Frankly – the less said about the floating islands, the better. Horribly touristy and, although the scenery is pretty good on one of the islands, we can’t wait to get out of there.
Our tour guide, Bruno, is the most irritating, uninformed idiot and several times we bite our tongues to stop ourselves from a smart response. When he leaves us stranded on the island, our boat taking off without us, it is confirmed. He really is a knob.
But despite the tour being painful (eg when Bruno stops us to say “everybodeeeeeeee... this is a treeeeeeeeeee”), we still manage to enjoy ourselves. The four of us stay with an unwelcoming family who serve us lunch comprising of a broad bean, a tiny potato in its jacket and three sweet potato-ish yam-like things. My mouth is so dry from eating the starchiest meal in the world that I can’t swallow and I spend the day fearing I’ve accidentally swallowed a fur ball. We all agree that we need plenty of wine to make sure the meal has gone down.
After lunch we brave the high altitude to hike up to a good spot for sunset, away from the tourists. It turns out that we have picked the one spot where all the tourists go for sunset and we’ve not been sat there for ten minutes when we are swarmed by a crowd. Bruno discovers that we’ve escaped from the tour and exclaims loudly “haaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa... you made it up here by yourselves! Very goooooooood. And you have wine! Ohhhhhhhhhhhh....”.
After a brilliant sunset , we make our way back to our host’s house, scrambling through paddocks in the dark, much to the concern of the locals.
Our hosts (relieved to see we made our way back in the dark) invite us in for dinner. Their house is a basic mud brick hut with a thatched roof and a dirt floor. They have no electricity and no running water. The matriarch of the family, who is probably only aged 30, is hunched over a fire cooking our dinner. After the primitive lunch, I’m sceptical about the possibility of a sumptuous dinner and have secretly stashed a snickers bar under my pillow. My hunch is right. She delivers up a watery soup made with quinoa, their local grain, and vegetables. The main course is rice and the most horrid vegetable curry. Thankfully the room is so dark that I can’t actually see what I’m eating and we still have some red wine left to wash down the gruel.
Earlier that day when we’d arrived at our host’s house, we had made a point of introducing ourselves and thanking our gracious hosts for their hospitality. (I suspect my Spanish came out more like.. “Meg, Hunter, Fred and Kirsten we are. Pleased meet you to. Thank you hospitality for your Senor.”) We presented them with kilos of flour, sugar, rice and pasta to thank them. Our Senora snatched the bags off us, unpadlocked a storeroom and literally threw them in there before marching inside.
So when the gruel emerges for dinner, we are surprised.
During dinner, Senor tells us that they have three sons all away at boarding school. Allowing gringos to stay pays for their sons’ education. So despite the death stares from Senora as she is cooking dinner, I can understand why they do it and why they must hate it. But I feel like I'm walking on eggshells in their presence.
Our host begrudgingly dresses us up in Peruvian garb and takes us to the local disco - part of the tour. Instead we decide to put Geezer and Hunter in the women’s clothes, and Meg and I in the men’s. On the way to the disco, Geezer steps into a giant pool of pig’s slop and emerges up to his knees in mud. Having knocked back a few wines by this stage, we are quite literally rolling around the grass laughing. Even Senora can’t hide her amusement.
We walk into the disco to a few stares and dance the night away to pan pipes and drums. Leaving, I think, an impression.
The next morning we are woken by Senora early for breakfast. We quickly throw our bags together and wait anxiously for breakfast... desperately hopeful that it might be something palatable. When the driest pancake in Peru is put on each of our plates, I wonder how on earth I’m going to sink it – especially since I have the dry horrors from too many wines the night before.
So I ask quietly... “Erm... Senora? Is there any chance you might... erm... have any jam?” The look I get from her is so horrifying that I momentarily consider climbing under the table to hide. Instead I stuff as much of the pancake in my mouth, smile at her and think of England. Not being much of breakfast people anyway, the boys exit stage left with their tea.
