I rocked up at Barry Manilow's favourite Bolivian lakeside town after a fairly tedious journey south from Cusco.
I left Cusco on a nightbus at about 10pm, destination Puno. The Peru-Bolivia border closes at night, so the journey would be in two parts: Cusco-Puno and Puno-Copacabana.
Knowing that the first leg was only seven hours (a decent night's sleep I reckon), I had hoped to get on the bus, have lights switched off, and fall into slumber.
Unfortunately, we were treated to two hours of torture with Tom Hanks - and his terrible faux-Russian accent - in The Terminal. The volume was turned up to 11, so sleep had to wait.
We arrived at Puno's bus station at 5am, where I had 2.5hrs to kill. I did this by visiting possibly the most disgusting toilets in southern Peru (which is saying something), eating desayunos of stale bread and jam, and chatting to a German girl about her experiences as a Lufthansa stewardess.
On the Puno-Copacabana bus, lungs nicely fumagated by several lethal exhaust pipes at the bus station, I sat next to a genial Swiss guy called Christian. Just before the border the coach stopped outside a small bank. It was called Your Small Bank:
We changed our Peruvian pesos into Bolivian bolivianos, got back on the bus for a five minute drive to the border, and then undertook the formalities of crossing from one country to another. Namely standing in queues, being grunted at by surly men in uniform and getting lots of stamps in your passport.
So it was goodbye Peru...
...a cross under the arch of the border...
...and a hello to Bolivia on the other side:
We got to Copacabana a short while later. It's a compact little town/village tucked up on a hillside overlooking the mammoth Lake Titicaca. There is one main street, full of tourist paraphenalia and cafes, which leads down to the mini harbour:
I checked into a kitsch little hotel called the Utama, paying about ten quid a night for a warm, comfy double room with bathroom - and decent views over the lake below.
That afternoon, Christian and I went and sampled the new (to us) Bolivian cerveza down by the harbour:
He's a fund manager for a bank based in Liechtenstein and we spent a while discussing the current economic climate. I got some good advice about mortgages, the property market and so forth.
Drinking beer and discussing interest rates. It felt like the Bolivian version of London's square mile on a Thursday night.
In the evening we had some pisco sours, some chips (as all restaurants were closed by 9pm. Gah!) and were about to wander home when we spotted a sign for a bar. There was life in this place after all.
We stooped through the doorway to find a small, dark, welcoming place with graffiti all over the walls, a pool table in the corner, a small dancefloor and Oasis on the jukebox. Could be worse, I thought.
After a few more cocktails - mostly featuring the local spirit of Sangani (similar to pisco) - we decided to look for a change of scene.
Walking away from the bar we met three girls who'd been drinking there earlier. They'd searched Copacabana in vain for another drinking hole, so we all decided to return to the same bar and carry on.
My plan had been to spend just a day on the Isla del Sol, leaving on a boat from Copacabana at 8am and returning at about 6pm. That was Christian's plan too, as he was on a tight schedule.
The beauty of my schedule is that I don't have one.
So, at 2am, head slightly askew due to several drinks, I changed plans and decided to have a lie-in, get the boat to the island with the girls at lunchtime and stay the night on the island.
The following day we had a lasagne, a couple of coffees, and boarded a boat.
The sun was beating down, but was accompanied by a cool breeze. The 1.5hr journey to the north of the island was peace personified. Calm waters, good views, friendly people. After a week and a half in a city like Cusco, it felt good to be back in nature.
My new-found friends had a similar plan to me - stay in the north of the island for the night and walk to the south the next day, before getting a boat back to Copacabana in the evening. Sorted.
After arriving and finding a four-bed room in a guesthouse (for one pound fifty each!), we chilled on the beach...
...then ate some trout and played gin rummy until bedtime.
We were on the Isla del Sol. Island of the Sun. The Incas reckoned the sun was born there.
I think that's clearly doolally, but even so - it's a nice story. And the sort of story that makes you get up at the crack of dawn to see an amazing sunrise.
I was put in charge of setting the alarm - for 5.30am - but for some weird reason my iPhone died on me in the night. From full battery to no battery, just like that. I later heard there were some (spiritual) magnetic forces at work on the island, so maybe it was that. Or maybe Steve Jobs' toys just aren't as super-duper as he reckons.
Luckily I am the lightest sleeper on earth, and luckily the curtains in our room were a barely-there shade of white. The two factors combined to wake me up as soon as the sun started to stir.
