The Muddy-Pants Diaries

6 November 2005 (Sunday) – Copacabana to Isla del Sol, Bolivia

Lake Titicaca, the highest commercially navigable lake in the world, is shared between Peru and Bolivia. I had previously visited the Uros Floating Islands, made of reed, and Isla Taquile 6 years ago, on the Peruvian side. This time, I want to stay overnight at Isla del Sol.

However, it seemed that today was a terribly cloudly day. The water of Lake Titicaca is always a brilliant blue when the sun is out. At this moment, when we embarked on the boat, it was unfortunately not. I originally sat on the deck upstairs. I made friends with the other tourists up there braving the cold wind… there were Marina from Argentina, Jerome from Belgium, Henry from Peru, middle-aged couple Elisabeth and Colin from England. We chatted briefly but soon, nearly half of us, including me, had to crawl back downstairs to the sheltered cabin.

Marina and Henry were actually both on the ‘half-day’ trip. That means, they take the 8:30am boat to Isla del Sol and return to Copacabana by 12:30pm today. But this is ridiculous. It takes 1.5 hours to get to the island. So, when the boat pulled up at 10:10am, the boat driver told those on the ‘half-day’ to be back at the port by 11:10am. Otherwise, if they prefer to be on the ‘full-day’, they can take the 4:00pm boat. Both Marina and Henry had bought the bus ticket to La Paz leaving at 1:30pm. But what can they do in 1 hour here on the island??!

The 3 of us huffed and puffed for about 15 to 20 minutes all the way up the steps to the top of the island. The two of  them stopped for something to eat at a restaurant while I puffed on further to look for a hostel. By chance, Elisabeth and Colin were staying at the same place. My room was not ready yet, still occupied, but the owner seemed very sweet so I would trust that my room was alright and I would stay here. Jerome and his wife Katya were still looking when I joined Marina and Henry at the restaurant.

Both of them were having serious regrets of having bought their bus tickets to La Paz. Well, it was indeed BEAUTIFUL here on the island. The sun had somehow made an escape from the clouds by now, and the lake was a gorgeous blue. There were many terraced steps all around the island, this method of agriculture had come from ancient times… possibly all the way back to Tiahuanacu period. This magical island was also in the Inca’s legend, where it was claimed that the sun god Manco Capac was born here. And gosh, to stay out here overnight… I can only imagine the stars I can see tonight, at this altitude and so far away from everywhere.

Marina had her egg sandwich and her mate de coca and it was already 11am. She had to go. Henry too… but Henry was seriously thinking of staying overnight. He hurried down to the port with Marina to see if he could change his bus ticket to the next day.

Meanwhile, Elisabeth and Colin joined me at this great al fresco lake-facing restaurant for something to drink and a chat. We decided to do the hike together. Jerome and Katya might stay another night, so they preferred to just relax and hang out today. Henry soon came huffing back. He said he would try and get a phone here to call the bus company. Interesting… when we came climbing up, at the top of the steps, we had seen an indigenous traditionally-attired local lady with the usual bundle on her back standing at the edge and then, we heard a ringing sound and she whipped out her cellular phone and answered it. Perhaps, Henry should try and track her down.

The 3 of us were starting our walk around the island soon. Henry said he would try and catch up. We were now at the south end of the island. There is a trail that leads to the north all the way to a pre-Inca ruin. My hostel owner said it would take 3 hours to get there. Well, I was not sure if he meant at MY pace, but Elisabeth, Colin and I decided we would just walk around the island, it did not matter if we reach the ruins but we had to make sure we return in time before dark.

We took a wrong turn at one point and ended up at the top of one of the hills of the island. Gosh, it was absolutely amazing here as it was right at the ridge and we could see both sides of the blue lake. There was no trail, so we just walked down the slope gingerly to the terraced farmlands. Colin soon spotted the trail but it was way way down. We jumped down the steep terraces and blundered through people’s recently-planted cultivation before finally clambering down to the trail. Hee… sorry.

After paying an entrance ticket of 10 bolivianos (!!… for the community, they claimed), we walked on and finally found some shade where we sat and ate our lunch. Then, we saw Henry. It had taken us about 1 hour to get to where we were, as we had walked really slowly, enjoyed the scenery and then, destroyed people’s crops. But Henry had run here in 15 minutes! He was unable to call the bus company. He would just have to pray they let him get on the bus tomorrow without having to pay for another ticket. He then said he would run all the way to the ruins, as he preferred to come back in a slow and tranquil manner. Before we could reply, Flash Gordon had zipped out of our sight.

Some tourists had taken the boat to the north end of the island and from there, they walk back to the south to catch the return boat at 4pm. Within another half an hour, we finally started seeing tourists coming back in the opposite direction. I chatted with some French tourists at a coffee-and-tea stop and they told me it was another hour to the ruins.

