Copacabana

Lying in a 60,000 square kilometre basin between the coastal and eastern Andes, the magnificent blue waters of Lake Titicaca welcomed us warmly. Just a three hour ride from La Paz, our coach wound it's way down to the dockside where we would cross the Tequina Strait to reach our next destination. To avoid any Titanic moments, the buses go across the stretch of water on a dodgy looking barge, while us passengers had to clamber aboard a number of small fishing boats. Not one's to miss an opportunity, the cheeky locals charge a whopping twenty-five pence each for the privilege.

Probably one of the most prominent features of the Altiplano, Lake Titicaca, at 3,821m, is the highest navigable body of water in the world. Referred to as 'The Sacred Lake' by many Bolivian's and Peruvian's who share the ownership within their borders; if someone (for instance a fisherman) falls into the lake it is traditional not to rescue them, but to let them drown as an offering to the Earth Goddess Pachamama. Quite a hefty sacrifice for the sake of a few Trout. The surface area itself is just over nine thousand square kilometres and an average depth of 100m, it's volume of water is so big that it actually moderates the climate for a considerable distance around it. Sometimes it is hard to believe that you're not looking at an ocean, as the waters stretch for almost as far as the eye can see.

A note had been left on the message board in the Brew Hostel to ask if anyone was heading in the direction of Copacabana, and we therefore had a girl from Sheffield called Sarah in tow. The three of us arrived at our destination in the early afternoon, and reading reasonable reports about a new hotel overlooking the beach we headed there to find a bed. Handily, there were less than eight people in the whole place, which I suppose says something about our taste in accommodation.

It might share the same name with the famous Brazilian beach resort, but Copacabana in Bolivia couldn't really be more different. It has none of the glitz and glamour of Rio, but instead offers small town charm where unfortunately, because of it's existence as a gateway to the Isla del Sol and Isla de la Luna, it becomes a real tourist trap, with prices for just about anything being judged in accordance with your nationality. After a light and unfulfilling lunch we had a walk around the village, and then Sarah MkII suggested that we walk to the top of the Cerro Calvario, a reasonably large hill overlooking the lake and the town. Good practice for the upcoming Inca Trail we thought.

Not really prepared for the level of ascent, we took an hour or so to climb the less-than-difficult trail, but the altitude makes everything hard going. There are fourteen stations of the holy cross on the way up, and then at the top we found a number of eery looking tombs to greet our arrival. The area at the top of the Calvario however is now covered in grafitti, and such is the quantity of litter strewn all over the surrounding hillside that I doubt if it has ever been cleared, tainting what should really be a lovely place. Finding a suitable rock, here we settled down to watch the sun setting over the lake which was quite spectacular. Like all traditional nights in these regions, as soon as the sun dips behind the horizon, the temperature drops by around fifteen degrees, and so three of us, and an Australian girl called Jenna who had been admiring the views with us, rapidly descended for some hot coffee liquors in one of the town's many overpriced cafe's.

That evening we met Jenna again, and went for a reasonable meal in one of the many restaurants in town, followed by a few beers in a really laid-back bar run by a native french guy. Here some fella played the Saxophone for a while which was surprisingly good, and then everyone just sat around on the nicely arranged beanbags and pillows, chatting, smoking and listening to numerous cool tunes in a really relaxed atmosphere. At last we actually felt like travellers. If only we liked weed and could go for a month without washing our hair...

The following morning Sarah MkII left us for Cusco, and we had planned to visit the nearby Isla del Sol for the day. It was then that we realised we had a problem. Enquiries for a cashpoint were not being met enthusiastically (basically there wasn't one in town), the one and only bank was shut for another two days, and our hotel manager was offering little in the way of solutions. We had 100 Boliviano's left on us; enough to get us to the island, and leave us with the equivalent of four pounds until we reached the Peruvian border 28 hours later. Faced with the thought over a very dull day in the town, we opted to continue with our plans, and boarded our boat to the Island of the Sun with moments to spare.

The journey out to the island to just over two hours, due to an engine which would have had trouble powering most domestic lawn-mowers. Sarah managed to keep her chunder-eyes under control almost until docking, when she finally turned a little green as the water became more choppy. Landing safely, and vomitless, we then discovered that the visit to the Inca Site and museum on the island would cost us extra money which we clearly didn't have. Not being overly sold on hanging around for the boat to return us to the mainland four hours later, our only option was to take the 20km hike from the north of the island to the south.

And so off we trudged, with only a two-litre bottle of water and packet of week old cookies to our name. Quoted as a two-and-a-half hour walk, we hiked through mountain pathways, across a near deserted beach where a guy tried to charge me for photographing his pigs (or he may have just been angry because I had to have a poo in a bush behind his house), and over the top of two fairly high passes, arriving at the southern port nearly 4 hours later, and only just in time for our return voyage.

Although yet more good practice for our upcoming main hike event, we were both now quite tired, very hungry and a little bitter. There's probably nothing worse than having money in the bank, but not being able to get at it. Except possibly not having money in the bank. We'll try some of that when we get home. At this point, the only viable option we could see to forget the hunger and mild resentment was to go straight to bed and hope that we could sleep through the night. And so, at just after 6pm, we did. And with resounding success I might add.

Waking early, and with the hotel bill pre-paid, we helped ourselves to as much of the free bread and jam breakfast we could manage. During this gargantuan feast, we got chatting to a young couple from Wolverhampton and as they were going in the same direction, we all went to catch our connecting bus to Puno on the Peruvian side of the lake.

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