I woke the others, we bolted out of our beds, pulled on clothes and ran the short distance to the beach. With no other company, except a couple of donkeys, we sat on the beach and watched a superb sunrise over the mountains on the far side of the lake:
It felt good. Silence and sun.
We tried to go back to sleep, failed, and got up to have breakfast in one of the small cafes adjoining the pier. I bought a map of the island - which turned out to be fairly useless as there was only one path to take - and we stocked up on water, egg sarnies and Oreos (for lunch) before setting off.
The walk from north to south was brilliant. We first headed north from the village and did a loop of the top of the island.
Only ten minutes in, we crested a small hill and saw a stunning deserted beach below us:
The main path went left, the beach path went right. Suzy seized the moment and said she was going swimming. After that, the rest of us didn't have a choice - we were going in.
We walked down to the beach to find soft white sand and azure water. To me, it felt like I was on a Greek island rather than in land-locked Bolivia. South America keeps surprising me.
I hadn't brought any shorts on the trip, so had to do the deed in my boxers. The four of us lined up on the sand, counted down, and ran into the icy water as one.
I probably spent less than a minute in there - as the goosebumps and shivers began to multiply - but it felt great to swim, albeit briefly, in Lake Titicaca.
Afterwards we continued the climb to the peak at the north tip of the island. All the way the views were incredible:
We stopped at the top and ate sandwiches. One of the best picnic spots in South America I reckon.
The next three hours were spent on the winding path south. Along the way there were several checkpoints where you had to pay a toll to pass through. Here's the one at the centre of the island:
Overall it cost about 4.5 pounds to cross the island. We heard some grumblings from other travellers about having to shell out this unforeseen cost, but we spoke to a couple of the gatekeepers and they explained that the tolls went towards the upkeep of the villages, the paths, etc. And less than a fiver is nothing compared to the amazing day's walking we had.
At one point we were walking along a long curved stretch of path and heard squealing from the (hidden) cove below. We couldn't work out if it was animal or human.
Every time we started walking, the squealing seemed to start. Every time we stopped, it stopped. Ondine shouted out to see if there was someone there who needed help. No reply.
We walked on a bit, thinking it may just be seagulls, or a goat having a hissy fit. Suddenly we heard a definite human voice shouting 'Ayudar!' ('Help' in Spanish).
Ondine and I walked back to the spot above where we heard the yelps, and started to walk down the steep mountainside. Halfway down, we spotted a local girl or boy shepherding some cows just above the cove. Figuring that if there was a problem, he/she would be 'on the case' - we called out a few more times but had no response.
We reckon that some kids were playing tricks on the tourists - calling out for help when it wasn't needed. Either that or there's a dead person at the bottom of a cove on the Isla del Sol. Who knows?
Walking back in the afternoon sun, at altitudes of almost 4,000m, was pretty exhausting. There were some small ruins on the way back, like this little building:
It was so good to do the trek without a tour guide. We went at our own (slow) pace and stopped when we wanted. At one point, we went for a communal toilet break - the girls squatting down the hill, me slightly higher up.
At mid-flow I suddenly noticed a couple of women sitting about 15 metres below me. One of them looked round, gave a knowing laugh, and nudged her friend. She then looked round, gave a knowing laugh - and then they continued to stare.
Anyway, we ended up bumping into them during the rest of the day and had drinks and dinner with them later. I've even ended up in La Paz with one of them (she's currently sitting next to me in the internet cafe). Strange how introductions are formed sometimes.
Back on the Isla del Sol, and we arrived at the southern village of Yumani in mid-afternoon. Enough time to scout out a friendly little hostel (Templo Del Sol) and have an afternoon drink in the sun:
That morning we had decided to stay a second night on the island, as it was such a peaceful spot - and it worked out better for the girls' onward connections to the Salt Flats.
We met more and more people as the evening progressed, and enjoyed another tasty bit of trout and some quinoa soup.
En manaña, we got up, took a final snap of the group...
...and negotiated our way onto a charter boat back to Copacabana. The journey back was even better than the one going there. The sun was on full beam and the views were stunning (I know I keep saying that, but they were).
Back in Copacabana, we had a bit of a mad dash to get belongings from our various hotels, visit the ATM, buy sandwiches, book bus tickets, and get the bus to La Paz.
I'm so glad I a) bumped into some incredibly friendly travelling partners (even though they didn't bring any towels, bog roll or shower gel...) and b) decided to have two nights on the island.
My guidebook says the Isla del Sol 'often doesn't live up to tourists' expectations'. It far exceeded mine.
