Puno, Peru;
Copacabana, Bolivia (both on Lago Titicaca); La Paz.
Viernes 9 de noviembre – martes 13 de
noviembre.
At 11, I take a taxi to the bus station ($2.50) and at 12:30 I leave
Arequipa for Puno ($8), near the Bolivian border. It takes about 7 hours
through very dry altiplano: cactus, short grass. Puno first became a Spanish
settlement when a silver mine was discovered nearby. It is shabby in parts (streets full of rubble)
but the main square is beautiful (the large cathedral dates from the 1600s when
the city became the main port on Lake Titicaca) with a shiny new tourist strip
off the square. Here the street is newly paved, many shops and restaurants and
street stands. I walk one block off the strip and find a nice restaurant used
by locals (no signs here in English).
Puno is at 3900 m, and so is cold at night. I find a fairly nice hotel
for $18 run by an elderly couple that is very welcoming and helpful. I am still
dehydrated from yesterday morning’s climb (still drinking more than usual) and
my chest is still congested. It takes a couple of days to clear up. My bed has
super heavy (and warm) blankets but they are so heavy that every time I turn over they fall off. I do
not sleep much.
From Puno, one can visit the Uros floating islands: islands made of
reeds (and continually replenished) that have been inhabited for centuries by
the Uros Indians. They also use (now mostly for the tourists) boats made of
reeds, which are quite beautiful. I do not stop here even though these are
‘must-sees’. I am not opposed to seeing amazing things, but when a place or
activity becomes a ‘must-see’, often what made it that has been largely lost.
The next morning (Sat), I am up early to get a 7:30 bus to Copacabana,
on the Bolivian side. The bus ride this morning is all along the shores of Lake
Titicaca although I did not see it the previous evening as it was already dark.
Titicaca is about 150 x 55 km in size and 284 m deep. I am guessing that it may
hold about as much water as Lake Ontario. There are lots of fishing nets on the
water: mostly they fish for trout here. There are also many small vegetable
plots (big enough to sell produce from) all along the shores and back from the
shores. This area is the heartland of the Aymara culture. The Aymara language
is supported as a second language by the government in this area, as is Quechua
in some of the valleys to the south. There is not the same kind of support for
the Amazonian languages, mostly I think because there are too many of them,
spoken by too few people.
It does not take more than a
couple of hours to get to the border. A third of the bus passengers are
tourists: mostly European, a few Americans. The bus stops for us to do our
border dance. There are two places we have to go on the Peruvian side and one
on the other side. I have a bit of trouble with Peru. When I entered Peru back
in September, I was asked how long I would be there by the customs agent. I
said 30 days without thinking although I knew you could stay there without
problems for 90 days. After I said it, I realized I should have said a longer
time but it was already entered. I figured I would be out of Peru by then, so I
did not bother trying to change it. Unfortunately it is now 59 days later. So I
have to do fill out some more paperwork, make 6 (count’em, 6) photocopies of my
passport and the paperwork I have just completed, and pay $1US per day. That
should be $29 but somehow the agents tack on an extra $10 without explanation
and then give me a very poor exchange rate so I end up paying $44. It is not
enough of a rip-off (if that is what it is) to be worth missing my bus for, so
I swallow it.
Americans (and to a lesser extent South Africans, of which there are two
on the bus) have it worse on the Bolivian side. They must buy a $130 US visa
(good for 3 or 5 years) in US funds. Not only that, but they have to be bills
in good condition. One American digs through the bowels of the bus to find his
backpack where he has some extra US dollars stashed because one of his $20
bills is slightly torn and is not accepted. Three other Americans have to go
back across the border to Peru to buy more US dollars as they also have some
bills which are not up to Bolivian border official standards. They miss our
bus. I guess this is President Evo Morales’ way of getting back at the American
government for its treatment of Bolivia which is actually trying to share the
wealth (always a no-no for American governments). Reportedly, McDonald’s and Coca Cola are also
being asked to leave the country at the end of this year. (I recently learned
that Inka Cola, the most popular soft drink in Peru, a fluorescent yellow soda
that tastes like cream soda, has been bought by Coca Cola.)
For all foreigners, there is a small entry fee (couple of dollar’s worth
each time) to pay to enter the country,
another to enter Copacabana, another to land on Isla del Sol (as I do around
midday), and another to enter the northern half of the island which I do the
next day. It is not a lot of money and it is a very poor country. But it is
kind of funny.
