And Then, There Were Eleven
7 November 2005 (Monday) – Isla del Sol to Copacabana to La Paz, Bolivia
Indeed Henry was not killed by hailstones last night and I got my torch back, hehee…
Today, the boat company from yesterday did not send a boat out today. So, Henry could not use the same return boat ticket and had to buy another. Gosh, I hope he has better luck with the bus ticket later in Copacabana.
Back in Copacabana, as Henry charmed his way through with the tour agency lady he bought the ticket from (he had to pay 5 bolivianos more to bribe her), I wandered to another agency and bought one of the 3 remaining tickets to La Paz at 1:30pm. Lloyd was also heading that way and since it was just 12pm now, he wandered off with his digital camera precariously hanging around his neck to look for food.
As I packed my stuff in the hostel, I noticed there was no seat number on my bus ticket. My hostel guy smilingly told me best to get there early by 1pm, as it was possible that people would end up standing on the bus. Later, although we had all bought our bus tickets from different agencies, we realised the tourists were all bundled into the same bus. This was so strange here in Bolivia, as I had always taken buses with local people.
Anyway, Henry and I were amongst the first to have our backpacks thrown up on top of the bus and we found seats easily. We then got worried about Lloyd. I made a guess as to which restaurant he might be and ran there to check. His trout had just freshly arrived and he had not even begun to saw it open yet and he was calmly chatting with more new friends. I quietly told him to hurry as luggages and backpacks were being packed now onto the bus and everyone was climbing onboard to grab their seats.
We waited another 20 minutes and the bus appeared quite full by now. Henry ran off to look for him. Lloyd who only spoke English and no Spanish, and Henry who spoke perhaps 10 words of English were perhaps not meant to communicate hurried news to each other. Lloyd looked at him and hugged him, bidding him fond farewells. But Henry was trying to tell him to hurry and get his luggage and himself on the bus. Lloyd hugged on tighter, before realising what was going on.
The guys from the bus company appeared to be watching out for Lloyd as well, as he was just such a sweet little old man. They had his luggage ready to be tossed into the back of the bus when he walked out, looking all confused. He made it just in time.
The beautiful ride was passed more of the blue Lake Titicaca and licho grasslands. We had to get off and take a little ferry across the straits. By then, Henry and I had made friends with Emmy, a French girl, who was travelling with her family – father, mother and brother, and Diego, a middle-aged guy from Argentina.
La Paz sits at the bottom of a basin and when we arrived, it was indeed quite a sight to take in. The bus stopped for us to ooh and aah. Gosh, how packed this city is!
When we all arrived in La Paz, the bus stopped us in front of Hotel Copacabana which coincidentally was the hotel booked by Emmy’s family. Lloyd and I had previously agreed to go to the much cheaper Hostal El Solario. Henry and Diego decided to join us. A taxi driver tried to charge us 12 bolivianos for the ride. But it was just 3 blocks away. What a rip-off! Thank goodness we did not fall for that.
I was worried about Lloyd walking around at this altitude with his luggage but he was game. When we reached El Solario, we were queued behind 3 guys – 2 French boys, Matthieu and Julien and 1 American Dan. It turned out, all 7 of us were turned away as the hostel was already full.
Diego, Henry and I checked out another hostel 5 doors away. This one could accommodate all of us, and they, being the true-blooded South Americans that they are, managed to bargain down the price from 35 to 30 bolivianos for each of us. But we had to share the rooms. Well, no problem.
After some freshening up, Henry and I wanted to head back to Emmy’s hotel as we had made an appointment with her to hang out together. But gosh, Lloyd, Diego and the 3 guys followed us as well. At Hotel Copacabana, Emmy’s family of 4 were there waiting for us. Ahem… and then, there were eleven.
ELEVEN!!!!! I had never ever moved around in a group of eleven before!! Gosh, Henry and I looked at each other in disbelief as the group thronged through the Mercado de Hechiceria (Witches’ Market), admiring the llamas‘ foetuses, strange herbs, charms and other little statuettes.
We were all hungry but wandering down a few streets, we found no restaurants at all. Some of them actually stopped the Tourist Police to ask them for a place we could all go eat and then, much like the blind leading the blind, somehow, I don’t know how, we found a mid-range restaurant and the waiters did a quick job to pull some tables together. The waiter was smart, he left a piece of paper with us. From where I saw it, I believe he wanted us to gather our orders on the piece of paper, making his job easier. But unfortunately, he communicated it to Emmy’s father who did not speak Spanish, and HE told us to write our names and countries of origin on the paper. I was seriously in doubt. But everyone was busy chatting with everyone else and absent-mindedly signed on the paper. What was this for???
When he returned the paper to the waiter, the waiter was grossly confused as he could not detect anything that looked like ‘Pollo a la Plancha’ (that is ‘Chicken to the Iron’ for those who do not read Spanish) or whatever on the paper. I was ready to die from shame!!! Diego, the Argentine, then became the Indian chief to gather our orders. Thank goodness!!
When dinner was over, as we walked along the street, everyone was asking everyone else where we were going. How in the world should I know??? I would do what I want. You do what you want! Henry, Emmy and I bid rapid farewells (sorry, we do not mean to hurt anyone) and snuck off hastily. Later, Emmy’s strange brother came hurrying and joined us.
Emmy’s brother is called Jean. He had sat in front of me at the table just now. He did not look at anyone, nor talked to anyone. In fact, he was talking to himself and laughing many times at nothing. He stuck his legs across the table underneath and kicked me many times. He kept smoking and seemed to have some nervous ticks. Then, just as suddenly, he whacked me on my shoulder and demanded for my name, which I had already told him.
During the walk around night-time La Paz along Av. Mariscal Sucre, Jean would suddenly whack me again, and ask for my name. Gosh, this happened at least 4 times. He would repeatedly chant, “Wherearewegoingwherearewegoing wherearewegoing??” He would also stop somewhere and gesture wildly, seemingly talking to someone in the air. Lloyd had told me this guy was probably a maniac depressive, on pills. But travelling in another country and meeting people were probably doing him a world of good. So, I tried to be nice, but I was frankly a little uncomfortable as he had grabbed me once a little earlier. I tried to see his aura. It was black, poor thing.
Tags: 09) Bolivian Rhapsody, La Paz
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