Here are some more pics:
I left Cusco on a nightbus at about 10pm, destination Puno. The Peru-Bolivia border closes at night, so the journey would be in two parts: Cusco-Puno and Puno-Copacabana.
Knowing that the first leg was only seven hours (a decent night's sleep I reckon), I had hoped to get on the bus, have lights switched off, and fall into slumber.
Unfortunately, we were treated to two hours of torture with Tom Hanks - and his terrible faux-Russian accent - in The Terminal. The volume was turned up to 11, so sleep had to wait.
We arrived at Puno's bus station at 5am, where I had 2.5hrs to kill. I did this by visiting possibly the most disgusting toilets in southern Peru (which is saying something), eating desayunos of stale bread and jam, and chatting to a German girl about her experiences as a Lufthansa stewardess.
On the Puno-Copacabana bus, lungs nicely fumagated by several lethal exhaust pipes at the bus station, I sat next to a genial Swiss guy called Christian. Just before the border the coach stopped outside a small bank. It was called Your Small Bank:
We changed our Peruvian pesos into Bolivian bolivianos, got back on the bus for a five minute drive to the border, and then undertook the formalities of crossing from one country to another. Namely standing in queues, being grunted at by surly men in uniform and getting lots of stamps in your passport.
So it was goodbye Peru...
...a cross under the arch of the border...
...and a hello to Bolivia on the other side:
We got to Copacabana a short while later. It's a compact little town/village tucked up on a hillside overlooking the mammoth Lake Titicaca. There is one main street, full of tourist paraphenalia and cafes, which leads down to the mini harbour:
I checked into a kitsch little hotel called the Utama, paying about ten quid a night for a warm, comfy double room with bathroom - and decent views over the lake below.
He's a fund manager for a bank based in Liechtenstein and we spent a while discussing the current economic climate. I got some good advice about mortgages, the property market and so forth.
Drinking beer and discussing interest rates. It felt like the Bolivian version of London's square mile on a Thursday night.
In the evening we had some pisco sours, some chips (as all restaurants were closed by 9pm. Gah!) and were about to wander home when we spotted a sign for a bar. There was life in this place after all.
We stooped through the doorway to find a small, dark, welcoming place with graffiti all over the walls, a pool table in the corner, a small dancefloor and Oasis on the jukebox. Could be worse, I thought.
After a few more cocktails - mostly featuring the local spirit of Sangani (similar to pisco) - we decided to look for a change of scene.
Walking away from the bar we met three girls who'd been drinking there earlier. They'd searched Copacabana in vain for another drinking hole, so we all decided to return to the same bar and carry on.
My plan had been to spend just a day on the Isla del Sol, leaving on a boat from Copacabana at 8am and returning at about 6pm. That was Christian's plan too, as he was on a tight schedule.
The beauty of my schedule is that I don't have one.
So, at 2am, head slightly askew due to several drinks, I changed plans and decided to have a lie-in, get the boat to the island with the girls at lunchtime and stay the night on the island.
The following day we had a lasagne, a couple of coffees, and boarded a boat.
The sun was beating down, but was accompanied by a cool breeze. The 1.5hr journey to the north of the island was peace personified. Calm waters, good views, friendly people. After a week and a half in a city like Cusco, it felt good to be back in nature.
My new-found friends had a similar plan to me - stay in the north of the island for the night and walk to the south the next day, before getting a boat back to Copacabana in the evening. Sorted.
After arriving and finding a four-bed room in a guesthouse (for one pound fifty each!), we chilled on the beach...
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| (L-R: me, Laura, Suzy, Ondine) |
We were on the Isla del Sol. Island of the Sun. The Incas reckoned the sun was born there.
I think that's clearly doolally, but even so - it's a nice story. And the sort of story that makes you get up at the crack of dawn to see an amazing sunrise.
I was put in charge of setting the alarm - for 5.30am - but for some weird reason my iPhone died on me in the night. From full battery to no battery, just like that. I later heard there were some (spiritual) magnetic forces at work on the island, so maybe it was that. Or maybe Steve Jobs' toys just aren't as super-duper as he reckons.
Luckily I am the lightest sleeper on earth, and luckily the curtains in our room were a barely-there shade of white. The two factors combined to wake me up as soon as the sun started to stir.
I woke the others, we bolted out of our beds, pulled on clothes and ran the short distance to the beach. With no other company, except a couple of donkeys, we sat on the beach and watched a superb sunrise over the mountains on the far side of the lake:
It felt good. Silence and sun.
