After a chilly night, snorting and sniffling and spooning for warmth under our wool blankets, I looked forward to a hot shower. Now, having "agua caliente" is quite the selling point for hotels to lure customers like us away from the cold water competition. So, seeing my breath, I tip-toed with anticipation to the bathroom...
What the?! A little bitty water heater for a shower head? And, wires going into the piping? Wires twisted together without electrical tape on them? And, isn't that green one the ground wire?! And why is it just wrapped around the water pipe and sticking into the air?!?! And, what's this side tube thingie sticking out for? Can this gizmo really heat frigid water in seconds?! And, what are the chances of being electrocuted by a mini Bolivian hot water heater?!?! It is 220 volts in Bolivia too, right? Ok, Adam, you can figure this out...As feared, there was no hot water, but there was a very brave man in a freezing shower watching the ground wire flop back and forth in the shower spray--as if keeping an eye on it would give me some reaction time before the shocks started...
Trembling, chattering, toweling off, and tittering I told Leandra to forget about showering. Unfortunately, over the next few days in Bolivia, it will be nearly impossible to find heated...well, heated anything--and, therefore, very hard to overcome our colds...
As I finished dressing, Leandra blew her nose and glanced at some of our leftover tourist brochures...
She chortled and told me, "You gotta read this!" Now, we've been privy to many minor mistakes in translation throughout our South American travels, but we can't help but wonder why it's so hard to get an English speaker to proof-read it for them. And, this one takes the cake...
Besides the myriad of spelling errors, creative grammar, and random punctuation marks--and the fact that this is supposed to describe some law--what's really scary are the words that seem to just be made up! So, just to be safe, we did our best not to "goaf" any promotions because we certainly did not want to be put in "fonce"!So, we were off to an illy chilly silly start in Copacabana...
But the view was just as wonderful in daylight...
We returned to the the same restaurant, sitting outside, waiting for sunbeams to bend over the roof and help our instant coffee warm our bones...
We enjoyed hearty healthy breakfasts for a handful of bolivianos. We bought someone's forgotten tour book at our hotel for five bucks--a cash prize for the front desk fella, a bargain for us--and we read up on what lay ahead...Then we wandered to the docks to buy some tickets for the daily drop-off to Isla del Sol. Waiting, we talked with other tourists who were "in the same boat"...
Once aboard, we spoke sporadic Spanish and English with the deckhand, who busily began recommending his family hostel on the island. Behind us, Copacabana and her bay waved goodbye...
Although genuine, Leandra's warm smile also disguises how easily queasy she gets on water and how cold we were by now, an hour later on the lake. Behind her is a gap, maybe 10 meters wide where jagged rocks hide just below the surface. The pilot sped right through it...
As we arrived we found tourists and locals milling about the small harbor beach of Yumani, the largest settlement. Approximately 800 families live on Isla del Sol, primarily farming and fishing, but tourism is quickly increasing, and many homes have been converted to hostels and restaurants, that are really dispersed all over the steeply terraced dry hills. No vehicles or paved roads exist, but ancient worn trails meander to every hovel or Inca ruin. Recently, one lone electrical wire connected the island to the mainland...Disembarking, dozens of young girls and boys offered curios or to carry our bags, while adults advertised the advantages of their overnight accommodations while misrepresenting the quality of others. Other locals ignored the fresh batch of tourists, being too busy loading containers of water and supplies onto the backs of their mules and llamas...
Following our guidebook recommendation, we knew which hostel we wanted. Now, we just had to find it. The herd of newcomers began hoisting their backpacks or letting eager young porters lift their luggage--often the bags outweighed the boys--and making one of two choices to conquer the slopes...
The trail on the left, which was less difficult but longer--what look like steps in the above center are actually dozens of switchbacks...
Or the trail on the right, which was steeper, harder, but prettier with a lovely cascading canal along its left side. We chose the 'right' way, although it almost killed us. This is actually the Inca Steps, which is one of the largest ruins on the island, featuring 206 steps and three separate springs considered fountains of youth. Unfortunately, the top of this flight might be equivalent to a quarter of the climb to our hostel...