Bus assistant offers me a ticket for the ferry to Isla del Sol, for he
takes payment in Peruvian soles at an inflated exchange rate. I do not know if
he also ripped me off or not, but I think he does. I go back and argue with him
in my best Spanish but he won’t budge. I am starting to have a sneaking
suspicion that he is right. Anyway, I get him to give me back the part of the
money we agree that I paid and I buy the ticket with the ferry company at a
better rate. After the border hassle, I am in no mood to be ripped off. (It is
not the money either; it is more the psychological peace of mind of standing up
for yourself.)
I catch the 12:30 ferry (second of two, holds 65 people or so) for the
hour and a half, 12 km trip across to Isla Del Sol and sit on the open upper
deck where there . I end up chatting for much of the way with Patricia who I
had met on the bus, an attractive graphic artist in her mid-20s from Berlin who
is traveling for a few months. Her Spanish is very good as she used to have a
Mexican boyfriend and spent time in Mexico. After she takes cover inside from
the wind, I chat with Adrian who is sitting across from me, an Argentinian
photographer and computer programmer in his 30s who is on a four week
holiday. On our way off the ferry, the
three of us decide to explore the island together.
Isla del Sol (S 16o 2’
W 69o 9’ Elev: 3987 m; south end, halfway up hills) is the biggest
island on Lago Titicaca, measuring 9.5 x 6.5 km. The island was one of the most
important sites in the Andean world in the sixteenth century, revered as the
place where the Sun and the Moon were created and where the Inca dynasty was
born. For this reason, I figured that the island must have a special presence
and so decided that I would spend a couple of nights here.
Isla del Sol: the biggest island on an immense high altitude lake. The
Inca presence here is huge including the terraced fields which make up most of
the island.
There are ancient ruins here, and three traditional Aymara communities.
Yumani, where we landed is the biggest
and most touristic, with many hostals and restaurants. Many of these though
were closed as this is not the tourist season. The island is one big elongated
hill with both sides quite steep. A very large part of the island was terraced
by the Incas and these terraces are still being used for agriculture. There are
also very many cattle, pigs, donkeys, alpacas, and chickens everywhere.
Off the ferry, and after paying the island entry fee, we head up the
ancient Inca stone stairs which bring us maybe 150 m. Adrian is ahead at too
fast a pace for this altitude and we are sucking air and have to slow down. As
we wind our way up upwards through the narrow streets (no vehicles here), we
find a hostal that seems reasonable, with window and a balcony that looks out
over the lake and get a couple of rooms. After dropping off our gear, we head
upwards to explore a bit. The next hostal we pass is cheaper (but without
private bathroom) and a little nicer balcony. Patricia wants to change but I
try to tell her it is too late and, while Adrian and I are OK with moving, tomorrow
would be better. But she is adamant. While we wait she goes back down and has a
slightly heated conversation which turns slightly unpleasant. We do end up
changing the next day. We explore the
island a bit for the afternoon, Adrian the photographer giving his camera a
very heavy workout. The terraced fields are planted with beans, corn, and
potatoes primarily. I see a man digging potatoes using an implement which is a
curved branch with a metal blade lashed on with rawhide. There is a bewildering
maze of pathways through and around the terraces, and we get kind of lost as we
enjoy the sunny skies, the beauty of the lake and Isla del Sol, with many
snow-covered peaks in the background.
Patricia making
friends.
That night we look for a restaurant but many are closed and we end up at
a place that has good food but surly unhelpful staff. There are a few other
tourists there as well. I gather that the locals are tired from the tourist
season and would just like a break. There are no lights after dark, and we
navigate by flashlights and headlamps.
On our balcony, we talk for a while and look at the stars. It is a
beautifully clear night. I see the
Southern Cross for only the second time in my life. The most exciting thing I
see though are the Large and Small Magellanic Clouds, the two small satellite
galaxies to our own Milky Way that one can never see in the northern skies.
This is thrilling to me! I note that some
of the constellations I do recognize (Orion and Taurus) are upside down while
Leo, on the other side of the sky is not. (On Misti, I had noticed too that the
First Quarter Moon was facing the opposite way it normally would at home. But I
think that this may change at this latitude depending on whether the Moon is in
the North or the South at different times of the year.) This balcony has a
narrow walkway and no railing and it is a long way down, so while looking up I
also have to keep looking down.
