Happy Birthday to
me! Okay, so it was last week but in my family these things often last more
than a week anyway. It was Todos los Santos (All Saints and All Souls Day) so a long weekend and of course Halloween
on the Saturday. I joined the fervour of the Bolivians and happily went costume
hunting on Calle Linares, where the streets are literally lined with street
vendors and costume stores. I found a perfectly sized hanging ghost decoration and
after a few holes cut out, two pairs of white stockings (one for my legs, one
for my arms), and some white face-paint, I was ready to go.
The party at Blue
Note was full of dressed-up tourists and locals, and was made even better with
another guy celebrating his birthday too. A few hours into my birthday morning,
when absolutely everyone had left and I was still dancing away (alone), the
staff asked me to please leave so they could go home too! I clearly didn’t want
the night to end. But it did…. and then came the morning. Ouch! Possibly the
worst birthday I have ever experienced. Not only because I was so ill (I am way
too old for these shenanigans) but also I was missing David, my family and
friends terribly. Special occasions really put into perspective what and who is
important in my life. It didn’t help that the friend staying with me didn’t
think my birthday was as important as I thought it was, which made me feel even
sorrier for myself!
That particular
friend, Yiftah, was one of the few people staying with me over the past few
weeks. Also strewn over the couch, on a mattress in the hallway, or bunking
with me at various times in my big-enough apartment were Chloe, Bridget, Ben
and Benita. I had met all of these
people in Cusco so it was like an awesome
mini-reunion. Sadly, most of them have
now gone either north or south on the Gringo trail, but it’s highly possible
we’ll cross paths again. So bitter
sweetly, I am home alone again. It was great having great people around but it
meant I didn’t get too much done either. We spent most of the time eating sushi
and steak, drinking wine, and even went to a couple of movies (where am I again?!).
We spent one memorable afternoon watching the ‘Cholitas Wrestling’. Based on
WWF with women dressed in traditional clothing as the main event (a ‘Cholita’
is a female who acts badly in public), the whole thing was a farce. It went for
two or more painful hours and only involved two women (who didn’t even wrestle
each other) and old men with not much skill whatsoever. The only saving grace
was the beautiful sunset I saw when I escaped outside to the bathroom for
twenty minutes. I’ll chalk that one up to a crappy tourist experience!
But, I did finish
the pain-in-my-ass program I was writing as part of my volunteer project. The forty page document for Bolivian adolescent
deaf kids to learn oral communication is currently half translated into Spanish
and once that is done, I will hand it over and be done with it. For my
frustrations regarding this whole saga and the volunteer coordinator (the
hippie who really enjoyed the 60s), refer to my last entry...
As a reward for
finishing my work, I took myself to Lake Titicaca.
And wow!
I bought my
ticket for an 8am Friday bus. At 8.05 the bus was delayed to 8.30 and then at
8.40, cancelled. They put me in a tiny mini-van and dumped me in El Alto. This
is the ass-end of the world that is also, apparently, ‘Bolivia’s
Economic Capital’. Almost all of the people are traditionally dressed (made
stranger as it is so, so cold up there) and are poor. It smells like sausages
and sewerage. This smell however was more pleasant than the guy next to me on
the bus, who was cultivating the sour-milk, coca leaf combo that is becoming
normal for me to encounter on buses. Unfortunately, the blob of Lucas’ papaw
ointment smeared under my nose did nothing to repel the smell. After El Alto we
drove through literal wasteland, totally barren, dotted with half-built (or
half-fallen down?) houses. Then all of a sudden trees start popping out of the
ground and I got a glimpse of Lake Titicaca to
the left. It’s like driving into a completely different area on earth. We made it to the tiny, nothing-town of Taquina
where the bus goes across the lake on a wooden barge (people go across on a
little boat), with the whole thing taking about 45 minutes. But there were hundreds
of people milling around and loads of army guys with machine guns. Not to
mention the twenty or so SUVs with Brazilian stickers and police lights. Eventually
a random lady told me the Brazilian president was visiting the other side of
the river in his massive cruise ship and therefore no one could go anywhere. We
were there for three hours.
Finally on the
other side, we were back on the bus and headed up the hill to Copacabana. This
is where I got my first proper view of the Lake
and oh my god, it was breathtaking. We
made it to Copa around 4pm and my planned itinerary was well out the window. I
found a hostel after the first few I tried didn’t have vacancy. It was such a
shithole that I hallucinated I was being eaten by bed bugs when I tried to sleep.
And the pillow was possibly modelled from cement. Anyway after I checked in, I
climbed Cerro Calvario. Loads of locals were climbing it too to make offerings
at the 12 Stations of the Cross along the way. It was incredible up there and
the sunset was amazing. I took about a thousand photos. I suffered vertigo a few times so instead of
throwing myself over the edge (which is the sensation I get) I had to keep
going back down a few meters and back up. I must have looked a little nutty.
