18 January 2016 – La Paz to Puno to Arequipa

Today is a Bus Day.

We are up early in order to catch a bus to Arequipa, as we begin the journey back to Lima and ultimately to get back to Australia.  First things first though, we need to get to the bus station.  I’d been trying to book a bus ticket through various agents in La Paz, however it isn’t that simple to get a bus from La Paz to Arequipa in one hit.  We have two basic options.  One is the “nice” option, to backtrack to Copacabana and ultimately to Puno in order to get the bus to Arequipa, however that takes a lot longer than the second option, which is to go to Puno via Desaguadero.  The bus from Puno to Arequipa leaves at a very defined time and we simply cannot get to Puno if we go via Copacabana!  So, Desaguadero it is.

We take a taxi to the main La Paz bus station and come up against the first problem of the day.  It seems all buses go to Puno via Copacabana.  None will arrive before our bus from Puno leaves to Arequipa.  Bugger.

We scramble to what is described as the regional transport “hub” in order to catch a mini-van to Desaguadero.  “Hub” is a loose description.  It’s a certain street, with a couple of mini-vans on the corner, and touts yelling out the destination.  We find one going to Desaguadero, accept the ticket price and pile in to wait.  Because of my long legs, I get to sit up front with the driver.  Of course, we won’t be leaving until the van is full, however long that is.  People straggle in and eventually we are only two people short of being able to leave.  To get underway, I offer to buy the last remaining seats.  It’s still a cheap trip.  As it happens, just as we are about to go, one more passenger arrives, so I only have to cough up for 4 seats, not five.  Eighty BOB’s for 3.5 hour trip for the 3 of us – about A$15.  It works out well, as the spare seat is between me and the driver in the front of the van.  I’m quite comfortable – not so sure about those in the back.

The trip to Desaguadero is uneventful.  We drive past the ruins at Tiwanaku and in fact drop off two passengers at the turn-off to the ruins.  As expected, the ruite is not especially scenic, but certainly not “un-scenic”.  There was sporadic rain falling in the distance, Lake Titicaca (including the occasional sail boat), farming lands, and basic rural life at high altitude in the Andes.  Still interesting.

On arrival into Desaguadero, we are mobbed on arrival by kids with bike taxis who want to transport us to the immigration facility at the border.  Andrea negotiates a price which is for three kids to help us out, but it is completely chaotic and we almost end up with four people.  I foresee one of our bags disappearing down a side street…  It takes some strong words and unfortunately one of the kids is left downcast.  Finally we’re underway, only to realise that the trip is really quite short.  We are unloaded from the bikes, and of course the little blighters try to extort more from us but we stick firm-ish.  They get an extra BOB each.  It won’t sink our ship!

We join the surprisingly long queue of people waiting to cross the border and wait and wait and wait.  About 1¾ hours all up.  When we actually see what the process is, it is impossible to see how it has taken so long.  Ours are done inside 30 seconds.

One Australian girl (of course) in front of us has managed to hold up the show for a while due to not having an entry stamp into Bolivia.  She’ll be fined.  Andrea gets asked to help her understand what is going on and the process she will have to follow.  The girl seems quite OK with it.  I’m quite grumpy – for the life of me I can’t see how you could make it into a country without an entry stamp.  It has now delayed us significantly!

Eventually done, we head to the Peru side, where we join another long queue.  “Only” one hour twenty minutes this time.  The queue is going quite slowly, so I take the opportunity to leave the queue for a while to print some bus tickets.  This of course takes a far longer than it should, as the first idiots can’t read my thumb drive.  After a lot of fluffing around, I tell them not to bother and I head to a second shop, who seem to be able to get it happening, but work as slowly as possible.  Eventually, with tickets in hand, I return to the line to find it has advanced rapidly and Andrea is waiting for me at the doorway.  Angry.  As usual.