I get up at 3 in the morning, to go out and have another look at the
stars and see how they have moved. As makes sense, looking south toward the
southern cross, the stars have moved clockwise around the south pole, rather
than counter clockwise around the north pole.
The next morning we have breakfast in our hostal and Patricia is getting
funny looks from the daughter of the owners as she heard the heated
conversation yesterday. The breakfast is good and after we strike out for the
north end of the island, stopping to buy a bit of food and drink. It is another
beautiful day: warm with some cloud. We stick to the top of the island where
the views are magnificent and we encounter ruins from time to time. The only
trees, other than mangoes, oranges and other fruit trees close to dwellings,
are a large stand of (planted) eucalyptus halfway down the island. We do arrive
at a fairly extensive ruins at the north end with the same kind of inset ovals
in rock walls which almost look like window frames, but are likely for storing
mummies. There is also a very big flat rock which was likely used for
sacrifices and other ceremonial purposes. I am finding that, as the day wears
on and we get tired, I am struggling with Spanish. I switch to English with
Patricia whose English is excellent, and I find myself struggling to understand
Adrian. It is very frustrating for us both. It seems to take forever coming
back (we take a low route through the towns and over a few beaches). We begin
asking for directions as there are several options and some are shorter than
others. We arrive before dark and Patricia is anxious to get her internet fix.
There is always an internet access place somewhere. That night, Sunday night,
we end up back at the same restaurant because it is late and we can find
nothing else open. Patricia has really wanted spaghetti but this restaurant has
none. The food is still good and the staff are still surly and unhelpful. There
is a weird vibe in the restaurant and other patrons are very quiet.
Locals
enjoying the view.
Monday morning the three of us get an early morning ride with a family
going into Copacabana (same price or B20 = $3). I buy a bus ticket to La Paz.
Patricia is going to stay here for a couple of days: it is a beautiful town.
Adrian is heading south towards home. I only have 45 minutes before my bus
leaves a block from here. We decide on a tiny restaurant/street stand to have a
quick breakfast. We order eggs and bread, coffee, and some fresh juice. A lot
time passes and I am getting nervous. I try to impress on the woman that time
is short. However, the coffee machine is not working. Scratch the coffee. The
gas stove stops working so I tell her to give us the two already fried. The
others graciously let me have them. Adrian gets his freshly squeezed orange
juice which is good. We are still waiting for the carrot juice. After almost
half an hour it arrives and looks great. But it tastes…really sour! I wonder if
this is some different kind of carrot. So I take another swallow. No, this is
definitely off. I tell Patricia not to drink it (she has also has had a taste).
Clearly the lady has not cleaned her machine often enough. I do not have time
to tell her or get something else. I just pay, say goodbye to the others and hop on my bus. This bus actually leaves
on time!!
The bus will cross the lake at a narrows. There we get off the bus, buy
tickets for 25 cents (B1.50) and hop on a little Passenger ferry. There is one passenger who gets on who
has no ticket. The boat person who stays on shore tries to get him to pay but
he tries to ignore him. So the man calls over a policeman who escorts the man
off the boat. On the other side we wait for the bus to arrive on a small wooden
barge. It is early afternoon when I arrive in La Paz.
La Paz S 16o 30’ W 68o
8’ Elev: 3643 m (Plaza San Francisco)
The city with its population
of 1 million, is situated in a gorgeous bowl with high snow-covered mountains
all around. It is the political and commercial hub of the country. But the city has grown quickly and
chaotically. Like many large South American cities I have seen, the poor build
their houses in the less preferred sites: right up the mountain side and right
up to the lip of the bowl where it is very steep. I also have never seen traffic like this. The
streets are very narrow and there are frequently huge lines of cars barely
moving. I would never want to drive in this city. Bicycles would be much
faster. There is also a street near where I am staying where there are always
huge lines of people. They are waiting in line with papers for some kind of
government papers. I guess there is no waiting room big enough and not enough
employees serving them. I will never complain again about
Canadian government services (although the Long Gun Registry, and Gun Licensing
was definitely a nightmare for several years. See,
there I go, complaining again.)
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