Blue

 "Wow, Lake Titicaca is really blue." - Anon

Back to the travelling, on the day of my departure from Coroico back to La Paz for the next leg, it transpired that the new highway had suffered a landslide and was currently being repaired. Alarm bells suddenly sounding in my head I summoned as much Spanish as I could to find out when the repairs would be finished (“this afternoon” was the answer), and purchased a ticket after strenuously trying to make it very clear that this was the ticket for the later bus on the new highway when it reopened and that I was happy to wait until whenever they wanted, just don’t put me on a minibus taking the infamous “old road” which is statistically the most dangerous road in the world (second only to one in Iraq which has bombs on it). Did I mention about 300 people die on (well, not on) the old road annually? Nowadays it is barely used, but for downhill mountain biking (quite the thrill I gather), and even so a few cars and the odd bus still manage to plunge into the depths every week or so. With this in mind, I was pretty unimpressed to be pointed, after buying my ticket, to a large and rickety brown bus which must’ve had about 40+ people crammed into it, and learn it would be taking the road of death. I was the last onto the bus since I had desperately tried to find out if any other, later, not-on-a-road-called-death busses might be available before boarding. I ended up with a seat next to the window on the right hand, or cliff, side. “Of course.” I thought, before tightening hood of hoody, putting on sunglasses, and shoving headphones deep into my ears, anything to reduce any senses. Being afraid of heights is hardly ideal.

To be fair, the road worsened in degrees which allowed me plenty of time to ruin my t-shirt and wonder if we’d gotten to the worst precipices yet. The road saves the best for last, though. Climbing out of a very deep valley, “El Camino de la Muerte” is truly a miracle of 1930s Paraguayan prisoner-of-war slave labour. Cut improbably into the side of an essentially vertical mountain in places, I marvelled at the fact that somebody must’ve decided that this was the easiest route for a road to take. An hour or so in the bus stopped for a large pile of rocks which had blocked our way. I climbed out of the window (which seemed easier at that point) and with the other passengers helped repair the road by heaving the muddy boulders off and down the mountain. It was hard work which took a good twenty minutes and lead to me managing to crush my own arm with one of the boulders in my rush to get going, but many hands made light of the work and we were on our way again soon, muddy, wet, and a little bloody too, but the physical exertion outside of the bus did a lot of good. 

Repairing the road.

Stock photo to give you an idea...

I didn’t get very good pictures as I was reluctant to lean out the window, but I managed to relax somewhat and finally appreciate the scenery around me which was simply extraordinary. Being able to see in one scan the transition from the dark jungly depths of the valley, waterfalls and all, up to misty and rocky peaks towering above. At least I was fairly relaxed until I asked a kind and helpful new friend next to me who I had been talking to for a while “¿Personas van en el camino en la noche?” (“Do people drive at night on the road?”), “Si, si, pero se escuchan the screams...of all the people...” “Oh really? Well that’s just swell.”

Having finally arrived in La Paz later than planned, these delays meant that I would not be able to visit Peru without spending an unacceptable proportion of my remaining time on holiday in a bus which is just too much like life in Santiago, however I ended up bumping into two friends at the hostel I checked into and together we set out for Lake Titicaca two days later. Lake Titicaca is very blue, something I appreciated as we had to take a ferry just to get to the coastal town of Copacabana, due to border peculiarities with Peru which makes an island out of the peninsula the town is situated upon. Further remnants of problematic international relations were also evident, as we passed Bolivia’s prideful inland naval outposts. Bolivia used to have a coastline, but an ill-advised war with Chile saw my current country of residence taking Bolivia’s coast and a good chunk of Peru’s as well for good measure; forcing the country’s landlocked status which continues to hold back any realistic economic progress. These territories were also rich in copper and nitrates, the backbone of the country’s resource-dependent economy for centuries. Chile did at some point offer Bolivia a special territorial arrangement which would allow them to export their goods by sea, but this proposal fell through and diplomatic relations with Chile have since been highly confrontational at worst and simply non-existent, at best. Copacabana is a gorgeous little town in a pretty bay on the lake, warm by day and a little bit on the cold side at night; it actually snowed at some point. The beach is littered with cheap food, predominantly Trucha, which is trout from the lake served in countless different ways. Given my exclusively red-meat diet until this point, I made a point of eating large portions of Trucha twice a day on average. Fingers crossed they haven’t found a way to contaminate Lake Titicaca with mercury yet.

We hopped on a ferry to the famous Isla Del Sol, an island in the lake which has been inhabited for millennia, and was the main focal point for Incan religious practices (as it was said to be the point where the sun god was born and from which the first Incans came). The whole island shows signs of ancient habitation, from recent discoveries of artefacts from a “sunken city” 12 metres below, just offshore, to the terraces which cover all of the steep slopes which rise out of the blue and up to an altitude of 4069m. The steep nature of the island proved problematic, climbing the Inca stairwell up to the settlement above was a desperate struggle for oxygen although the long-suffering donkeys didn’t seem to mind at all. Once we had finished gasping for breath, we were able to appreciate amazing views of unnaturally blue lake turning to dramatic Andean peaks over 6000m high on the horizon. I ended up staying for three nights in total, spending the days wandering around, getting a little sunburned, enjoying the pure yet thin air, looking at cute farm animals, and having chocolate eating competitions in which everybody is a winner.

Up the stairs we go.

On my final day on the island I woke up to a stunningly clear post-rain morning with the sun rising across golden brown grasses which evoked powerful images of the heavenly “Elysium” from the end of Gladiator. Although Hans Zimmer’s “End Theme” from the film had coincidentally just shuffled onto the iPod so that may have been a factor. Thus inspired, I decided I just had to attempt a run before leaving. Swapping the warm clothes for my running chic which goes everywhere, I set off up the hill before running through some gum trees along a ridge to the Southern end of the island, all at over 4000m altitude. A group of local children were amazed, and amused, to see a gringo running for the “fun” of it, instead of heaving up the stairs coughing and wheezing. I breezed past them, feeling stronger with every stride, before collapsing in a heap about 2km in and coughing up a few internal organs as my body suddenly realised I was getting all cocky about not needing oxygen and needed to be brought down a peg or two. Still, I felt on top of the world, check another personal highlight.  

Isla Del Sol was very difficult to leave, no roads, no cars, fantastic food, views to die for, and cheap accommodation, but unfortunately La Paz and Santiago beckoned. It was time to go home. The trip had been utterly perfect. I didn’t get robbed, sick, and nobody tried to scam me. I wasn’t offered cocaine on the streets and I encountered only friendliness, good food, and pretty good beer too. Bolivia, put it on your list, there is just so much this country has to offer. After a pointless stop-over and some concerns about my not actually having a boarding pass to re-enter the plane, I finally arrived home to walk back through a familiar dark and well-graffitied city centre which turns into one huge skater park for teenagers by night. Santiago, I’ve missed you. Po!

P.S. Apologies for not getting many photographs of Llamas, most were guarded fiercely by entrepreneurial youngsters who charged for the photos and I was sadly low on change most of the time. 

The excessive head is an altitudinal phenomenon. 

Copacabana.

New lease on life.

A rather high up soccer field.