We race outside and negotiate the price for a taxi to Puno.  We’ll be cutting it finer than I’d like, but should be OK.  The taxi driver seems excited to have a ‘rush’ job and drives accordingly.  Maniac.  Never tell South American taxi drivers you’re in a hurry…

We arrive into Puno with 45 minutes to spare.  Time for a quick visit to the toilet and to grab a bite to eat, then pile on to the Arequipa bus.  We settle in, breathe a sigh of relief at having arrived, and then settle in to watch some movies.  The time passes surprisingly quickly and then we’ve arrived in Arequipa.  We find a taxi, who proceeds to tell Andrea that the area of the hotel I’ve tried to book is in a very dodgy area – as every single one of them will do.  It’s a bit of a scam to try and re-direct you to a hotel whereby they might get a commission.  Regardless, the hostal I’ve chosen (without having time to make a reservation) has a set of stairs at the front and Andrea thinks it looks dodgy.  The driver says he will find us a nicer place, which turns out to be not too far from the original choice, although we have driven in circles for a while to get there.

The new hostal is nice enough and across the road from a police station.  Shouldn’t be too much yahooing during the night.  It’s old, with thick walls.  We settle in.

17 January 2016 – La Paz (Tiwanaku)

Today was a relatively early start, as we are heading out of town on a tour to see the ruins at Tiwanaku.  It’s a bit of a drive – an hour and a half or so – but it’s a chance to pass through the city and suburbs again and get another impression of La Paz before we hit the countryside and then the ruins.

Our driver is present on time and good news, his van looks to be in pretty reasonable condition, which is of course good news.  It remains to be seen how good his driving is!  For newbies to South America who haven’t done much research on this aspect, it may come as a bit of a shock as to how the locals drive.  Our experiences on buses and watching out the window suggest that local drivers have a distinct disregard for their own safety and that of other road users – launching into an overtaking manoeuver and completing it only because the oncoming traffic gets out of the way seems to be par for the course and expected of the oncoming traffic!  It can take your breath away…

Anyway, our guide hasn’t yet showed up, so given that the driver knows where he lives, we head off there.  Whilst driving through the narrow and surprisingly busy streets, he calls the guide and asks where he is.  As we pull up at the house, the guide tells the driver that he is at the hotel.  Drat and bother, so back we go to the hotel.  It’s only 5-10 minutes, but it is time we could be spending on the way to the ruins.

Despite being up early, it seems Sunday morning is quite the morning for street vendors to set up in markets that line the streets.  It’s also reasonably busy with cars and people all vying to use the same portion of the road.  There’s ducking, diving, weaving and general avoidance of being skittled.  There’s also no apparent rules for making your way through the traffic, with our van attempting to push its way through what seems to be a completely choked intersection, only for a path to miraculously appear in front of us and which of course closes equally quickly behind us.  While the majority of the cars around us seem to carry at least some evidence of collisions, I don’t recall seeing of hearing of a single crash in my time there.

OK, back at the hotel, we get our guide.  He is all apologies and we’re on our way.  Back through the chaos of the markets and up the hill to get out of the valley and up to El Alto.  The drive up is again quite scenic, although harder to see much than coming down.  Of note (for me) is the number of eucalypt trees on the slopes.  It still surprises me that they are as widespread as they are in South America.

This part of El Alto is similar to the other part that we saw on the way in from Lake Titicaca – all unfinished and undecorated buildings, relatively poor roads (although slightly better than the other one) with puddles and potholes, and lots of cars.  Oh, and lots of “Centros de Eventos” – the fanciest-looking buildings in town, which are where people hold events such as weddings, parties, Fiestas de Quince Anos.  The Fiestas de Quince Anos are 15^th birthday parties for girls – pretty much “coming out” parties, marking the transition from childhood into womanhood, or more realistically, announcing the age of eligibility to be married off.  Wikipedia also says that their origins may also have to do with celebrating the fact that the girl has made it to 15 years with her virginity intact!  A feat worthy of celebrating in Latin America it seems, as relevant today as it was in the past (and equally surprising)…

We pass the airport, then a whole bunch of incomplete buildings.  Many of the groups of incomplete buildings feature a warning to potential thieves that they will be given no mercy if caught by the locals.  The warning can be in the form of a written/scrawled slogan on the front of buildings, or more graphically, it can be a “scarecrow” that is hung from a building or a power pole with a rope around its neck.  The message is very clear!  One wonders whether the message is heeded, or if some brave souls take it on.  Our guide suggests that it is more threat than reality, but you might well expect someone to say that to the tourists…

Eventually we exit the city limits and are in to the countryside.  There’s scattered houses/buildings, unfinished of course, scattered about everywhere rather than large, productive farms.  Most everything is still at subsistence farming levels.  The grass is quite green but the rivers seem relatively low in comparison to the size of the river channels.  We’re told that it has been quite dry so far in the “rainy season”.

