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7- Lake Titicaca, Bolivia

September 24, 2003

Buenos dias gringos? It is that time again for Talbot to send out those much beloved group e-mails. Currently I am stuck in the airport in LaPaz waiting to check into my flight for Rurrenbaque in the Bolivan Amazon. LaPaz has been pretty frustrating since I have arrived. There have been roadblocks and strikes that the locals have cut off access for tourists to get out or go into the city or anywhere else in Bolivia. I had planned on heading south but currently that is out of the question. So I decided to go ahead and fly to the jungle, otherwise it would be a dodgy 24 hour bus ride that might not even get there. But I digress to Sept 9th in Cusco, Peru.

As soon as I woke up, I knew it was time to get out of Cusco. Yeah, I have had a terrific time in the old Incan capital, but it was time to move on. I had already stayed about 5 weeks in Peru, so that was going to cut into my time in Bolivia and then Ecuador, which I had already worked out to a month each. The only snag in the plan was that I still had that voucher for a free whitewater rafting trip. I really wanted to hit the class 4 and 5
rapids, but Southern Rivers did not have anything booked for the next few days and I needed to get going. I headed down to the train station to pick up my train ticket for Lake Titicaca and Puno in the south. It was almost too easy, especially in this part of the world, at 5 minutes to buy a ticket for backpacker class. The train was going to be 10 hours as opposed to a 8 hour bus road, but that was a real no-brainer. As a general rule, I always take the train: it is much safer, more relaxing, and most importantly-I HATE TAKING BUSES ON THIS CONTINENT!!! Today was errand day. I went thru the excrutiatingly painful process of sending some packages and postcards back to the States. It almost cost as much to send it as it was to buy all the
handicrafts. I checked into S American Explorers one last time to write up a trip report for Manu and donate the $50 voucher for the whitewater trip. I figured they could raffle it off and donate the funds to the Inca Trail
cleanup project. They are a nonprofit group and it would go to a good cause. I also swung by the main museum that had some of the relics of the Inca temple tthat hey dug up. Although it was in English, it was pretty bare-boned and not that very interesting. The rest of the evening I watched part of the Peru v Chile soccer game (Peru lost), and took it EZ.

630 am wake up for one last cold shower in the Hostel Rebalosa. Burrr- I am not going to miss that, but the view from the deck was worth the agua frio. Caught a taxi down to the train station. I had bought the $12 backpacker class but as I walked by the 1st class I could see why they charged $80. It was pretty decked-out with an Oriental Express Victorian leather chair and chandaleer type coach. There was an observatory cabboose in the rear with glass top-pretty lavish. But alas, I was in the lowley backpacker economy
section. As we pulled out of Cusco, the train passed by the ugly underbelly of the city, the part most of the tourists never see. It was pretty disgusting. The river was halfway filled with trash, the impoverished
mudbrick houses were in disrepair with only stones weighing the aluminum roofs down, keeping them from blowing away. In my travels, I have seen plenty of poverty and I guess I never really get used to it. The only
saving grace, in the back of my mind was that it never seemed like there were many people that were going hungry in Peru. After traveling thru India, everywhere else seems like a walk thru the park. The train ride was
a long, but beautiful 10 hours. I mostly read and listened to my mp3 player with my Japanese neighbor. The scenery was stunning with the train passing thru the mountains. We started to get near Puno riding besides the worlds highest navigitable lake (Titicaca) at 3200m. I wa getting excited bc I have always wanted to come here since I first heard about it in gradeschool and the class used to giggle when the teacher would repeat the name. It was late in the afternoon and the light danced off the lakeLs surface and reed boats in an errie fasion. Juliaca was the last stop before Puno and as we pulled up, the locals in the market, were frantically moving their goods from off the tracks. It was the oddest market I think I have ever seen. One person was selling screws of every shape and description, and the next would sell the nuts that would match up with them. It was like a giant auto junk yard of things and odds and ends that I could not even recognize. The train
pulled into Puno and the touts shuffled for the best postition to get at the fresh touristas. I normally walk right by them, but one just happen to mention the hostel I was staying at anyway so I let her lead the way. Puno, to put in politely, is a real dump. The streets are cluttered with trash and stray dogs. Most Peruvian cities I had been to , had some method to the madness of their markets, but Puno looked like a tornado just hit it and it was clusterd and confusing. After checking into the hotel, I immediately booked a bus for Cococabana- on the much nicer Bolivan side of the Lake. Went out for a quick bite to eat and noticed that in the main plaza, all of
the bushes were shaped like animals: llamas, chickens, and fish-how creative. While I was eating my alpacca (similiar to llama) steak, which was a little tough and wild tasting but ok, I notice an Ameircan couple that
for some reason seemed familiar. I couldnLt place them so I decided to go back to the hotel to crash.