Now, I was determined to reach the ruins. I soon left Elisabeth and Colin behind as they had stopped at a place to eat their bananas and I, yes… I ran down some parts of the trail – the parts with no huge rocks to trip me over and with a vicious wind to push me onwards and at 3812m!! Many parts of the trail were along the ridge where you could see both sides of the lake, and where the cold wind was blowing right across. Brrr… Some parts of the trail had massive bedrock of pink, white, yellow. It was absolutely absolutely stunning!

I reached the ruins in 45 minutes and found hardly anyone there. The ruins was alright, with a sacrificial table, no less… but the atmosphere there was just magic. This must be a place that gives people energy. And a fellow tourist sitting there was very kind to point out to me the corner where the sun god was born, according to the Inca’s legend.

I found Henry sitting in a niche, meditating in the glorious sun. Wow, the water down below was glistening. There was hardly anyone here… Perfect! Thank goodness I did the trip this way, opposite from the huge number of tourists who went from north to south. I did not have to share this magical place with too many people. However, we waited for Elisabeth and Colin and they did not come.

After some moments of contemplation, we departed serenely at 3:30pm. I told Henry to allow 2 hours at MY pace, please, to make it back to the southern part of the island. Unlike him, I do not have Inca’s blood running through my veins.

Henry is a film-maker who had recently resigned from his job to travel to Argentina to meet his friends and to try and showcase his recently completed documentary about a stadium in Lima being built on sacred Inca’s ground. Yes, the football team had had the worst luck since then. So, they tried to request the help of some pure-blooded Inca’s descendents found in the highlands of Cuzco to try and exorcise the spirits. How interesting!!

My Lima hosts, Percy and his family, had had not much interests in Peruvian history and cultures but Henry is just an encyclopedia of information about pre-Inca and Inca cultures, symbolisms, architecture, ruins, energy, etc… We talked all the way back to the south of the island, exchanging tonnes of information about Asia and Peru.

We found a west-facing restaurant where it appeared to be a good spot for sunset. We joined several tourists there, half-wondering if there would even be a sunset in view of the thick clouds hanging low at the horizon. An elderly man loudly called out to me, “Hello, my little Japanese friend!”. I smiled and sheepishly corrected him, “Hello but I am not Japanese.” “Oh, then, my little Chinese friend!” To that, I acknowledged. He is Lloyd, from Canada. He is nearly 70 years old and is travelling alone. Unfortunately, he was recently pickpocketed in Puno so he lost all his money and credit card. He had made arrangements to get a replacement credit card in La Paz in a couple of days’ time. Apparently, he had been to South East Asia many times, having been a teacher in Borneo, teaching the headhunters English! Goodness gracious! He knows Singapore very well and had even written 2 essays about the politics of Singapore. He definitely knows more about Singapore than I.

Sunset was just a modest peep of orange through the thick clouds and soon, we returned back to pile on more clothes. Later, a whole bunch of us gathered at the same restaurant for a very expensive dinner. Sigh… what can we do? Isla del Sol had been transformed as yet another tourist money-spinner. I am sure 6 years ago when I visited Lake Titicaca then, to spend a night on the islands here, meant sleeping on mattresses on the floor of the residents’ mud houses, with no electricity, no hot water. But now, what do we have? Hostels with rooms with great view, hot water, lights, pretty little, yes, and, once again, rustic restaurants…

Henry and I were famished, having had nothing to eat since noon, and we were both appalled by the prices of things (20 bolivianos for the trout) as we were both very unlike the usual gringo tourists where everything was cheap cheap cheap to them. But we reasoned that the other restaurant which had the same price but included a soup was a 10-minute uphill hike in the dark, and the difference with the damn soup was really just less than US$1. We were not going to get too great a bargain anywhere anyway. Finally, for the company of Lloyd and the others, we stayed.

The restaurant must had been overwhelmed by the large number of us. We waited for 1.5 hours without smelling anything flagrant. We were ready to double over and die. I popped my head into the kitchen with an inquiring smile. They all looked very busy but there was just a small pot of fire on the floor. Gosh, there were at least 12 of us in here. How could they manage? But the jolly little owner insisted everything would be ready soon. He called it ‘ahorita’ (right now). I am a lot wiser to South Americans’ claims of ‘ahorita’ by now. After another 30 minutes, finally, gorgeously fried trouts, with fries and salad were served in front of us. Now I wonder how they did it.

Thank goodness I had brought along my little torch to guide me home. It was impossibly pitch dark now. And yes, I could only IMAGINE the stars as the sky up above was heavily laden with thick thunderous clouds. Henry was staying at another hostel. After seeing me home, he borrowed my torch to walk back… just as small hailstones started to fall all over. I hoped he made it back alive. I heard that some hailstones can kill.

[photo credits HR: Henry Rodriguez]

Tags: 09) Bolivian Rhapsody, Isla del Sol

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