We eventually arrive at the Tiwanaku ruins.  Unfortunately the site has been largely demolished over the years, not only by the Spanish, and has also been somewhat ruined by amateur archaologists.  It is said that much of the site remains unstudied.  It’s a crying shame, since what has been discovered and is available for tourists to visit is reasonably impressive for what might have been.  The pyramid, walls, sunken temple (with its carvings of heads – all apparently unique), the Puerta del Sol etc. are all fascinating, although as usual, there is a relatively lack of information on signs (thus forcing you to use a guide…).  While it has clearly been somewhat reconstructed in modern times, we still enjoy the visit, although it is cut short due to a storm that had been lingering in the distance deciding to arrive and rain on us.

We head off for the indoor museum part of the site and it is laid out quite well, with many interesting artefacts to be seen.  Of course there is the usual mummified remains to be found.  Another building houses the lithic objects found at site, including a massive and hugely impressive statue.  It is displayed in subdued light, lit by spotlights and so on, for good effect.  The rest of the objects are a bit sparse, and apparently part of the museum is closed for repairs (or lack of objects?).

We get the feeling that we are being rushed a little bit by our guide, who has previously advised that we could do as we liked for as long as we liked.  Nonetheless, we’re bundled into the car and off we go, back to La Paz.  We feel a little bit cheated, however we eventually realise that they are hurrying to we can get back in time to go and visit the Wrestling Cholitas show, which we have expressed an interest in during the trip.

The Wrestling Cholitas, otherwise known as a “Lucha Libre” show, are popular in Bolivia.  Local girls/ladies are dressed up in Aymara costumes/dress and run through a series of wresting bouts for the entertainment of the tourists who visit, as well as a vocal section of the crowd who are locals.  It appears somewhat choreographed, including fake rage/arguments etc. between the combatants, although there is a definite element of reality to the wrestlers being slammed into the floor of the ring, and outside the ring as well when the fighting ventures there.  The slap of bodies onto the concrete floor was loud and most certainly hurt.  There were support bouts featuring men too.  The basic recipe of the bout involves a young heroic type who is initially outclassed and punished in the bout, but makes a miraculous comeback right when you thought they were out of it, and then win.  It’s entertaining for a while, but does start to get a bit old after an hour or so.  Equally as entertaining is the crowd – the locals get right into it, or at least appear to!  After each bout, the heroic victor of the bout signs autographs for the queue of young fans.  Older fans can have their photo’s taken with the Cholitas themselves!

We’re eventually herded back on to the buses to take us back to our hotel.  It’s been a long day, but quite entertaining.  We’ve really enjoyed the ruins at Tiwanaku, despite feeling a bit rushed and despite the site being nowhere near as picturesque as, say, Machu Picchu.  You still get a sense of its importance and scale, and with the hovering storm that we had, you do get a sense of the power of the place.  The Cholitas, well, I don’t think I’d bother seeing them again if I was to go back, but they are worth seeing once.

16 January 2016 – La Paz

Not much to write about today.  Andrea is sick and confined to the hotel room, so I was out wandering the streets of La Paz near hotel, principally in the Witches Market area.  Lots to see and interesting to try and find the shops selling something different than the majority.  There’s a few of them in there!

Of interest is the number of shops selling hand-made musical instruments, in particular guitars.  Some of them appear to be made on site – there are things that look suspiciously like workshops with activities going on, however it is also possible that these are just set-ups for sucking in the tourists like me.  I suppose I won’t know for sure, but it looked authentic.  Very tempting to buy something but with our luggage capacity already exceeded, it wouldn’t be the wisest purchase.  I suppose I’ll have to come back again, although thinking about it, the travel costs to get here mean that I could just buy something at home and still have spare change!

15 January 2016 – Copacabana to La Paz

We sleep in.  It seems that earplugs block dog noise!  It also means that we miss breakfast.  I have a crappy breakfast in town.  Andrea is ill (likely cause was the improperly boiled tap water last night)!  Our Brazilian friends are also catching the bus to La Paz, so we are braving the trip together.

We catch a decidedly non-touristy bus to La Paz.  It is cheap, only 20 BOB’s each (about A$4.50) for a 3.5 hour bus trip, but no reclining seats, no toilet etc.

