Down the Death Road

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Lake Titicaca is South America´s largest and the world's highest major lake. Stretching over the border between Peru and Bolivia, it covers about 3,300 square miles. To get a real impression of the scale of the lake, it is best to explore it from both Peru and Bolivia. Puno is the main port town on the Peruvian side, and it´s a bustling little place. From Puno I took a boat into the lake with Chad and Katja, buddies from the Inca Trail, to a couple of the floating reed islands. The islands have been inhabited by people from the Uros culture for centuries and their lifestyle is unique. The islands are made entirely of reeds, as are the Uros people´s huts and boats. These small communities really only continue to exist for tourism. Interesting though the islands are, they are very small, meaning that after 5 or 10 minutes nodding impressively you are left at the mercy of the residents trying to flog you things that you don´t want. After 20 minutes I was finding myself looking in the direction of the boat wondering when I could get back on. Having said that, the islands were certainly worth a visit.

The three of us stayed in Puno just the 1 night before catching a bus to take us over the border into Bolivia. The border crossing was easily negotiated. We had to get off the bus, get our passports stamped on the Peruvian side, before walking over the border to obtain a Bolivian stamp. When back on the bus, we all remarked at how the scenery seemed to have stepped up a gear already. It was a very scenic journey to our destination of Copacabana (not to be confused with the Rio district - no big sandy beach or bouncing bikinis here). Copacabana is a small lakeside town with quite a bit of character. We went out for a few drinks that night and were pleasantly surprised to find a few funky bars. We were even more surprised though, when we were told that the bar was closing at midnight. Very un-South American.

The next morning Chad, Katja and I took the boat across to Isla del Sol, a real jewel in the crown of Lake Titicaca. The island didn´t seem that far off shore but the boat somehow took about an hour and a half to get there. It was obvious that the crew were going deliberately slowly in order to save on fuel. Once we´d finally reached the island, we were met by a chap from the hotel which we were to stay at. He told us that we needed to walk 20 minutes uphill to get there. This may sound straightforward, but at this altitude and with it being a very steep climb and having to carry our backpacks, it certainly wasn't. We were all absolutely knackered by the time we got to the top and wondered why the guidebooks were curiously silent on the effort it takes to get up the island. I mean, for all the writers know there could be 70 year old grannies fancying a trip there. In fact, maybe they have been there, in which case I would bet that they never made it up the hill. To make matters worse, when we got to the hotel we found the staff to be frightfully rude. In their defence, the staff were working for a French owner apparently, thereby explaining why the couldn´t give a stuff whether we stayed there or not. Miriam and Emma, the other Aussies from the Inca trail, had stayed in the hotel the night before, and the 5 of us agreed to move to another hotel down the road (or rather, path). This place wasn´t fantastic either (the bed bugs were jumping around rampantly) but at least the staff seemed to want us there, and the views of the lake were wonderful. Staying on Isla del Sol was worth it just for the lake vistas alone. I wasn´t too impressed from what I saw of the lake in Puno, but it was at its sparkling blue best from the island.

Chad and I decided to explore some more of the island, and it was an eventful little walk. Having realised that the path wasn´t going to take us in the direction we wanted to go in, we decided to venture off the track. Our wanderings led us onto someone´s private land, and we were politely told to get the hell off. Then, when trying to head back on to the top of the island, we encountered a snake. It was fairly small, but still a snake. I assumed that Chad, being Australian, would be perfectly at ease with this and dismiss it as nothing. Instead, he admitted that he was alarmed that the snake was almost certainly not alone. Where was its mother? I didn´t thank Chad for his musings, and scampered uphill pretty quick from there. Safely back on the track at the peak of the island, we were heading back to the hostel when we came across a kid who demanded money from us. Unfortunately for the lad, we were not bearing gifts, and ignored him. The kid responded by pelting stones at us. Nice. After all that, we were happy to get back to the hotel.

Later on, all of us were up for a walk in the dark to search for some nightlife. Admittedly this was rather optimistic on this serenely quiet island, but it was St Patrick´s Day so it would have been rude not to have some booze. Rather predictably, we didn´t have much luck, although we did find some people dancing around a bonfire outside a hostel and we stood around there drinking some wine for a little while.

By the next day the weather had turned for the worse. Emma left us that morning and the remaining 4 of us took the boat back to Copacabana in the afternoon. After another night there, we caught a local minibus to the capital, La Paz. We bought 2 seats each, one for us and one for our bags. The locals were no doubt thinking "bloody tourists", but we wanted the security of having our bags next to us rather than on the roof, and the seats cost only a pound. The journey took about 4 hours, the interesting part of which was when we were told to get off the minibus and into a small boat. Our minibus was then carried across the river in another boat, which wasn´t very big and it all looked rather precarious. The arrival in La Paz was very memorable - the minibus came over a hill to reveal the sprawling city nestled far below in a valley.

