Lake Titicaca

Update: 15

We left Cuzco last Monday and as such, the whole town turned out for a parade on Sunday. The mayor was there along with a marching band and every uniformed group you could imagine. The cubs and scouts were easy to spot, as were the various school cadets. In between these and the armed forces, was a group of what looked like unionised housewives. I doubt I'll ever know what six fifty-something women in blue skirts and short-sleeved shirts meant to represent, but I can live with that.

I've mentioned the Cuzco flag before but, just in case you forgot, it's The Rainbow Flag. Bearing that in mind, you can get a sense of the seriousness of the occasion when the parade was brought to a close by an armed military regiment, in full regalia, marching in front of the cathedral, saluting the mayor and other dignitaries, a four by three metre rainbow flag waving out and proud over the square and the band giving them some rhythm. Unfortunately the band wasn't taking requests, because I would have paid good money for some Village People just then. Young men....

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Buoyed by our send off, we left early on Monday morning for Puno on the fabled Lake Titicaca. I say "buoyed", Tam was more "hallucinogenic". She blames the anti-malarials for the bright lights, deafness, cold sweats and passing out on the bus, but I know what men in uniform do to a woman's heart rate.

I don't want to harp on about bus rides but, for the record, the scenery from Cuzco to Puno is flat and dry and all the towns look unfinished. (Obviously the churches are complete, painted and smart, but the houses all have those flat roofs and clusters of four metal bars sticking straight up that makes them look like the next level is still to be built.) It's dry here, really dry. Perhaps not as dry as West Sussex, because I'm unaware of a hosepipe ban, but green is not a colour you'll see often.

Lake Titicaca. Known by ten-year-olds around the globe as the highest navigable lake in the the world. I remember it because when Mr. Brown was teaching us that fact, I thought it hilarious that such a famous lake would have a name made out of two rude words. I still do, but apparently that's not as endearing for a thirty-year-old.

In hindsight I'm disappointed that we didn't approach the lake from the Bolivian side. Puno's not a great place and there are two peninsulas on either side that create the illusion of a smaller lake. With us both feeling pretty exhausted - the altitude is a killer here at 3,800m - we didn't really feel like doing anything other than sleep. We mustered what little energy we could and joined one of those horrendous day trip boats out to the Uros islands. It had commentary in two languages and must have looked like a flashing light to local handicraft sellers. I knew I was going to hate it before the boat even pulled away from the pier: a local boarded wearing traditional clothing, played "Fernando" on pipes and then sent a hat around. Why do tourists tip them? I'd only offer money if it meant they'd go away.

The Uros islands are a popular stop on the tourist trail as they're made of reeds and float on the lake. It might have been due to our headaches, anti-malarial side effects and general exhaustion, but the impression we got was that the Uros islands were like a bunch of reeds floating on a lake. Some people spend the night here. I say thank God for Doxycycline as we were forced to go back to dry land.

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The vibe changed immediately when we entered Bolivia. People don't hassle you to buy things, and everything seems a bit slower. Copacabana (I'm pretty confident it's not the Copacabana of the song) is like another world. The air is dry, there are no clouds at this time of year, the landscape is lunar, it seems quieter than a town should be and it's right on the waterfront. The view of the lake is spectacular and from here you can see why this is a special place.  Our hotel - at £5 a night (for both of us!) - had an almost wall-to-wall window with an uninterrupted view of the lake and hosted a perfect sunset.

Hands up those of you who've had export quality Bolivian wine in a Bolivian restaurant outside of Bolivia. Anyone? Anyone? No. Didn't think so. In Europe, well, in fact everywhere I've been, Spaghetti Bolognese has a soft texture that I find pleasant and gentle in the mouth. As they say, there's a first time for everything. Crunchy spag bol is is a bit off-putting. I can imagine some fancy restaurant adding, say, nuts or something to increase its exclusivity, but in a Bolivian restaurant where the bol is, well, mince-ish, and the spag is spag, cracking your tooth is a little disconcerting. Washing that down with wine that tastes like a corked sherry doesn't entice one to leave a tip.

But Bolivia isn't famous for its cuisine, it's famous for it's phenomenal geography and it doesn't disappoint. On our second day in this landlocked country with its own navy, we caught a ferry to Isla del Sol. This experience beats Machu Picchu and gives the Galalpagos a run for its money. Isla del Sol is where the Incas believed the sun was born. They also thought carrying rocks up mountains to build temples was smart. I'm with Galileo on this one.  Inca delusions aside, standing on a dry, barren almost-rock in the middle of the world's highest big-lake looking across glass-like water under a blue, cloudless sky at snow-capped mountains leaving 6,000 meters in the shade is something I hope to do again. At the risk of sounding pretentious it really does make you marvel at how fantastic this planet it. We spent the day walking from north to south with our new Argentine friends who we inadvertently left behind (Mercedes and Alberto, if you read this, we didn't mean to, can we still meet up for that barbeque in Mendoza?). I would relive the 20th of July 2006 again and again if I had to. 360 degree views that take your breath away - literally - oh, and they chucked in some ruins.

It's inhospitable altitude is a bit of a poisoned chalice: because of it, the lake is unspoilt and there are no jet skis or rich kids burning their dads' boats around trying to impress their model girlfriends (hoping for some of this in Brazil), but because of it, you don't - well we didn't - spend as long as you'd like. The cracked lips and difficulty breathing take it's toll. 

It's crazy to think that we actually descended to La Paz. The world's highest capital city at 3,660m above sea level is a three hour bus trip and fifteen minute ferry ride away from Titicaca and a world away from any western city. The streets - yip, the streets, not the pavements - are crowded with hawkers (predominantly middle aged women in distinctive bowler hats - although I have no doubt they're not called bowler hats!) selling a bizarre assortment of clothes, suits, nuts, tiger balm, polystyrene swans and black market CDs. Pedestrians walk in the middle of the road and traffic hoots and dodges between them. This evening we crossed a roundabout that made the Arc de Triumph look like a beginner's class in understanding traffic.

It's manic, difficult to breath (how many times have I said that?!)and poor, but we both really like it. The people seem more sincere that Peruvians - you don't get the feeling that they see you as a cash cow. They may not be as outwardly friendly, but you don't feel like they're trying to get something from you. They also seem to have a lot more gold teeth that their north-western neighbours.

And after I've mocked Bolivian food.... We've just returned from supper in a French-style restaurant (perhaps it was French, in which case the spag bol episode still stands) where fettuccini alfredo; a salad with avo, cheese and olives; a cheesy omelette; two glasses of Concho y Toro (good Chilean red) and two Irish coffees came to 5 quid. If I'd been charged forty pounds for the same in England I would have paid happily. It was delicious and we'll be back there tomorrow. The background sound was my favourite pipe music. Tonight the genre was "Themes from the Movies". Titanic is a staple here - always - and was no surprise, but I did enjoy hearing Elton John for the first time. It brought even more satisfaction to the evening when the table of eight frenchies next to us started singing: "Can you feel zer lurve to-naht...."      

We're both enjoying La Paz, our hotel is comfortable, the city is unique and there is much to do. We'll be heading off to the jungle in the next week or so, which means mosquitoes but also means normal breathing patterns so we're excited but apprehensive! Until then....