The scenery around Lake Titicaca is spectacular and would be well recommended to do on a motorbike or car.  It’s all quite lovely, right up until you hit the outskirts of La Paz.

The locals on the bus have enjoyed the trip too.  The family in front of us feast for what seems like the entire journey.  Andrea was decidedly unhappy about that.  She is feeling poorly.

The bus trip also features a ferry ride.  We cross on the last possible boat and arrive just in time, as the bus is readying to leave.  We do leave a bit earlier for one fool, who has to run and scream for the bus to stop.

Arrival into La Paz is extraordinary.  The surrounding city, El Alto, is chaotic, noisy and clearly very poor, although with surprises.  Buildings to host ‘special events’ such as birthdays, weddings etc are remarkably shiny and elaborate, yet are surrounded by half-built buildings or low quality buildings.  Traffic flow is by some unexplainable rules and forces – a miracle?

We finally see La Paz.  Incredible.  Huge.

We drive down from El Alto and are let off at a seemingly random place next to the cemetery.  In my first major failure of the trip, I don’t have the details of the hotel organised in my notebook, so we search around and eventually find an internet kiosk.  I locate the address.  We find a taxi driver who knows where it is – harder than it sounds.  We pile in to his beaten up station wagon – 5 passengers plus luggage!  My seat feels like it is only attached by one bolt, and pivots and wiggles all the way to the hotel.  Remarkably enough, the driver DID know where it was.  So far on our trip, he is the only taxi driver to deliver on a promise of knowing where the destination is.

The hotel is OK, although our Brazilian friends are not keen and head off.  Lovely people.

Andrea takes medications, rests and is very unwell.  Alma and I have lunch.

We wander the streets – we’re in the Witches Market area, which means lots of markets and is, on the whole, quite a touristy area.  The hills are quite steep and take some huffing and puffing to traverse, but I’m liking La Paz.

Andrea is slightly better in evening, but only slightly.

My earplugs are ready to go!

14 January 2016 – Isla del Sol

The lack of earplugs last night has only worked partially.  Between us and the neighbouring building, there is a laneway that provides access to another hotel.  The neighbours also have a couple of dogs that bark furiously whenever someone walks down the lane to access the hotel.  Otherwise, it was quiet.

We’re up early, braving the electric shower with exposed wires, breakfasted and off to the foreshore to buy tickets for our trip to Isla del Sol.  As promised, there’s tickets available for the boat.  The boat itself doesn’t quite live up to promises made by the brochure and the lady yesterday, but it’s not bad.  At least it doesn’t look to be in any danger of imminent sinking.

We’re relatively late getting onto the boat, so we can’t sit together.  Andrea sits beside a young Brazilian couple.  I sit beside an older Bolivian couple.  He “manspreads” to ensure I have only ¾ of a seat.  Nice.

The boat makes the slowest trip to Island possible.  Although the trip is scenic, it still becomes tedious.  We can see the Isla del Sol from a long way off.  It appears to be covered in terracing and as we get closer, we can see ruins of house-like structures.  The snow-capped mountains in the distance present a spectacular backdrop to the whole scene.  For rainy season, we seem to be lucky – it’s a beautiful day.  There’s clouds about, but certainly plenty of sun too.

On arrival at the northern end of the island, each boat scores an optional guide.  He takes us to a crappy museum to start with – 10 BOB’s to get in, but includes access to the north-western end of the island, to which we must hike if we want to see the temple, which of course we do.

After the museum, we walk down to the beach (full of camping hippies), he asks for his 10 BOB’s per person to be the guide – the crowd has thinned remarkably.  Everyone is slow to step up, so I prompt Andrea to make the first move, which in turn prompts others to follow.

During hike to the temple, the guide is quite entertaining but occasionally bullshits.  He talks about 400 year old eucalyptus trees and notes that they came from Australia!  One can do the maths and figure out that the trees are NOT 400 years old!

As we gain a little elevation during our hike, the views, both of the island and the mountains in the distance, are only improving.  It’s just a shame about the hippies cluttering it up.  And the rubbish.

We arrive at the end of the island and see the birthplace of the sun and the moon.  We hear lots about the “energy” of the place.  Sadly, I have to head back early as I’ve absorbed lots of the energy – I need the bathroom.  When I ask if there is a bathroom in the area, I’m told I can’t urinate anywhere, as it is a sacred place.  Bah.

