on an island in the sun...

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Lago Titicaca is only a few hours from La Paz and, although we'd seen it from the Peruvian side last time around, we wanted to see the Bolivian part. It should have been a simple matter of grabbing a bus to Copacabana, and at first it was. We bought our tickets, and settled down to wait. Then, confusion. The manager of the bus station started to abuse the ticket sellers. Apparently the road to Copacabana was closed – protests and unrest – and they shouldn't have been selling tickets. Really? Did we need to reassess?

No, we were assured, as long as you don't want to go onto Perú you would have no problems. The thing is, most tourists do want to go onto Perú. So, when we got on the bus, the police boarded and told us all that we had to get off – the bus company was ripping us off. The young lady organising the passengers was not at all intimidated by the brusque manner of the khaki-clad plod. She argued, and waved her hands. The police checked everyone's tickets – the people going only to Copacabana were fine – which was us and the locals. All the other gringos were trying to get to Puno in Perú, and looked most confused. Eventually, while the coppers weren't looking, we left. I'm not sure that it was resolved – it was almost as if someone distracted the coppers and we made a run for it. After all that, the cops were right – the road was closed. A trip that should have taken a couple of hours ended taken three times as long, as the driver got lost, asked for directions, forded creeks and drove through tiny hamlets past bemused locals gawking at the huge intercity bus driving gingerly though their narrow streets.

We made it to Copacabana eventually, and the other gringos were frantically rushed off the bus to meet another bus, seconds away from leaving for Puno. We, more sedately, wandered down the street to a huge hotel. Cheap, it was either a flash place that had seen better days, or a crappy place with delusions of grandeur. Either way, it was mostly booked out by a tour group. They found us a couple of basic rooms so we agreed, resolving to find someplace else the next day.

Our plan was to leave most of our gear somewhere and catch a boat across to the Isla del Sol and stay a few days. We found another hostel to stay at which looked a bit nicer, just a short walk from the jetties. They were happy to store our gear in an empty room for the few days, so we grabbed some essentials and jumped into the boat

The boat over was nice and fairly uneventful, apart from some young Israelis that got a serious talking to for sparking up some smokes while sitting next to the outboard. The Bolivian man driving the boat was most unimpressed. He had some strong words but then, he was sitting on the fuel tank.

The boat dropped us off at Yumani port, then we were on our own. We had decide to stay at the Phalla Khasa eco hostel, and there were no taxis or anything like that on the island – the only transport options were horse, donkey, and foot falcon.

We asked some directions of random folks. Most of them were touting for their hostel, or a spare room in their house, so we dismissed their warnings of an hour hike as an attempt to change our minds. They weren't lying, as we discovered as we trudged up the hill, through the village, past rampaging donkeys and llamas.

We found it, right where it was supposed to be, out past the end of town. And it had a breathtaking view – down off the mountain, across the blue of the lake, to the mainland. Stuck by itself on a slight rise, it also had a restaurant with a commanding view of the area, windows all around. Outside, a large area for the sitting and drinking in, and, just beyond, a few pigs, sheep, and goats. These were good for saying g'day to. Behind, on the hill, was a braying donkey, upset that no one was paying him attention.

The price caused a slight, sharp intake of breath. 200 Bolivianos! We had been used to paying less than half that. We contemplated going back to one of the others, but we were stuffed, and elected to stay put. It was only later that dad pointed out “For a beautiful view, a double, private bathroom, hot water and breakfast included – it works out at less $30 per room a night.” Perspective regained, we had another sip of beer and gazed out at the water.

In addition to the double rooms, of which there were 5, there was dorm type accommodation. This was taken up by 7 medical students from Chicago (from that famous hospital?) and they were, as it happens, all nice people. We sat outside for a while, occasionally chatting to the students, mostly reading and drinking, until we had an excellent feed at the restaurant and retired for the night.

As nice as sitting around was, the walk around the island was the main reason we came. It's a reasonable size, and no cars allowed, so walking is the order of the day. From the hostel we headed off towards the other end of the island. The altitude made it a bit challenging, but the vistas were amazing – you can spend all day looking around the island. And it felt high – almost as if you were looking down on the highest navigable lake in the world ™.

A tip would be to go for a walk towards the end of the day, and this we did on the first day there. It was hot to start with, then the air cooled, and the sun started to dip below the Andes, the changing angle of the light changing the sky to incredible shades of blues and pinks, sunsets rivalling those of Darwin, reflecting off the cold waters of Lago Titicaca.

The next day, we started early, and walked a lot further. 6 hours and 17ks, or thereabouts.
The path wound its way through sheep farms. Most of the time we were walking by ourselves, occasionally interrupted by a flock of sheep or goats being herded across the mountain path. Tall stands of eucalytpus framed a view of the lake, the trees far younger than the ancient terraces lining the slopes of the island.

You walk for a good few hours, ever towards the north, towards the community at the end of the island. Wait patiently for the bloke whose job it is to make sure you've made a contribution to the local community of Challa. He ran, lungs bursting I'm sure, up the hill from where he was hanging out with his sheep. Klaire and I had already passed, but the older travellers assured him that we had already bought a ticket (we're talking less than $2 worth here).

Further along, you add a rock to the multitude of cairns, offerings to Pachamama, and the gods of the road or whatever.

Around towards the end of the island we could hear, floating faintly on the wind, some really bad trumpet playing. Coming closer, there, way down below the path, under an overhang, was a young Bolivian boy, practising his brass while tending the family flock. Given his proficiency I suspect that the other side of the island from the village was the best option for everyone involved.

As always, at the end, some more Inca ruins. These ones you could clamber all over if you were so inclined. We simply wandered through, smashing a few foreheads into low doorways and sitting down for a feed of mandarins.

From there, you head back along the other side of the island, where the villages are. At this point you catch up with day trippers, over on the boat from Copacabana to have a look, but they're not there long – just a quick walk up to the ruins, then down one side, then back to the boat. If you have time you really have to stay at least one night. Past some simply awesome specimens of gum trees – trees that have been growing unmolested, with no parasites or diseases, for a couple of hundred years.

Through villages, some haphazard, others beginning to capitalise on the tourists – albeit in a relaxed way. There seemed to be no real urgency about the construction. Past beaches that, in any other country, would be covered with idiot future cancer victims – here, a family of pigs, rooting about in the sand with only a friendly grunt to offer the passerby.

Potatoes drying in the sun, maize stacked in circles, kids loaded up with goods striding past the breathless Australians like we were standing still.

And, at the end of it all, an amazing cold night sky, not a cloud, and definitely no light pollution. The medical students were keen to see the Southern Cross. Here, finally, was something I knew that they didn't. We went outside in the freezing Bolivian night and I pointed it out – low in the sky this close to the equator, but still visible.

So relaxed were we that I donated, inadvertently, my faithful mobile phone to the owners of Phalla Khasa Eco Lodge. I wasn't too upset, really. Hopefully they could make better use of it than me.
Of course, I only realised this after the hour and a half long boat ride back to Copacabana, and was far too lazy to make the return journey to the island.

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Photos

Getting the car blessed, Copacabana
a good idea in Bolivia

The older travellers
We were still trying to shake them

Comments

[D MJ Binkley]

Very nice photos
This brings back some great memories