washing or drying variety.

I gave my new friend "Rocky" my washing at midday yesterday and he promised (smiling with all four teeth) that i would have it back at 10am today, weather permitting. Obviously, the weather didn´t permit and im still here.

It´s not such a bad thing because soon i will have clean clothes (!), and the little Bolivian city with no washing machines (a.k.a. Copàcabana) is actually fun.

Copacabana is situated on the west coast of Titicaca, south-east of Puno. Unlike Puno however, Copacabana is interesting, it´s moderately warm, and there are plenty of other gringos to meet and hang out with.

Actually, there are hordes of gringos here - some have taken to living here and selling handicrafts, growing dreadlocks and wearing incredibly innovative combinations of leg warmers, Jesus sandals and striped "happy" pants.

For the most part they seem happy, whether it be with the help of illicit substances or not, as they sit beside their mats of crafts and stare a little too intently at the wall across the street.

The locals however were preoccupied with substances of their own - alcohol. All this week is their annual festival, and the sound of out-of-tune trumpets can be heard for miles around.

By the time we went to investigate, in the mid-afternoon, it seemed that the entire town had gathered in the central plaza and was slowly going through the early stages of paralysis.

Those who still could, danced behind the band on a small circuit around the plaza. The women wore their typical "sunday best" white camisole, wide skirts and little hats, and the men in garish costumes studded with mirrors, and masks.

As we walked around, people were falling over themselves, lying asleep in the park and gutters. Children played in between the melee, making the most of the opportunity to laugh at their drunken parents.

We found a quiet corner and sat watching the commotion, and sharing a bottle of La Paz "bitter", until we were set upon by a local who introduced himself every 10minutes as "Mark" and spent the rest of the night practicing his English, loudly, in my left ear.

Soon I lost Maaike in a crowd of incredibly tall Bolivian musicians, who spoke very good English, and were spellbound by her Nordic charms.

Like anywhere around the world (e.g. Melbourne Cup Racing Carnival, Oktoberfest), a day´s drinking in the sun means brawling on the streets all night. Although it could have been interesting, I didnt really want to try my luck, so i rescued Maaike from her throng of admirers and headed to a quiet gringo bar for a beer.

Later on I walked home, and for lack of anything else to do, went to bed at 10pm. I decided that i was far more entertained than i ever had been in Puno. But still, i wondered how the gringos that lived here kept themselves amused day after day.

I concluded, just before drifting off to sleep, that the drugs here in Copacabana, must be good AND cheap.