After a slow and careful walk, I make it back safely.  For 2 Bolivianos, I’m given 6 (six) sheets of toilet paper at the bathroom entrance and perform Jesus-like miracles with it.  I make a mental note to ensure that I always have my own person supply with me in the future, and paste it over the top of the previous mental note regarding the same issue.  I’ll learn, eventually.

I wait for the girls, who turn up 15 minutes later, some 5-10 minutes before the boat is scheduled to leave.  We are more fortunate than some of the stragglers…  It turns out that the company has a fleet of boats during the day, so no-one is left behind.

The boat meanders back to the centre of the Island.  We get an hour here to visit more ruins or have something to eat.  We choose food, but miss the better places for one on the beach that is quite rustic.  Afterwards, we head to one of the better ones for something tastier.  A dodgy pizza is the result.  We catch up with our new Brazilian friends from the boat.

Back on the boat, we continue to dawdle back to Copacabana.  We’ve only had a short time on the island, largely due to the slow boat.  On the boat, Alma chats to a Uruguayan lady.  Turns out she has an Australian husband.  Get off boat and chat to them, plus their twin daughters, who look about Alma’s age, but as a result we miss saying goodbye to Brazilians.

After a bit of rest, we track down Josiel and Soraya in the hotel and ask if they want to have dinner with us.  We go to an Italian restaurant down the road.  It’s a tiny place, tiny menu but lovely food (pasta).  Back to hotel, Andrea has a moderately warm cup of tea, then we’re off to bed.

Alma, out with the twins (who are actually 27), is told to be back at 11.  Turns up at 12pm.  Can’t understand why we’re upset.  She has forgotten to adjust her clock (phone), despite a conversation about it earlier.  Muppet.

13 January 2016 – Puno to Copacabana

During the night, I’ve managed to take out my earplugs while dreaming and consequently didn’t sleep as well.  Not that it matters too much, as we only have a lazy day on a bus ahead of us, so maybe I can get some sleep there.

We rush around in order to get ready in time – we need to be at bus terminal by 7am.  It’s a delicious breakfast again, and we’re rather sorry that we have to rush off and leave.

Outside the hostal, we seek a taxi.  The hostal owners son is looking for one for us, however one arrives in the street that will suit us.  We negotiate the fare (only 5 soles!) and arrive at terminal at 7.15am.  Scheduled departure is 7.30am, but bus is late, although we spend a while fretting that we’ve somehow managed to miss it.  We’re on a small line and it is somewhat less organised than our friends at Cruz del Sur.  Eventually the bus arrives.  It looks fancy enough, and we leave at 8am.

The trip along the south shore of Lake Titicaca is full of memories, although I am surprised at what seems to have been an explosion of construction of half-built houses.  It looks like everyone has their own little hovel and an acre or two of land.  Subsistence farming – a sure way to keep the population poor.  Not that much farming appears to be going on in most places.  There’s definitely some – potatoes, quinoa and other vegetables, scattered cows/sheep/llamas etc.  The road is also now a toll road.  I don’t remember that being the case previously, and it certainly hasn’t resulted in any major improvements to the road itself.

The bus has proved to be a bit dodgier than at first appearance.  During the trip, the smell of urine has become stronger.  It turns out that the toilet isn’t flushing and the urine deposited by our fellow passengers is just building up in the toilet bowl.  Nice.  Still, they continue insisting on using it.  Seems nobody thought to go to the toilet BEFORE the bus left this morning!

The border crossing into Bolivia is fairly easy, apart from lots of queuing at both Peru and Bolivian side.  Andrea gives some leftover juices from the Cruz del Sur bus trip to two boys at Peru checkpoint, and an alfahor to the girl.  The boys laugh mercilessly at her, so Andrea gives her a couple of soles to buy something for herself.  She seems pleased.

I have a moment or two of worry as the Bolivian immigration official disappears with my passport for two minutes to check something but comes back and all is OK.  Let’s hope nothing dodgy happened…  Off we go.

Copacabana is a shock – much better developed than we imagined, although it could still be significantly improved (scattered rubbish!).  It’s certainly nicer than Puno.  It has a very touristy feel, with plenty of feral, smelly hippies about.