We tried to go back to sleep, failed, and got up to have breakfast in one of the small cafes adjoining the pier. I bought a map of the island - which turned out to be fairly useless as there was only one path to take - and we stocked up on water, egg sarnies and Oreos (for lunch) before setting off.
The walk from north to south was brilliant. We first headed north from the village and did a loop of the top of the island.
Only ten minutes in, we crested a small hill and saw a stunning deserted beach below us:
The main path went left, the beach path went right. Suzy seized the moment and said she was going swimming. After that, the rest of us didn't have a choice - we were going in.
We walked down to the beach to find soft white sand and azure water. To me, it felt like I was on a Greek island rather than in land-locked Bolivia. South America keeps surprising me.
I hadn't brought any shorts on the trip, so had to do the deed in my boxers. The four of us lined up on the sand, counted down, and ran into the icy water as one.
I probably spent less than a minute in there - as the goosebumps and shivers began to multiply - but it felt great to swim, albeit briefly, in Lake Titicaca.
Afterwards we continued the climb to the peak at the north tip of the island. All the way the views were incredible:
We stopped at the top and ate sandwiches. One of the best picnic spots in South America I reckon.
The next three hours were spent on the winding path south. Along the way there were several checkpoints where you had to pay a toll to pass through. Here's the one at the centre of the island:
Overall it cost about 4.5 pounds to cross the island. We heard some grumblings from other travellers about having to shell out this unforeseen cost, but we spoke to a couple of the gatekeepers and they explained that the tolls went towards the upkeep of the villages, the paths, etc. And less than a fiver is nothing compared to the amazing day's walking we had.
At one point we were walking along a long curved stretch of path and heard squealing from the (hidden) cove below. We couldn't work out if it was animal or human.
Every time we started walking, the squealing seemed to start. Every time we stopped, it stopped. Ondine shouted out to see if there was someone there who needed help. No reply.
We walked on a bit, thinking it may just be seagulls, or a goat having a hissy fit. Suddenly we heard a definite human voice shouting 'Ayudar!' ('Help' in Spanish).
Ondine and I walked back to the spot above where we heard the yelps, and started to walk down the steep mountainside. Halfway down, we spotted a local girl or boy shepherding some cows just above the cove. Figuring that if there was a problem, he/she would be 'on the case' - we called out a few more times but had no response.
We reckon that some kids were playing tricks on the tourists - calling out for help when it wasn't needed. Either that or there's a dead person at the bottom of a cove on the Isla del Sol. Who knows?
Walking back in the afternoon sun, at altitudes of almost 4,000m, was pretty exhausting. There were some small ruins on the way back, like this little building:
It was so good to do the trek without a tour guide. We went at our own (slow) pace and stopped when we wanted. At one point, we went for a communal toilet break - the girls squatting down the hill, me slightly higher up.
At mid-flow I suddenly noticed a couple of women sitting about 15 metres below me. One of them looked round, gave a knowing laugh, and nudged her friend. She then looked round, gave a knowing laugh - and then they continued to stare.
Anyway, we ended up bumping into them during the rest of the day and had drinks and dinner with them later. I've even ended up in La Paz with one of them (she's currently sitting next to me in the internet cafe). Strange how introductions are formed sometimes.
Back on the Isla del Sol, and we arrived at the southern village of Yumani in mid-afternoon. Enough time to scout out a friendly little hostel (Templo Del Sol) and have an afternoon drink in the sun:
That morning we had decided to stay a second night on the island, as it was such a peaceful spot - and it worked out better for the girls' onward connections to the Salt Flats.
We met more and more people as the evening progressed, and enjoyed another tasty bit of trout and some quinoa soup.
En manaña, we got up, took a final snap of the group...
...and negotiated our way onto a charter boat back to Copacabana. The journey back was even better than the one going there. The sun was on full beam and the views were stunning (I know I keep saying that, but they were).
Back in Copacabana, we had a bit of a mad dash to get belongings from our various hotels, visit the ATM, buy sandwiches, book bus tickets, and get the bus to La Paz.
I'm so glad I a) bumped into some incredibly friendly travelling partners (even though they didn't bring any towels, bog roll or shower gel...) and b) decided to have two nights on the island.
My guidebook says the Isla del Sol 'often doesn't live up to tourists' expectations'. It far exceeded mine.
Here are some more pics:
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| The last bit of election campaigning I saw in Peru (it was everywhere) |
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| Loadsamoney |
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| Challabamba on northern Isla del Sol |
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| Waking up early for the sunrise |
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| View down to the beach where we swam |
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| Hiking over the middle of the island |
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| Yumani village |
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| On the boat back to Copacabana |