Our hosts happily walk us to their pier to catch our boat and we spend a few hours travelling to island number two listening to Bruno bang on about nothing.
Our second island is much nicer and less touristy and we bid our moody tour group and Bruno farewell, choosing to stay an extra night. At last, we are on our own so we walk the perimeter of the island while the sun is setting. Our hosts this time are lovely.
The next morning we hike down to a beach on the island and make a mad dash into the icy waters of Lake Titicaca in our underpants. We thaw out and go to catch our boat, which we discover has left without us because Bruno hasn’t booked us in. Eventually another boat from the same moody company agrees to take us back and we spend five hours on the slowest boat in the world heading back to Poo-no.
14 August 2010
17 July 2010
Bye, bye Bolivia
After bidding Meg and Hunter farewell, our next adventure is a mountain bike tour down the ‘world’s most dangerous road’. It is a narrow, rocky road with mountains on one side and a sheer drop on the other. It has earned its name because of the number of deaths from cars, buses and trucks going over the side.
Not so confident on a mountain bike – let alone on a road with that kind of reputation – I am extremely nervous.
We start at high altitude, 4300m and, as well as struggling to breathe, the bike I’m riding is much heavier than I’m used to.
The first part is downhill on a tarred road so it’s not too bad. But then we hit the dirt road and I’m all over the place. The road is covered in massive stones and, although we stop every 15 minutes to make sure no one has gone over the edge, I’m always the last person in. Geezer rides with me until a guide offers to escort me down so that Geezer can whiz down and enjoy it.
It takes us a few hours to get down to the town at the bottom and, as time goes on, my confidence picks up. Geezer has the time of his life but I’m relieved it´s over.
The next day we board a bus to a lovely little town called Copacobana on Lake Titicaca near Peru’s border. Needing a few days just to chill, we skip all the tours and relax in a cafe watching the World Cup. We get up early one morning to watch New Zealand play Slovakia and I wake the whole town with my yelling when New Zealand scores a goal.
To our delight, we bump into Meg and Hunter and after reassuring each other that we aren’t encroaching on each other’s space we agree to travel to Puno in Peru to see the floating islands made of reeds.
So after five weeks we leave Bolivia, having only intended to spend two. But who’s counting!
Not so confident on a mountain bike – let alone on a road with that kind of reputation – I am extremely nervous.
We start at high altitude, 4300m and, as well as struggling to breathe, the bike I’m riding is much heavier than I’m used to.
The first part is downhill on a tarred road so it’s not too bad. But then we hit the dirt road and I’m all over the place. The road is covered in massive stones and, although we stop every 15 minutes to make sure no one has gone over the edge, I’m always the last person in. Geezer rides with me until a guide offers to escort me down so that Geezer can whiz down and enjoy it.
It takes us a few hours to get down to the town at the bottom and, as time goes on, my confidence picks up. Geezer has the time of his life but I’m relieved it´s over.
The next day we board a bus to a lovely little town called Copacobana on Lake Titicaca near Peru’s border. Needing a few days just to chill, we skip all the tours and relax in a cafe watching the World Cup. We get up early one morning to watch New Zealand play Slovakia and I wake the whole town with my yelling when New Zealand scores a goal.
To our delight, we bump into Meg and Hunter and after reassuring each other that we aren’t encroaching on each other’s space we agree to travel to Puno in Peru to see the floating islands made of reeds.
So after five weeks we leave Bolivia, having only intended to spend two. But who’s counting!
Geezer's birthday
The morning we leave Rurre, we had not only said goodbye to Rambo, but our new friends Meg and Hunter. So feeling rather depressed we get ready to go back to La Paz – dreading the mayhem, cold weather and high altitude.
But as Meg and Hunter are leaving they break the news that they have decided to come to La Paz for Geezer’s birthday. We are rapt.
We head to Rurre airport and get an enormous amount of grief from a security guard. So Geezer cheekily strikes a Hitler pose and army marches past him which has me in hysterics and the guard looking puzzled.
The next day is Geezer’s birthday but we have several missions to do including printing some photos to send to Rambo and booking a tour to San Pedro prison.
