dance dance revolution

Go back and check out Marty´s somewhat belated post on dance in Sucre (teaser: some truly fabulous bug-eyed masks)...

All aboard... welcome to Peru

Elizabeth deserves credit for coining the term ¨Third World Transportation Fatalism¨ but she coined it for humans.



In a year of firsts (yak-butter tea, houseboat in Kashmir, five-day stomach Exorcist reenactment) the trip from Copacabana to Cusco was our first bus journey in which chickens and guinea pigs outnumbered human passengers.


Bags of cuy (guinea pig) are below, bags and crates of pollo above


How anyone could eat something with eyes this big is beyond us, but to each their own, I guess

Most of the animals were in the cargo area, but a few (presumably very special) chickens came on board with us, and clucked quietly when the bus swayed.


All this and much more came on board with us... notice the seething bags...


This wee Peruana seemed delighted by the spectacle

Sun, sacrifice, and small dangerous boys

I like getting on boats whenever possible, and so while in Copacabana, we decided to head out on Lake Titicaca for a trip to Isla del Sol. Isla del Sol is a very small but long-inhabitated island, about an hour and a half from Copacabana.

From the small bay, we hopped on one of the many boats ferrying people over. Our boat lingered several minutes past its supposed launch time, and more and more people kept piling on. Finally, the captain came up top and said, ¨hey, [we put too many people below and] the boat is too heavy in back, will anyone sit up on the front tip of the boat, in front of the railing?¨

Yeah.


Hunkered up front with the Bolivian flag

It was great.

As we rounded the corner of a peninsula jutting into the lake (one that we had earlier aimed to bike to, though did not reach), we suddenly saw the Cordillera Real. On the lake, surrounded by low golden hills (not unlike, Marty pointed out, the East Bay hills), in the hot sun, it was easy to forget we were at 12,000 feet or so. Until those 20,000-foot snow-covered giants popped up.



Reed boat against a rather spectacular backdrop

When we arrived at the small bay of the Isla del Sol, it was already 3:30, three hours before dark, and we got a few different estimates of how long it would take us to hike the length of the island. We should not have been surprised by these varying answers: it´s sometimes hard to pin facts down in Bolivia.

Anyway, we thought we´d better get moving, so we huffed and puffed our way up the Escalera del Inca. This is a tall staircase of dark stone that climbs from the lakeshore up to and through the little town of Yumani; along it runs the Fuente del Inca, a spring trickling down the hill.

You may have noticed an Inca theme here: the Isla del Sol is an ancient site of many ancient Andean ruins (some pre-Inca), and there are Inca creation myths about the island, so some call it the birthplace of the Inca. Inca artifacts have also been discovered underwater near the island. There is almost no information about this that we found on the island or in Copacabana, so we largely enjoyed the island for its natural rather than its historical value.



The path we took from village to village may have been historical -- it´s wide enough for two people to share easily, and is bordered by stones the whole way. It seems like a lot of work for modern-day people, who wander all over the hillsides, not just on this path.

It was a beautiful place to walk.




A few of the locals

We saw almost no one on our four-hour walk from shore to shore, with the exception of some toll collectors. I don´t know if these toll collectors were on the up-and-up or were just extortionists, but we paid. Our trust was shaken because each toll collector would tell us we didn´t need to pay again, and that anyone who asked was just malo. But then that argument didn´t work with the next guy. We wished they´d sort it out among themselves.


¨No, no, that last toll you paid only covered the first third of the island...¨

At the very far northern tip of the island, we arrived at some pretty spectacular ruins, a sort of a stone labyrinth of walls and doorways, with stairs down to the water. We enjoyed wandering through this, ducking through low archways, ending up at dead ends, and temporarily evading one toll collector.





Nearby was a massive stone table, with low stone chairs arranged uncomfortably far away (at least for dining), where they say the Incas made sacrifices. I couldn´t decide if it was disrespectful to sit on the mesa but I guess it´s pretty disrespectful to sacrifice people. Or even critters.


Sacrificial and perhaps sacreligious


The moon and the sacred rock (at left)

Night was falling as we started the end of the walk down to the shore, where we devoutly hoped that we would find dinner and lodging. It was far too cold to camp on the beach.


Arriving in Challapampa

Fortunately, we did in fact find lodging at the bare-bones but perfectly serviceable Hostal Cultural, which may have had the cheapest room we´ve had on our whole trip, at about five dollars. We wandered out again looking for dinner and found an obliging family restaurant who cooked us up a prix-fixe meal of quinoa soup, eggs or pasta, and coca tea.

We woke up early to the braying of our neighbors.



After some more eggs and bread we were on our way back to the southern end of the island. We could have waited for a boat to pick us up, but honestly, Challapampa didn´t have a lot of entertainment offerings for the next four hours.


There´s always pick-up soccer... or carrying a truly enormous amount of reeds



The boats of Challapampa


Looking back at the village


We think this may be a burro-llama cross

The entire island, and most of the hills along the shores of Lake Titicaca, are heavily terraced. Apparently, at least on the island, these terraces are very ancient and carefully made, with layers of stone and sand beneath each level to allow them to drain. They have an effect from a distance almost like geological features.

Today people appear to grow wheat and corn on these terraces, and perhaps other crops -- it´s a little hard to tell, as it´s the dry season now, and most fields were covered with stubble and/or haystacks.



We made our way in a fairly leisurely fashion back to Yumani. Our most memorable stop along the way (aside from our rather pathetic nuts-orange-Snickers lunch stop) was to try to put out a fire.

Two little boys, maybe 5 or 6 years old, were hollering and whacking the ground uphill from the path. We saw as we drew closer that the grass was burned in big circles under them, and then realized that the edges of the circles were still on fire. We went up to help put the fire out, stomping around on the low flames.

