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After our rather ill-fated Uyuni Salt Flats tour we tried to catch up on sleep in Tupiza for a couple of days while we waited for the train to leave for La Paz. We were on a tight schedule to make it to Cusco in Peru in time for the Inca Trail hike and were a little worried on how we'd cope considering our bad reaction the altitude in Bolivia.
We were quite happy to be heading on towards a new place and a bigger city, so we were relieved when the evening of the train departure finally arrived.
The train itself however was pretty much as bad as we'd imagined, but definitely a better option compared to a bus on the very, very poor roads of the country. With the cramped conditions and having been shaken like a ragdoll for the 10 hours that the journey took, we could only breathe a sigh of relief when we finally pulled into the town of Oruro.
But that wasn't the end of it.
We still had to endure a 5 hour bus journey from there to La Paz. So we climbed into a dodgy looking bus after being hounded by sales ladies working for the competing transport companies and off we went. With no toilet on board and being randomly subjected to a strange type of en-route sales people selling miracle cures for all sorts of conditions, the last leg of journey really topped off our curious experience of Bolivia.
As a treat after surviving the Salt Flats and our altitude sickness we'd decided to treat ourselves into a nice hotel. When we pulled in and climbed out of the taxi with our backpacks it couldn't be clearer that we were a little 'out of our league' next to all the American tourists with the fancy suitcases. When we enquired at the reception whether we could stay and extra night we were kindly advised they were completely full - I wonder if that was really the case.
The few days we had in La Paz were spent mainly by relaxing and more special treatments of nice dinners, bottles of wine and plenty of rest. We also managed to time our visit at the same time as Victor - a German guy whom we'd met in Bariloche in Argentina - so a good catch up with a familiar face was a welcome surprise.
The city itself was a huge change after the tiny town of Tupiza and the cosmopolitan Argentina. We were really taken aback by the chaos of the traffic, tiny streets, mazes of brick-houses on the hills and the buzz of life in the city which all somehow seemed to work together. It would have been nice to spend a bit more time exploring the city, but we had to make a move to squeeze in Lake Titicaca before Peru.
So, the journey continued onto another bus towards a town on the Bolivian side of Lake Titicaca, Copacabana. The scenery en route was spectacular and the trip nicely broken up by a short lake crossing, when the bus was loaded onto a rickety raft and us, the passengers thankfully onto a separate boat.
On arrival we made our way directly towards the shores of the lake and bought our tickets onto the island of Isla Del Sol, supposedly the birthplace of the sun, according to the Incas. While the island is the highest navigable lake in the world, the altitude didn't seem to be taking the toll of us as much anymore. The air was crisp, the sun was out and the place was as beautiful as we'd imagined.
The boat took a couple of hours and we landed onto the south side of the island. I'd heard of the looming steps which rise straight up from the small port and lead up to the village, but decided not to tell Shaun until we arrived. Probably for the best as they were seriously hard work in the altitude and as we panted our way up stopping every two minutes we were seriously starting to wonder if we could make the Inca Trail.
The night on the island in our basic accommodation was rather uneventful. Maybe a hike, had we not felt so tired, would have been a good way to explore the mystical place, but it really wasn't what we needed. We wandered around the island and settled for a cheap and simple meal while we pondered where everyone else was. Well, still, looking at the sun setting into the deep blue lake as the cold night drew in from our little terrace in complete silence was an amazing experience itself.
The night was freezing and waking up in the morning was a relief after some seriously weird dreams in the little hut as the wind howled outside. There was definitely a strange mystical air on the island. We took the boat back and slowly made our way back to Copacabana after one of the two motors on the boat broke.
We'd planned to spend two nights and with a warm room and a proper shower we felt instantly better. We meandered through the town streets, which reminded us of the coastal town of Sihanoukville in Cambodia. It was a strange mix of locals and travellers sporting dreadlocks, bare feet and Inca ponchos: the kind that just cannot leave and hang out looking cool in the bars making bracelets and rolling naughty cigarettes.
I think the altitude sickness was still lingering and it was hard to shift the lingering sporadic bad stomachs; so the last day in Copacabana and Bolivia was uneventful as we stuck to our room planning the next leg.
We were getting nervous about the Inca Trail and hoped that sticking to safe food and taking it easy would improve our chances. This was the one thing that we'd waited for since we left, so a mix of nerves and excitement was building: we were getting closer to the dream.
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