Thurs morning, while waiting for the bus at the hotel, it just happen the same American couple were staying at my hotel. I started chatting with them and found out they were from Portland Oregon! Andy and Ann live in NE
Portland and have been traveling for a few months. But the funny thing I still could not place where in Portland I knew them. I am really good with faces but not so hot with names. It was a four hour ride to Cocacabana. The border was no frills. The bus dropped us off in front of Peruvian immigration and we changed out our soles for more monopoly money-the Boliviano. Some people did get hassles for not having their tourist cards and I heard all sorts of stories of Peruvians trying to charge for trumped up fees. I moved onto the Bolivan side and got my 30 day visa- no problems. It was another few hours to Copacabana. "Her name was Lola, she was a
showgirl." I know that Barry wasnLt singing about this Copacabana, but I still couldnLt get the damn song out of my head. Anne and Andy decided to tag along to the La Cupalla hostel, where I had already made a reservation and have had glowing reccomendations. The La Cupalla, was perched on the hillside overlooking the lovley Copacabana harbor. The town itself is not that big, only about 5000 but incredibly scenic resting on the nicest part of Titicaca. The Lake was showing off its true colors (deep, deep, blue) now and I realized that I have come to the right place to recharge my batteries. Marcello was the desk person and was super nice and spoke perfect English. As I was checking in a familiar face said good day mate, are you following me. It was Dave, a crazy Aussie guy that was staying at the same hostel in Cusco. It was a good sign. This was going to be a resting place for me, one that was badly needed. LaCupalla reminded me much of the Greek isles with its interesting white domes and courtyards. It was a little more expensive, especially for Bolivian standards, but was worth every boliviano ($10 to be exact). Aestically, it was definately the most comfortable hostel in LAmerica. The biggest selling points were the hammocks overlooking the harbor that you would just melt into as well, agua caliente showers, and the tv\vcr with a library of American movies. Over the past week or so I had really started to hit my traveling groove and feeling pretty great about the whole trip. But I was totally Jonesing for the creature comforts of the States, like movies. The hosel also had a nice guitar that I took advatage of. Andy played the violen and actually brought one for the trip so we jammed out a few tunes and it sounded really good. He was like a child prodigy or something. Finished the evening off with watching "the Mission" (about s america, seemed appropriate) and eating fillet mignon that melted in my mouth that they brought down from the kitchen, for about $5!

Slept in on the most comfortable bed that I have been on in months. There was a storm in the middle of the night and when I went to the bathroom there was even some snow on the ground. The nights on the lake get really cold, you have to bury yourself underneath as many blankets as possible. They donLt use indoor heating down here, gringos. I was going to do Isle de Sol hike but woke up way to late, so plan b-chill out. Not much to report except that I played with the hostel's super cute black kitten-Namo and vegged out and read in the hammocks. I went for a little stroll on the Copacabana peninsula and saw the interesting church in the with well manicured bushes and tilework. The "light-hearted" SLEEPERS was the cine of choice. It was an early night for me.