At the stroke of midnight, I sing happy birthday to my Geezer.
The next morning we are up early, wolf down breakfast and go to meet our guide for a tour of San Pedro prison – a famous prison that is run by the inmates not guards. It’s not your regular prison. It has restaurants, women and children live there and many of the inmates run businesses from there.
It is a common tourist attraction but it is still a surreal experience. The inmates ‘cells’ are more like apartments – some of which are two stories high – and many of them have pets. They hold elections each year to nominate inmates to run the prison, its finances and security. They pretty much bribe the guards to stay outside.
We spend a few hours there talking to some of the inmates and feel very safe. But it never escapes our minds that the inmates are there for a reason and after a while we leave.
We head back to the hostel to meet Meg and Hunter and are happy to be reunited because we miss them already. We make plans for drinks later that day but we are both exhausted.
It gets to 8pm and we are both in bed feeling knackered, desperately wanting to celebrate Geezer’s birthday but having no energy to do it.
Then there is a knock at the door and in march Meg and Hunter with a birthday cake and a candle, singing happy birthday. Their happiness and smiles, that have the ability to perk you up in an instant, make us jump out of bed and get ready to go out. They present Geezer with a gift – the most beautiful Bolivian poncho – and a card with words that make me weep. They have gone to so much effort. And we feel even luckier to have crossed their paths.
So we head to a great English pub underneath our hostel and sit on lounges in the corner listening to Geezer’s favourite music. They even play ‘I fought the law’ by The Clash not once, but twice, just for Geezer. Having been regulars in there, the staff let us stay until well past closing time.
We stagger up to our hostel in the wee hours and play some tunes in our room before calling it a night - a perfect night with Geezer feeling very happy to have had his birthday abroad in a great pub with great music and great friends.
But as Meg and Hunter are leaving they break the news that they have decided to come to La Paz for Geezer’s birthday. We are rapt.
We head to Rurre airport and get an enormous amount of grief from a security guard. So Geezer cheekily strikes a Hitler pose and army marches past him which has me in hysterics and the guard looking puzzled.
The next day is Geezer’s birthday but we have several missions to do including printing some photos to send to Rambo and booking a tour to San Pedro prison.
At the stroke of midnight, I sing happy birthday to my Geezer.
The next morning we are up early, wolf down breakfast and go to meet our guide for a tour of San Pedro prison – a famous prison that is run by the inmates not guards. It’s not your regular prison. It has restaurants, women and children live there and many of the inmates run businesses from there.
It is a common tourist attraction but it is still a surreal experience. The inmates ‘cells’ are more like apartments – some of which are two stories high – and many of them have pets. They hold elections each year to nominate inmates to run the prison, its finances and security. They pretty much bribe the guards to stay outside.
We spend a few hours there talking to some of the inmates and feel very safe. But it never escapes our minds that the inmates are there for a reason and after a while we leave.
We head back to the hostel to meet Meg and Hunter and are happy to be reunited because we miss them already. We make plans for drinks later that day but we are both exhausted.
It gets to 8pm and we are both in bed feeling knackered, desperately wanting to celebrate Geezer’s birthday but having no energy to do it.
Then there is a knock at the door and in march Meg and Hunter with a birthday cake and a candle, singing happy birthday. Their happiness and smiles, that have the ability to perk you up in an instant, make us jump out of bed and get ready to go out. They present Geezer with a gift – the most beautiful Bolivian poncho – and a card with words that make me weep. They have gone to so much effort. And we feel even luckier to have crossed their paths.
So we head to a great English pub underneath our hostel and sit on lounges in the corner listening to Geezer’s favourite music. They even play ‘I fought the law’ by The Clash not once, but twice, just for Geezer. Having been regulars in there, the staff let us stay until well past closing time.
We stagger up to our hostel in the wee hours and play some tunes in our room before calling it a night - a perfect night with Geezer feeling very happy to have had his birthday abroad in a great pub with great music and great friends.
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