Copacabana Ain´t No Dakota

Today I got back from a two-day trip to Copacabana, a small town on Lake Titikaka. This week was the Fiesta de la Virgen (The Festival of the Virgin) celebrating the appearance of the Virgin Mary to an Incan man centuries ago. I´d heard from several friends that the party is quite a spectacle. Bands battle for attention in the too-small and echoing plaza while cholitas in their finest skirts and men from the area dance in an unending parade through the town. For three days the most devoted revelers drink and dance in the plaza with no pause. I didn´t belive the "no pause" part of the description, but quickly learned that "no pause" hardly does justice to the intensity of the event.

(Un)fortunately I stayed in a hotel right on the main plaza where my friend Claudia lives. The music literally did not abate from 8 am in the morning to the same hour two days later. Torrential rain had little impact despite the electrical current coursing through the plaza and if anything people welcomed the cooler air. I couldn´t believe how hard people were partying, but I guess it´s pretty typical of Bolivian festivals.

In addition to the dancing Claudia had planned several activities that should have made me feel as though I were right back in South Dakota. About the first, a trail ride, I was dubious to say the least. I´ve seen horses in South America and considering the general health of rental horses around the world, I came with low expectations. Despite Claudia´s assurances that she´d reserved good horses (and to her credit she hadn´t seen them beforehand), the ponies that showed up were the most skeletal, droopy-eared, close-to-death animals I´ve maybe ever seen. After much strained explanation with the horses´ owner we opted to rent some kayaks on the lake instead. I was relieved with the much more humane option.

Afterward we headed to what would either be a rodeo, a running of the bulls, or a bullfight (depending on whom we asked). I was excited to see this Bolivian rodeo and was somewhat disappointed by the results. Although I definitely respect anyone willing to provoke a bull eye-to-eye, these bulls were almost the size of roping steers and the bull fighters (as it ended up it was a bullfight of sorts) spent most of their time chasing rather than running from the bulls. It was interesting to a point (and there was a 12-year-old participating, which was impressive) but ultimately paled in comparison to full-grown bulls and professional cowboys.

Apparently I missed the day of the festival where a statue of the Virgin was paraded around town but many people assured me that religious fervor was behind the debauchery. In a few weeks I´m planning on attending Carnival in Oruro, a festival of gigantic proportions where every year a few people literally die from partying too hard. We´ll see if I can spot the religion there too.