Dancing in the Street

The day is reserved for the long awaited final of Euro 2012 - Spain vs. Italy. I err towards Italy, but only on account of Nico and 'alf Swiss.

Maybe I ought to stop supporting teams I like. Overall, I feel the tournament has been a disappointment. Other than England-Sweden, I can't think of another game that had a twist or a turn. I can't imagine that we'll be talking about any of these games for long into the future.

I've befriended a travelling band of two Americans and two Austrians. On sunday evenings, the whole of South America is typically dead. Bars, restaurants and clubs are often shut. We're invited, by a local, to a bar where a movie is showing with a bring your own booze policy.

After ''Super Bad'' and a bottle of rum, it's almost midnight and we're back on the beach. Somewhere in town we can hear the sound of drums, which we follow to a street corner. There's a crowd of about thirty people in a circle, singing and dancing around a couple of guys playing bongos and a snare drum. Half of the crowd are generic young tourists. The other half are wearing loose clothing and have long dread locked hair. I've not had quite enough to drink to sing a dance on the street.

After twenty minutes of trying get into it, and feigning having gotten into it. I come to the conclusion that my place in this world is not with these dirty smelly hippies and dirty smelly hippy wannabes. I might not work in a bank, but this is stupid nonsense is way, way out of my ball park.