As we climbed, taking breaks for breathers became painfully more frequent. As healthier visitors hiked ahead to vanish around bends, local ladies floated by following their load-toting llamas. Meanwhile, for me, coats and flannel vests became unzipped, rock walls became rest stops, and shoulder straps became armbands. Gasping, my head fell back, my throat made dehydrated gulps, and then my eyes would assess the next twenty steps. Miraculously, Leandra forged on longer and stronger than me, at one point carrying both our bags, but eventually, and just shy of the top, she gave in to her exhaustion and a persistent porter boy's request to help. We should have just paid the kid from the start...By the time we reached our destination, we had hiked approximately 200 meters (650 feet) nearly straight up, reaching the second highest elevation of our vacation, about 4000 meters (13,100 feet)--that's 43 football fields, 28.6 Great Pyramids, 21.7 Space Needles, 12.4 Eiffel Towers, or 9 Empire State Buildings above sea level. It's 1/20 of the way to being considered a United States astronaut. The highest ski run at Whistler, home of the 2010 Winter Olympics, is 1716 meters (5606 feet) below this point!
"Baaaaaa." That's "big deal" in sheep-talk. Our brick and brown colored hostel, Inti Wayra, is behind. We got a great room...upstairs!
Sadly, we were literally so sick and tired, we went straight to sleep, napping the afternoon away until a knock at the door awoke us. Some new friends, both naturopaths, brought us some "silver water" to enhance our immune system--skeptically but desperately, we drank it. Then, they said we must see the sunset. Bundled up again, we stumbled downstairs and outside...
A sunset at the summit of Isla del Sol is something special...
The western slab of Isla del Luna grabbed the last horizontal rays of reddish light while a flower displayed it's pinkish blooms...
For posterity, we photographed ourselves--believe it or not, we were trying to smile while we felt like dying. As the sun slid down, we snuck back and sat for an early dinner, home-made by our hostel hostess. We met another nice couple, from Vancouver, British Columbia--from our neck of North America--and attempted cordial conversation, swapping common connections, but honestly, our energy tanks were too empty to talk with our usual exuberance. Despite being unable to taste much, we enjoyed some safe solid food: rice, vegetables, steak, and quinoa soup. Quinoa is a hardy high-altitude grain, an ancient staple considered sacred by the Incas. Sesame seed in size, but bloating like rice when boiled, it's high protein value and low maintenance make it a valuable crop in the Andes.Before we went to bed, we asked for an extra blanket, and we got something so amazing, we wish we took a picture, or offered to buy it. It was a llama hide blanket, smooth leathery skin on one side with long white cuddly fur on the other. Although it was no later than 7 or 8 pm, we headed to bed, snuggled away, wrapped in our first warmth in days...
And we slept...
Hours later, light found my closed eyes through my "breathing hole" in the blanket. I forced myself awake, and saw a man and his mule marching to the morning shift on some nearby terrace. A couple sheep were also staring back. Our room was three walls of windows, one of which was filling with sunrise hues, and soon, so was our camera...
The Moon Island and nearby trees in silhouettes, camouflage shaped streaks on Titicaca's calm surface, and a misty pink spectrum of mountains colliding with the sky...
Without hesitation I woke my slumbering wife. It was another marvelous moment in our mental memory book where we can gratefully say, "We saw that." It's no wonder that the Incas considered this place the origin of creation, including the Sun and Moon.Then, a tissue or two later, we retreated under our llama blanket, still requiring recuperation...
At some point we woke, dressed and bumbled downstairs for breakfast. I can't recall much of these moments, so I asked Leandra. She says, "The Canadians and Silver People were there, remember? And we had orange juice and coffee, some funny eggs, kind of watery, and a big pancake thingie, a panqueque, remember?" I know the food was more for strength than pleasure. And, instead of hiking to ruins all day, we knew we were too sick and weak. We went back to bed and our heavenly blanket...
About midday, still under my pillow, I woke to strange Leandra sounds. She was in the bathroom whimpering after getting a jolt of voltage from the faulty mini-Bolivian water heater shower head! (The company that created those things must be rich because, even though they barely work, if at all--despite the insanity of having wires hooked to your water supply, especially water you're spraying over your naked body--they are everywhere in Bolivia.) I proudly hugged my wonderful wife for trying to get us motivated and bravely attempting to shower. Then, I joked about wishing I got electrocuted back in Copacabana--cold water must seem warmer that way!
Eventually, we got dressed and pressed outside, heading straight down to the docks...
Walking down is so much easier...
Taking the longer switchbacking trail, we found the last restaurant just above the bay, and stopped for lunch. Again, Leandra's description: some soup and weird sandwiches, and not very tasty...
And a couple Sprites along with a great view of all the goings-on...
Pack mules clop down the rocky path, boats moor to the rickety pier over Titicaca's transparent water...
