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Lake Titicaca
Probably not the most appropriate picture for a journal on La Paz, but this entry includes the lake, where we came closer to expiring than we ever did in the big old bad old actually quite superb city of La Paz. Sucker for the natural shots that we are.A tad nervous by the news that the bodies of a couple of tourists abducted in January were found in unmarked graves recently, we rode the bus into La Paz with some trepidation. If I had read the British and American government travel advisories before hand I think I would have insisted on riding the bus into to La Paz with an armed guard. The road to La Paz takes us through the ‘slum’ city of El Alto and then winds its way down the canyon slopes into the city itself. Our first view of the city is therefore from the canyon rim staring down on the city 500 metres below us, filling the canyon and sprawling up the steep slopes everywhere except where sheer rock face makes building impossible even for these people. The sight is mesmerising. For anyone travelling to La Paz by road from Oruro or the airport, grab a seat on the right hand side and, if you found yourself breathless because of the altitude, be ready to have your breath taken away again.
It didn´t help my nerves to be greeted at the bus station by a couple of tourist police handing out slips of
Lounging Around La Paz
The much admired view of the city from our room. paper warning us not to believe anyone who approaches us in civilian clothes with police credentials as they are fakes out to rob us, or worse. For good measure they noted down some vital details; names, hotel, taxi driver name, next of kin, that sort of thing.
Having scared those who care about us half to death, I should add that our experience of La Paz was nothing but great. The taxi driver radioing ahead to reserve a room in our selected but not yet booked hotel was just one example of the excellent service we found in the city. Unfortunately for him and the hotel it was just over the road from the highest five star hotel in the world, and who are we to ignore a chance to set personal records?
On checking in we are amazed to be quoted a rate of just $60 for the room and then, as if to reward us for the trials of getting there, we are upgraded to a suite for no extra cost. Only the trip down into the city prepares us for the view we get as we walk into the room. The ornate San Francisco church
La Paz at Night
And a bit of the room reflected for good measure and monastery sits below us with the rest of the city seeming to flow down to it from the canyon rim like some man made lava field, all from the comfort of our lounge.
When we finally pluck up the courage to venture out into the city, it is to the nearby Plaza Murillo, home of government buildings and cathedral. C takes pictures for as long as her heart can stand it whilst I stand guard watching for any potential snatch thieves, a trick I learned in bodyguard school (aka some old Clint Eastwood film). We then move onto the Plaza San Francisco and into the tranquil confines of the church and monastery. A very pleasant couple of hours are spent wandering the colonnades, exhibits, church and even roof, where C develops an unhealthy obsession with photographing the bells. For anyone in the area this is 20 Bolivianos well spent, though the trip to the roof is not for the faint hearted or claustrophobic.
Next it’s a lung challenging life threatening stroll up a progressively steeper Sagarnaga street where we run the gauntlet of tourist shops selling authentic Andean clothes, accessories and trinkets for a lot less than
La Paz Cathedral
I´m standing behind ready to do battle to protect the camera we are going to be able to get them in Peru, where the cloth items at least are actually made it seems. By now our confidence about being out and about has improved considerably, largely down to the fact that given all the scare stories we haven’t yet been mugged, let alone murdered in full daylight. Perhaps this is because of the reassuring and frequent sight of armed tourist police. However I suspect that despite all the bad press the streets of La Paz are not in fact awash with cut throats and murderers but with ordinary people going about their business. We need exercise only the prudent amount of care any tourist should in any city in the world.
Later in the day we hike our way back up Sagarnaga street to a travel agency to arrange our onward travel for the following days. Whilst we took pains to plan our travel in Australia during the Christmas period, it never occurred to us that Easter in a staunchly Catholic continent might be problematic in terms of travel and accommodation. Fortunately we are able to find a superb travel agent that books all our travel and accommodation arrangements; two
San Francisco Church
So this is where all the country´s riches are. bus rides, a train journey and three nights in two hotels, for the next four days, all wrapped up in an impressive level of service (take a bow
Turisbus). We retreat to the hotel’s internet facility to engage the less personal services of Expedia.com to make our own arrangements for accommodation in Cuzco over the Easter weekend.