Saturday, Sept 13th I grabbed desayuno and a packed lunch for my excursion on the Isle de Sol. The Isle is only 2 hours from Copacabana and the thing to do is have the boat drop you off on the north shore and to hike the 3 and a half hour spine of the island from north to south and have the boat pick you up at the end. I still could not get over how blue the lake was. The ferry dropped me and a few passangers off at a small village north on the Isle. The village had a small musuem that housed a few artifacts that were discovered in a recent dive off the coast. The Isle had been inhabited for at least 1000 years with a few scattered villages. The trail proceeded upward with stunning vistas of the incredibly blue and green beaches of the island . About 40 minutes into the hike were Palacio del Inca ruins that were ok with some nice doorways. By this point I am a little Inca ruined-out, to I am not impressed easily. Another hour later, the hike turned into a tough hill to the top of the island. I figured this was a good stopping point for almerzo and to take in the panaramic views of the
lake and surrounding mountains. Not far from my picnic, I could hear the laughter of a local girl. She was kicking a soccer ball around with what seemed like her younger brother and spinning with her multiple layers of the traditional Bolivian dress in the wind. As soon as she spied me, the ball was promptly kicked in my direction. I always dig a little football with the locals, so we kicked it around for a spell. I moved on and towards the end of my hike came the most interesting event of the day, A LLAMA ROADBLOCK. Three local girls had brought four llamas and insisted on touristas to take a photo of them. This brings up an important point of
photographing the locals. The people of Bolivia and Peru are really picturesque and of course you want to take some shots of them. For the most part, they rather you not. You should really ask for permission before
taken those prime shots, which brings up the dilema. When they realize that tourists like to take photos, they ask for propina(tip). If it was an isolated incident, no big deal. But the problem lies when they quit their work and try to ask for propina all day from touristas. You donLt feel comfortable getting that money shot and you donLt want to add to the problem. I try to never pay for photos, but instead if they are kids, ILll give them candy or something. I tried to reason with what seemed to be the leader in the meager Spanish that I knew. When I attempted to pass thru, she yelled something and motioned to one of the llamas to spit on me. Yeah,
llama spit can be a little nasty. So I hopped off the trail on the ledge and proceeded to go around them. That minute two Germans were walking up to the Roadblock and distracted the girls. I yelled buenos tardes to the them to get their attention and took a photo just to spite them. You should see the look on their faces, and German couple got a real kick out of it. The end of the hike was a steep descent to the boat dock. A Danish girl who had been living there for a month, doing her college thesis about how tourism affects local communities ask me to fill out a survey. I was happy to relay my llama roadblock story and she agreed with my tactics. I slept on the ride back to Copacabana. I had just enough time to walk up the hill behind the hostel to see the sunset. On the way up, there was 14 large crosses. The local church had put up 14 stations of the cross, to mark Jesus walk thru Jersalem. At each cross, were small minuture sacrifices of toy cars, bags of food, and yes, laundry detergent. You never know when Christ might run out of Tide? The sunset on the top was stunning and possibly only comparable to the one in Santorini, Greece. There was a crowd of folks
there to see the entire sky turn into a bright orange hue as the giant lake swalled the sun. I think this is where I realized that I was finally in the Zen of traveling. If you take the time to read my journals, I think you can get a grasp on what I am talking about. Traveling, is more than just being on vacation, or site-seeing. When you really get into the grove of living in the moment, taking one day at a time, and really trying to get something
more out of your journey, then you are in the Zen. When the cheap hostals, crappy, death-defying busrides, and fact that your home for the next few months is strapped on your back, start to not really even be a thought, you are feeling it. At that moment, when I saw that sunset, I think I realized just how lucky I was to experience the many beautiful places and people I have had the fortune to see. And to appreciate every second and not take it for granted. It was a beautiful thing. I crashed while reading the "People's History of the United States," reflecting home and the vasts differences of life and reality bt here and there. The next day I moved onto the huge, paradoxial, insane, capital city of LaPaz, the highest capital city in the world.
Happy Trails,
Talbot

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