Traditional Andean beasts of burden softly hoof their way down to join their braying brethren as more cargoes of foreign customers arrive onshore...
A little green sloop slowly filled with a small troop of youngsters before launching off toward Isla del Luna under the power of wind. Our teen-aged waiter explained that this is the school boat, commuting back and forth every morning and afternoon with the few students that live on the sparsely populated Moon Island. The ride takes ninety minutes each way. We watch for half an hour, as the emerald sail gets smaller, when a boy bounds down the trail to the end of the dock. He's missed his ride. But, a few high pitched whistles and arm waves later, the boat reverses and returns to collect the truant trouble-maker...
We kept watching the marina scene, waiting for our one o'clock departure. Laughably, two tour boats collided gently as they jockeyed for position entering and exiting the crowded moorage. Ornery mules and patient llamas were loaded with loot and scooted back up the winding trails to re-supply Isla del Sol's stores, hostels and restaurants. Another interesting boat, something like a viking ship mixed with an Uros canoe, paddled past filled with tourists headed for a ruin further down the shore. Soon, our boat arrived, we boarded, and set course for Copacabana...
We also stopped at the nearby ruin, known as Palacio del Inca, for a short exploration...
Then we shoved off again. As our pilot guided the outboard engine with his deft left foot--obviously, making this trip four times a day has become routine--my camera caught a great shot of some paddling men, classic women, an sacred island and a uplifting horizon...
Leandra--and her nausea-hiding smile--found a warm windless soft spot by the backpack pile.
As we entered the harbor, the Bolivian Armada's marching band was tooting some excruciatingly off-tune oompahs and boompahs among some decommissioned swan boats...
Nearly docked, we looked for tonight's lodging, Hostal La Cúpula, named for the small domes adorning it's roof. It's hiding just below the tall trees on the upper right slope...
As we slowly ascended the steepening streets, we stopped and watch women playing soccer. Families are circled around, clapping, yapping and having picnics while the traditionally clad ladies elbow and kick with all the seriousness of professional players...Our reservations at La Cúpula were made a month earlier because it's one of Bolivia's best hotels, certainly the finest in Copacabana, and highly recommended in all the guidebooks. Besides having full services and a fine restaurant, its owned by an artist who's given it appropriate ambience: sculptures and paintings in every nook, hammocks strung around outdoor tables, and rooms with personality and flair. One room, number eleven, stands apart from the others, and I made sure to get this suite for my sweetie...
It's door lies horizontal in the floor, rocks tied to a pulleyed rope help swing it open, leading down a steep set of steps to the hall. Above the quilted bed, a cupola's dome with artificial vine designs and mobiles dangling down. An adjacent solarium with the preeminent view of town and Lake Titicaca holds cushioned chairs, tropical plants, and your personal hammock. And, the private bathroom actually comes with gallons and gallons of perfectly hot water...We spend the next three days and nights resting, and so does our camera. We enjoy eating at the fine restaurant although we did have more over-ordering mix-ups with fondue and quinoa salads. We watched movies in the community room, sipping instant soup and snacking on crackers. But, basically, we slept and slept, between hot showers, trying to shake the shivers and sniffles and feebleness caused by even a short walk to town...
The hotel hides on the hill overlooking Copacabana, and more than once the camera came out of its coma to feast on the view. On one short walk from our room for food we encountered a cute young man, and I asked him to pose with Leandra. Below, on the bay, in the tall pink building, you can see where our fifth floor room was on our first night here. In the next picture you can see the town center, where a large church holds dominion over the Plaza de Armas...
Three days later, we were still weak but stronger. By now our backpacks were mostly dirty clothes and we hoped to launder them in La Paz. We bought our bus tickets and sought out last minute sights...
We followed some small crowds to the Cathedral of Copacabana, a gleaming white monument to Catholicism, where some commotion was mixed with the sidewalk markets that surrounded the central town square. Having lost track of the days, it was luck that we came here on a Sunday...
And the weekly Benedicion de Movilidades, or Blessing of the Automobiles, was occurring...
Cars, vans, and trucks were being lined up and decorated with flowers and garlands, while hoods and doors are popped and propped open. For a small donation, a local priest will add his protective incantations. After the prayers, owners spritz every part of the vehicle--especially tires, engines, bumpers and interiors--with wine or beer. The idea is that prayers and alcohol consecrate the vehicle, protecting it on its journey. Not only is it a very affordable form of car insurance, but it might make a great excuse if you get pulled over for drunk driving!Soon after, we coughed and laughed our way to the corner to catch our bus to La Paz...
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