Mortal Coil

We are on the bus back from Titicaca to La Paz, which traverses the scrub plains of the Altiplano. Along the way has been a constant stream of unimaginable poverty. At the beginning of the trip, entire Aymara families camped by the side of the road, with wretchedly miserable children holding out tiny hands in hopeless solicitation as buses like ours raced past them, oblivious and without a thought of stopping. That was before we got out onto the Altiplano proper and the storm hit. Our biggest problems have been a leaky bus and a washed-out road. Whereas, outside, for mile upon mile, hundreds of small blue bumps in fields by the side of the road revealed themselves to be groups of two, three, four or more Indians huddled under tarpaulins, shivering in the mud, wind, and rain, trying to keep an eye on the one or two pathetic farm animals nearby. Soon, we will be warm houses, while they will likely spend the night filthy, miserable, and cold.

And it’s Christmas Eve.

We are presently on a small boat heading out into Lake Titicaca for a day trip to the Isla del Sol, the legendary birthplace of the Inca people. We have, perhaps foolishly, signed up for a 5 mile walking tour from the north to the south of the island. I say perhaps foolishly as we are finally suffering some effects from the altitude. Lake Titicaca, at 12,700 is only 700 feet higher than La Paz, but it seems to make a difference to us. A walk of 50 feet with a few steps leaves you panting. So 5 miles will be interesting. A number of our fellow travelers have brought along (legal) bags of coca leaves which, when placed in the cheek, give one a coffee-level buzz which may serve them well on the journey today.

So here we are, still on the bus, in manner of speaking. We got to the edge of Lake Titicaca where there was a ferry landing and most people disembarked the bus, clearly knowing something we didn’t. I got off to investigate (also needing a pee) and found the other passengers buying separate tickets to cross to the other side on a launch rather than waiting for the bus. I queued for a ticket only to see the bus pull off in the other direction with Sibylle and all our bags still onboard. I had to peg it after the bus, and by the time I caught up it was being loaded onto a very rickety looking single-space ferry platform. I hopped on and managed to get the somewhat surprised bus driver to open up for me, but by then the platform was disembarking and we were stuck onboard. We chalked this up as one of these travel experiences. But it doesn’t change the fact that we are crossing a lake in a bus with bits of lumber underneath. Backwards. And I still have to pee.

And from underneath one of the seats ahead of us, comes the unmistakeable clucking sound of a pathetically frightened chicken.

No, not the famous nightclub. No, not the beachy bit of Brazil either.

The Copacabana we’re going to is in Bolivia, on the shores of Lake Titicaca. It will be our base for the next couple of days.

Firstly though we need to get through the 72km bus ride. This bus ride takes 4 hours and costs $3. For 2 people. It’s not quite pigs and chickens but not too far off either.

After some discussion Sibylle and I settled on traveling to Lake Titicaca from La Paz in the morning. Our choice of trips means unfortunately that Shane and Eiza won’t be able to join us, but we’ll see them again by Christmas Eve. I am excited about visiting Lake Titicaca as I remember seeing a documentary about the floating islands there years ago and thinking that I would love to go there one day but thought the chances were slim. Well here I go. In slightly more worrying news my netbook’s hard drive started making some very ominous noises today and failed to start up once. Running repairs no but not a good sign so early. Very glad I hve bee making daily backups!