The first of our bus trips the next day is an easy 4 hours to Copacabana on the shores of Lake Titicaca, at 3800 metres the highest lake in the world. We get treated briefly to that stunning view of La Paz from above before travelling through the altogether less attractive city of El Alto. The real treat however is the view of the blue waters of the lake against the backdrop of 6000+ metre snow capped peaks. We disembark the bus for the short ferry across the lake and, having made the crossing as foot passengers we watch our now empty bus with baggage still strapped to the roof travel precariously across on little more than a few planks of wood with a motor strapped on the back. Both crossings are more trouble free than that of the lorry on the
other side which failed to board its barge successfully and ended up with front wheels in the lake. There follows a mesmerising journey through the hills with more views of the lake and mountains but attempts to photograph the scenes through the small ventilation window on a bus that was being thrown about by a rough and winding road come close to causing grievous bodily harm. A traffic jam in Copacabana generates a detour which turns into an off road experience along unpaved back streets that would rival any 4x4 tour, but we eventually arrive at the hotel to enjoy an afternoon on the terrace gazing at the lake under a bright blue sky. I retreat for the night with severe sun burn.
For our one day in Copacabana we have booked a tour of the Isla del Sol, birth place of the Inca people, on the understanding that we do not have to partake in the 10km trek half way down the island. The Bolivian navy (seriously!) objected to us having only the one engine, and two boat changes later we’re cruising the beautiful waters of the lake and treated to yet more snow capped peaks in the
San Francisco Church Roof
With La Paz sprawled up the hill behind distance before landing on the island. Unfortunately the tour guide was having none of our nancy-boy stay-with-the-boat nonsense. Four hours of walking later, during which I personally saw Elvis coming the other way, we dragged our sorry oxygen deprived bodies down the final slope. It was a quiet boat ride back during whch I wondered on the irony of surviving the potentially mean streets of La Paz only to expire on the airless slopes of an island on beautiful Lake Titicaca. As we negotiated the small mountain back to the hotel we passed a trio of Bolivians who were just completing their 3 day 160km Easter pilgrimage on foot from La Paz. They looked in better shape than we did.
It is fortunate as we wait for our afternoon departure from Copacabana the next day that the intermittent internet service springs to life. Without it we might never have known that the ‘confirmed’ hotel booking for two nights hence in Cuzco, in the middle of the Easter weekend, is not in fact confirmed, in fact the hotel is closed. As we board the bus to Puno the hotel chain is seeing what alternative arrangements they can make. The journey
Not for the Faint Hearted
The stairs down from the roof, sole illumination is by camera flash. Successful negotiation relies 99% on the sense of touch. to Puno is uneventful. We collect yet another new stamp for our increasingly impressive looking passports, wave goodbye to an unexpectedly charming Bolivia and cross the border into Peru. We spend Good Friday night in an uninspiring hotel. The following morning we board the all day train to Cuzco having provided a completed booking form over the internet but without actually receiving confirmation that we have somewhere to stay when we get there. Such are the vagaries of semi-independant travel.
24/09/06
Adding a link to the web site set up by the families of the couple mentioned at the beginning of this journal, thankful that I can do so from the comfort of my own home.
http://www.katharinaandpeter.info/
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MAllott
non-member comment
Tiahuanaco!!
Impressive though the stories of (potential) cut-purses and altitude sickness are, I can't believe an Archaeology graduate like Markie can pass up the chance of viewing the "frankly undateable" ruins of Tiahuanaco. So old, that the "highest lake in the world" was quite a few metres higher, affording docking rights to what are now land-locked moorings. And damn massive stones to boot. Frankly leaving armchair couch potatoes like myself thinking that only suitably massively impressive descriptions of Macchu Picchu can redeem you.