Then we realized they were also lighting more fires.

Just a couple of nights before had been the celebration of San Juan, when people all over Copacabana lit fires in the streets and on the hills -- filling the town with smoke -- and asked for new things in the coming year. The kids said this too was for San Juan. Maybe they´d forgotten to ask for something.

We put their new fires out and tried to give them a stern talking-to about how peligroso this was on an incredibly dry island. I hope it worked, but who knows.

A couple of sun-soaked hours later, we arrived at Yumani. After clambering over a couple of fences to try to get a late lunch, and getting turned down, we arrived at what looked to us like paradise.




The La Paz beer, which features both a merry barrel-riding king and a picture of the unlovely brewery

It took a while, but it lived up to its billing: how often do you get quinoa along with your broccoli, onion, and locoto (spicy Bolivian pepper) on your pizza?


Worth the wait

We both almost fell asleep on the boat ride back to Copacabana. Good thing we had a long night ahead in a good bed before the bus to Cusco....

Apologies in advance...

We´ve arrived in Copacabana and fear that our friends and family will now have that gawd-awful Barry Manilow tune stuck in their heads. We are really sorry about that. If there is any justice, he´ll be first against the wall when the revolution comes.

(Extra points to anyone who can tell us why he sang about a club named after a small Bolivian town.)

Just so you know where you are, the main plaza´s statue is highly informative


And also beautiful

The 3.5-hour drive away from La Paz gives one a whole different perspective on Bolivia´s altiplano. Endless red brick buildings in various states of disrepair give way to the spiny Cordillera Real, dry fields, and a seemingly endless supply of neatly arranged haybales.


Elizabeth remarked, and I agree, that there´s something very appealing, possibly on an evolutionary level, about stacked hay in late-afternoon sunlight

After a quick unloading of passengers, our bus was loaded on its own little raft to cross the strait of Tupiza, while we skipped across the lake in a boat.


The bus, contrary to its listing appearance, did not sink into the lake

Copacabana is a tiny town nestled between several extremely dry hilltops. We just happened to arrive the night that locals set large swaths the hillside ablaze in celebration of San Juan, a regional Catholic celebration, though it could have just as well been another night of the Aymara new year... or World Cup festivities gone awry.

What exactly are all these eucalyptus trees -- from Australia, Z points out -- doing in Bolivia?

We were quick to locate a cafe where we imbibed much-needed espresso, shared an extremely good brownie, and embarked on our first game of Scrabble en español. Despite my weak vocabulary and general frustration with board games I was actually ahead most of the game but then Elizabeth pulled ahead and trounced me. Z´s use of the high-scoring ´double-r´tile in corre (run) might have been the final blow, but I´m psyched for a rematch in San Francisco. We just need to find a board.

¿En serio?

We stopped by the Basilica of Our Lady of Copacabana, an imposing blindingly white Moorish-influenced cathedral on the main plaza, with charmingly tilted tile rooftop decorations. It may be a poor pueblo, but no expense seems to have been spared in constructing the church.

Interesting mix of Anglican-Incan-Moorish styles


The moon over terraced hills

The ends to our days were nothing short of aesthetic overload... a frequent sensation on this trip. We kept running out to watch (and take more pictures of) the sunsets.

Buenas noches indeed!

Grrr, say the local dogs...that´s my lake weed!

It´s much colder than you´d think

Feliz Año Nuevo Andino: 5518

(Warning: a few of these images are not for the faint of heart.)



Monday, June 21 marked the Southern Hemisphere´s winter solstice and the beginning of a new Andean calendar year, 5518. We didn´t have the will to take a midnight bus to Tiwanaku for the big ´hands to the sun´ celebration, but we did make it over to the small alley where curanderos (traditional healers) sell dried llama fetuses, herbs, amulets, and other items of significance to (indigenous) Aymara and Quechua people.


Beautiful fruit


Llama fetuses, aka where David Lynch got the idea for Eraserhead



Apparently it´s not uncommon for folks to miss the big sunrise celebration, so the local TV station does a whole show with a local curandera who dolls up a her own llama fetus with a little fuzzy hat (not unlike those rasta beanies that are a staple of all liberal arts universities) and some tinsel, splashes it with some flammable liquid, reads the ´signs´of the liquid splattered on a nearby wall, then sets the whole thing on fire. ¡Muy intenso a las ocho en la mañana! (Translation: Not what you might be expecting to watch with your Wheaties...)

I´ve talked to others about the practice of making offerings to pachamama (Mother Earth), and apparently an actual llama fetus is not necessary. Small chalk tablets bearing an image of a llama can also be used. Different tablets are used to signify different requests for wealth, health, education, and maybe just a new car.


Sunrise at Tiwanaku, courtesy of the AP.

After wandering through La Paz´s ¨Witches´ Market¨ to get a full morning of local color under our belts, we took a series of cabs out to Valle de la Luna (Valley of the Moon), an area of arid badlands just outside of La Paz. A miniature version of Bryce Canyon in Utah, the valley is a surreal landscape of rain-sculpted clay towers, runnels, and unusual colors. There are also some wonderful cacti and, rumor has it, vizcachas.

We never came across any, but do yourself a favor and watch this video. Now!


Welcome to the moon




No, really, we´re not in Utah


Moon over cactus







We caught a packed local micro back to town and, again, Z felt the full brunt of a South American leaner. Beware, these cholitas look innocuous, but those layered skirts and bowler hats pack a punch.

Luckily, respite was found with cold beverages and unusual sentiments scrawled on the wall of a fried-chicken establishment.


Liqueur de coca, mmmm...


Though their numbers are small, Bolivian vegetarians speak up

¡Feliz Año Nuevo!