Island of the Sun

---

For a city we´d barely planned to visit, we had spent far too long in La Paz and it was definately time to get out. Besides, our visas were due to expire in a few days, so we had to make moves to leave the country, no matter how reluctantly. First there was the small matter of posting home some presents and unwanted items. Would the Bolivian postal system prove as eccentric and buerocratic as the argentinan one? Sadly yes, so several hours and much frustrated mutterings later we finally started to make our way to Copacabana, via one of those little japanese manufactured minibuses which seem to abound in Bolivia. They're somewhat tardis-like, making for a far more comfortable journey than expected as we descended from La Paz towards Lake Titicaca, the highest naviagable lake in the world. We soon had our first opportunity to navigate the lake, as we boarded a small motor launch to cross the Straits of Tiquina, whilst our bus boarded a somewhat flimsy looking ferry for the crossing. Safely reunited at the far side, we shortly reached the town of Copacabana, in a lovely setting on the lakeside. This being our last stop in Bolivia, we decided to treat purselves to one of the top hotels in town, for the princely sum of 12 pounds. Yet another reason to love Bolivia! Sadly, friends who´d not had to run the gauntlet of the post office system got there before us and bagged the suite, complete with lounge and hammocks in the 'sitootrie'.

Given that Bolivia is landlocked (a controversial issue, currently being discussed once more with the Chilean government), Copacabana is the country's closest equivalent to a seaside resort, with donkey rides, amusements, waterfront cafes and your-photo-with-a-llama opportunities on offer for the local holiday makers who mingle with the gringos here. However, given that it´s at 3800m above sea level, temperatures plumment once the sun sets, making it more like a pretty Blackpool than the south of France. However, sunning ourselves wasn´t the reason we were there. A few hours from the town lies the Isla del Sol, centre of the main incan creation myth. Legend has it that Viracocha, the creator god had his children spring from the water there to found the incan dynasty, and the island is revered accordingly.


The next day we finally caught the lunchtime boat to the southern tip of the island. Upon seeing the hundreds of Incan Steps leading steeply up the cliffside at this end, we somewhat regretted not having resisted the comfort of the hotel to catch the morning boat to the easier north end, but battled valiently upwards. Our efforts were doubtless somewhat strengthened by the numerous retail opportunities on the way up, as we feared to stop at what would be a natural breath-catching point for risk of coming away in our weakened state laden with alpaca sweaters, half a dozen cushion covers and countless toy llamas.

Somewhere near the top we found what had to be our cheapest accommodation yet for one earth pound each. The rooms were simple but spotless, with stunning views over the island from all three windows. We took a short walk northbound, but elected to keep the main exploring for the following day, taking a break to watch the sunset over one side before heading down to our balcony to catch it illuminate the snow capped mountains back towards La Paz. Having guessed that the island was hardly going to be a late night party place, a simple dinner by candlelight followed in a place with a menu of only 2 items, where the family lived in the other room of the building. We met another traveller there who´d been in the jungle shortly before us and caught Dengue Fever. I silently gave thanks once more for all the insect repellant presents we´d recived before leaving home.

Waking the next morning in time to view the sunrise through the window, we set off to walk the island.

Somewhat surprisingly, given that life on the island seemed last night to be dicated by the hours of daylight, with electricy a relative newcomer, hardly anyone was about as we set off at 8am. A small boy playing with a wheel and a stick momentarily made us wonder if we´d stepped back in time. During the next few hours, the only people we saw were the occasional farmer with his donkeys and llamas. Breakfast of banana sanwiches on top of the hills has never tasted so good as we surveyed the completely roadless island, which reminded us of Greece with its steep agricultural terraces falling down to the sea.

At the north end, we came to the sacred rock, with its images of the god Viracocha and a puma. However, maybe you need to be Quechu to see them, as nothing was visible to our eyes. The sacrificial table was more of interest, although it did put us in mind of a picnic table. Hardly surpising really that some friends had the same thought later, sitting down to have lunch, until being informed of their error by a somewhat appalled ticket warden.



Some fine incan ruins can be found at the north end, and we spent some time exploring the maze like layout of the temple complex overlooking a beautiful bay before heading through pretty villages from another era on route to the ferry port. The commercial naivity of Bolivans was proven to us once again there, on discovering that both boats left at the same time and noth waited for over an hour at the south port, getting us back several hours later than planned. Comments from most of the other passengers confirmed the financial viability of an earlier direct service, but, for the time being, we had to just sit back and accept we were working on Bolivian time.

Encountering friends on our return to Copacabana, we set out to sample more lake trout and celebrate our final night in the country, accompanied by some scandinavians, modelling local market purchases which out norwegian-jumpered any norwegian jumper I´ve ever seen. The craic was good as was the Bolivian wine which flowed that night, serving as an appropriate end to our thirty days in a country which has very pleasantly surprised us, and will hopefully see us back again one day. Next stop Peru.....

---