La Paz, the world´s highest capital city, is very lively but feels safe and not too intimidating. There is only one, albeit very long, main street. Sunshine remained present throughout my stay, so I guess I saw the city in its best light. And on a clear day there is no disputing that La Paz has a superb setting, with its backdrop of snowcapped mountains. While in La Paz I stayed with my ex Spanish teacher, Irene. Irene lived in Bristol for 8 years and is now back in her home city. Her flat is situated high up on a hill, and the view from up there is amazing, both during the day and at night.

A popular activity to do from La Paz is mountain biking. And this isn´t any old biking expedition - this is biking down the world´s most official dangerous road, a.k.a. the Death Road. Chad, Miriam, Katja and I booked our trip through a company appropriately named ´Downhill Madness´. In total we had to cycle for about 5 hours, covering a distance of 64 kms to the village of Coroico. The vast majority of the cycling is downhill, and altogether we made a descent of a whopping 3,345 metres.

So, is the road really that dangerous? Well, pretty much. While a new road has opened recently, meaning that the Death Road is now little used by traffic, the road continues to claim lives regularly. Our guide was a nutty English guy (to be fair, you have to be a nutter to make a living out of cycling down the Death Road), who was rather too enthusiastic in his descriptions of the various fatal accidents that have occurred along the route. Frankly, I didn´t want to hear all the details, although maybe the purpose of the guide describing them was to shock those in the group who needed shocking. If so, I can understand this as you cannot be complacent on this road - you have to keep your wits about you at all times. If you don´t, then the road will bite you. I should know, as I came a cropper a couple of times. No doubt you are eager to hear more about my misfortune... well, the first time was when I looked behind me to check where Katja was (the crew weren´t great at keeping tabs on us) and promptly lost control and fell off the side of the road. The right-hand side, that is. Had it been the left, I wouldn´t be writing this (you shouldn´t be reading this, Mother). Then, towards the end of the trip, I wobbled off my bike while trying to get across a stream. It wasn´t a bad fall, just embarrassing really. To make matters worse, one of the crew took a photo of me at that moment and proceeded to include it on the expedition CD, given out to everyone after the trip. The release of the CD came too late for me to seek an injunction from the Bolivian courts. As it is probably already in wide circulation, I may as well publish it here too...

Given that most of the cycling was downhill, it wasn´t that physically demanding, but I still felt pretty exhausted afterwards. We were taken to a hotel at the end, where we had a couple of hours to feed ourselves and chill in the pool. Some decided to stay in the hotel overnight, but I took the minibus back to La Paz, which was a very uncomfortable 3 and a half hours - uncomfortable because of the seat (some cushioning would have been welcome after 5 hours on a bike), and also because I was forced to listen to yet more death tales from the likeable but ever-excitable guide.

The following day, Irene skived off work and we went to the Moon valley together. I still don´t know why it´s called that, as it wasn´t a valley and the significance of the moon escapes me, but it was a curious maze of pinnacles and weird rock formations. There was a path winding up and around the pinnacles which we followed right round. Then we got lost. We could see the exit only about 20 yards ahead of us but we couldn´t work out how to get to it. We asked a guy who was doing some maintenance work, and he explained to us how to get out. Rather embarrassingly, it couldn´t have been easier - we had to take a left and then walk about 5 steps, and there was the way out. We both felt rather sheepish after that.

Later that afternoon there was a huge parade in the centre of La Paz to mark the anniversary of the death of Eduardo Avaroa, Bolivia´s foremost hero in the War of the Pacific in 1879. The war was disastrous for Bolivia as the country´s defeat resulted in it losing its access to the ocean to Chile and becoming landlocked. The main feature of the parade is the urn carrying the remains of Senor Avaroa. Bearing in mind that he died 128 years ago, I found this quite extraordinary. Watching the parade was quite riveting, and I managed to get a great view of it.

So, my impressions of Bolivia so far? Well, watch out when pouring a beer at this altitude (nearly 4000m). It fizzes like crazy and on a couple of occasions I have lost half my pint when pouring it into a glass - I know, I should be more careful. Also, don´t go to a restaurant when you´re hungry - try to anticipate when you´re going to be hungry and go at least an hour before - you usually have to wait an age for your order. If you´ve heard of "Fiji time", then "Bolivia time" is even more relaxed... However, the fact that it is so, so cheap is ample compensation for this.

Leaving La Paz proved to be more than a little tricky, as I suffered two flight cancellations on consecutive days. This was thanks to my destination of Rurrenabaque having a grass runway, meaning that even light rain is enough to force a cancellation. I mean, I know it´s a poor country, but is it too much to ask for a bit of concrete?! Rurrenabaque, by the way, is jungle territory, and my adventures in the Amazon will be featured in my next blog.

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