We lunch at the beachfront café and sadly, it was disappointing.  All items we most at a tepid temperature rather than being hot!

On the beach, we try to buy tickets for trip to Isla del Sol from our preferred supplier but a family member has recently died, so the owner is off at the funeral.  The very small daughter left in charge of the kiosk assures us that if we turn up in the morning, all will be OK.

We wander the streets.  There’s a huge, garish church on top of the hill in the centre of town.  It’s also surrounded by stall after stall, selling either religious tat for those entering the church, or tourist stuff for the hordes wandering past.  Back to the hotel for a rest and planning.

Dinner is in the “Thai Palace” – interesting.  My Indian inspired meals were good, although the naan was far from typical.  The chef/owner is trying new things (for Bolivia, and Peru/Chile for that matter) – imagine sushi made with quinoa instead of rice.  We were joined by a lovely Korean girl who was travelling by herself.  We chat a lot and have a very pleasant evening.

Back to hotel.  Town appears to be nice and quiet tonight.  Will try to sleep without earplugs…

12 January 2016 - Puno

Slept well again, despite a relatively early start from some of the military cadets based in a nearby street.  They go for a run in the morning, singing/chanting as they go!  Even earplugs can't block that out.

We have the most delicious breakfast we’ve encountered so far, including wholemeal rolls!

While Andrea is off having some hairdressing needs attended to, I walk to bus terminal and organised bus tickets for tomorrow.  Our destination is Copacabana, but not Brazilian version.  There is also one in Bolivia, on the shore of Lake Titicaca.  It’s famous as the launching place for tours to the Isla del Sol, birthplace of the Sun, according to the Incas.  It will be our first trip into Bolivia and I am quite excited at the prospect.

Back at the hostal, we meet up with Andrea, having survived the hairdresser.  We wander down to the port/harbour area, look at more artesania and buy a few things.

Out on the jetty, we idly look at boat tours on lake.  All of the touts have been hassling us regarding trips to the islands, but we’re not that interested given we only have a relatively short amount of time.  We’re offered a price for the three of is, but Andrea manages to negotiate a slightly cheaper price, but we still have to wait for two more people.  Not knowing how long the wait might be, we purchase the two empty seats at the same discounted price we are paying and we leave immediately.  Our tour is to take a quick half hour spin around the inner harbour. 

Our boat is dodgy – it’s powered by an old Ford V8 motor that is reluctant to start.  Once it is running, it requires constant fiddling to keep it going.  Our Captain is kept busy running back and forth between the motor and the steering wheel!  At one stage, we are allowed up on to the top deck to take in the view.  I walk past the motor, inhaling the rather oily fumes, and can see that the motor is missing the oil filler cap, thus explaining the rather noticeable smell in cabin…

Back at port, the Captain switches off the motor a good distance from the jetty.  I ask if we have to swim the last few metres because we paid a discount price, but nobody finds that as funny as I do.  Again.  At last, we are finally tied up and everyone disembarks.  It’s been a nice and relaxing little tour.

Lunch at bakery again (Pan Rica).  All is good, except Alma’s salchipapas might have been a bit dodgy (or, more dodgy than they already are).  I’m not a fan.

We head back to hostal for rest/planning following days schedules in Bolivia.

I decide to change some soles for Bolivianos, given the supposed absence of ATM’s in Copacabana.  I do some research on what the exchange rate is, then head into the centre of town to try out the experience.  Remarkably, at the first place I visit, they offer me more or less the official rate on xe.com.  Doesn’t feel right – I was expecting to get ripped off.  Maybe I am, but I don’t know it.  I worry about being given fake notes.  I can’t tell…

Out for dinner.  We go looking for a well-regarded vegetarian restaurant but having arrived at the street location given for it, we can’t find it.  It’s odd – the restaurant has reviews on TripAdvisor from only a couple of weeks ago.  We resort to heading up to the main pedestrian mall and seeing what we can find in the multitude of restaurants there.  We choose a nice-looking place, although it is empty and many other restaurants nearby are well patronised.  The lack of customers should have been the clue.  It was dreadful. Very slow service, ordinary food.  A large group of Brazilians enter as we are about to leave.  We think of warning them…  We buy some dessert pastries at Pan Rica in hope of feeling better.

We pack up and get ready to leave on an early bus.