The next day I hired
a bike and rode 17kms from Copacabana to Yampupata. Admittedly about 15 minutes
and my first mountain into it, I regretted the whole affair however I
persevered (although walked the bike over the rest of the mountains, the
highest being 4340mtrs. Copa is at 3810mtrs, where it can be tricky to breathe
sitting still, let alone doing anything strenuous) and rode through tiny little
villages, saw the floating reed village of Titicachi, and even chatted to some
of the locals. It was like I was
catapulted back through time, with the locals using reed boats and donkeys and
wearing raggy, traditional clothing – however always smiling toothless smiles
and saying hello. Inland it felt and smelt like Victoria in the summer – hot, dry, and like
eucalyptus. I was half expecting to look up and see a koala or two. I only
encountered four tourists in the whole two and a half hours which was bliss and
I only took one wrong turn. I was given a stick figure map and told “Always
take the hard left”. Apparently if the hard left takes you down a ditch, this
rule does not apply. Anyway, I made it to Yampupata, the end of the road, at
10.55am. I was meant to meet the bike guy (who was a bit of a dick) at 11am
where he was to take the bike back to Copa. So I waited…and waited…and waited,
until 12.15pm. I decided if he wanted his bike he should have been on time so I
left the bike with some guy on the shore and off I went in my little boat. I do wonder what happened to that bike.
Crossing the Lake was lovely, chatting with the local fisherman who I
hired to be my ‘driver’, with him pointing out landmarks, showing me how clean
and clear the fresh water is (it is). Once at the south end of the island,
Yumani, you have no choice but to climb the Escalera del Inca – why is everything
Inca-related so impossibly steep you almost die of exhaustion? I found a hostel near the top of the stairs
with the most amazing view, for $A3.20.
I had lunch on top of the ridge, overlooking the so-blue Lake, looking
over to Peru.
I could have sat there forever. I almost did, writing and just taking it in,
wondering why this place isn’t more popular (there weren’t as many tourists
around as I had imagined). Many of the hostels and restaurants were deserted,
including most of the places listed in the Lonely Planet (yes, embarrassingly,
I own one).
In the afternoon
I went in search of the Pilko Kaina ruins – not sure why as I am completely
ruined-out, particularly of the Incan kind, after Peru. But off I went following the typically
Bolivian lack of any signage whatsoever and found myself, sans ruins, at the tip
of the south end of the island and then at some weird pagan cross. The views however
were absolutely breathtaking. The water actually looks alive as it sparkles so
amazingly. I found my way back along some other track and I think I found some
ruins (read: non-descript rubble) but by then I was totally satisfied and in
love with Isla Del Sol. The sunset that night cemented my affection.
On Saturday,
after waking to donkeys and birds – a nice change from the car horns and chaos
of La Paz - I walked from the south to the north
end of the island, to the town of Cha’llapampa.
The walk took about three hours along completely barren hilltops that I
couldn’t believe were being farmed by the locals. And excuse the observation,
but I also couldn’t believe how much their sheep shit, considering there is
nothing for them to eat! Anyway, as a bad tourist, I bypassed the Chincana
ruins, apparently where the first Incas began (recall my over-Incan-ruins
attitude). I continued on to the village passing a beach which on closer
inspection of the shoreline was thick with algae. It seemed popular with the donkeys
and pigs. The town was eerily deserted except for some enterprising old man who
came running (yes, he was running) up to me telling me his boat was the only
one going back to Copa. I knew he was lying and there would be more but at this
point I thought some catastrophe had wiped out the rest of the town’s
population, so he was my best bet. All the boats (there were about six after
all) were indirect and the likelihood of getting home sometime in the near
future was getting slimmer.
Finally back at
Copa there was a mad scramble for the last buses back to La Paz. Apparently a strike was due to start
on Monday. I got the last seat on my bus. Back at Taquina (where I had spent
three hours on Friday) we crossed the water and waited on the other side for
the bus. Again there was a crowd of people. Apparently this time it was due to
the strike, which was meant to start the next day. The locals weren’t letting
our bus across, and were trying to push it back across the river. I stood there
with my hot chips watching the action like a movie. We were eventually allowed
to walk across some rotted planks, back onto the bus which was still sitting on
the river on the very thin and rather frail wooden barge. Finally the bus
backed through the crowd and started driving away. But the lady next to me,
Nelly’s, son and nephew were missing from their seats. She was panicking when they
emerged through the crowd. The whole crowd was running with them, hitting the
bus and trying to push onto the bus with them. The two guys got on and the bus sped
off so fast, we might have hit a few poor souls on the way.
I got chatting to
Nelly on the bus – she was very patient with my crappy Spanish. We were talking
about my sunburnt nose so she gave me some coca leaves to chew. My leg could
have been hacked off and she probably still would have offered coca leaves.
Apparently these leaves are miracle cures. But I have tried the tea and candies
and already knew they make me feel nauseous, just like with all herbal teas. So
there I was, politely stuffing leaves into each side of my mouth – and I chose
leaves too big so they were poking into my cheeks and she’s chatting away completely
oblivious, and I’m trying to answer her without gagging or vomiting. Thank god
it was dark – if she saw my contorted face she would have offered more leaves
to fix it.
I had such an
incredible weekend, although it was nice to be ‘home’ when I finally got back
to La Paz at 10.30pm
Sunday.
I’m off to
Coroico next weekend and I promise the next instalment won’t be so long! Thanks
for reading.
Here’s to life!
xx
PS Photos out and about in La Paz to come!
