Well, the Cool-streeters ended up being a pretty darn fabulous group of folks. We did end up at Wyki that night and stayed out dancing to Manu Chau and other latino-hippie bands until the place closed. Of course because of our grand presence anywhere we go, we were able to meet friends of friends of the Cool-Streeters and with our swift ways and conniving minds we secured a camping trip with a group of hippie-boys with an overload of tents. One of our greatest feats the first day in Copacabana was trying to find a tent so that we could camp in the mountains of Isla del Sol (Island of the Sun). No one rents, no one sells, no one has extras.... We had given up and then we ran into this wonderful group of hippies - I mean the dirty kind that don´t shave or bathe for reeeally long periods of time - who were happy to allow us to use one of their tents. Consequently, there were 8 of us and 4 tents. I think God´s hand was in that because of our serious and chronic desire to camp on that Island.
We woke up the next day for a pow-wow with one of the hairy-hippies (don´t worry mom, they were just kids trying to be cool by being dirty) and decided on a time to meet in front of the boat that would take us to the Island. We shopped and bartered in the mercado for some fresh fruit, veggies, cheese and bread - the food here is DELiCiOUS - and met them for our newly realized excursion.
That night camping with complete strangers was another one of those unforgettable moments in life where I will look back and say to myself, "what idiots, but what fun!"
After trying not to offend the boys who had no camping skills and could not build a fire to save their lives, we danced and did Tai Chi and sang around this fire that went from huge and warming to tiny and flickering at any given moment throughout the night. Some of the boys were musicians and others were talented singers of very traditional - you guessed it - Argentine songs. All in all, it was a fantastic evening to spend just before a fantastic day.
The purpose of crossing and camping on this Island in the middle of Lake Titicaca was to swim in this magestic and mystical body. We woke up on the Bolivian island looking across the nearly-glass smooth water to the shores and mountains of Peru on the distant horizon. After a breakfast of bread, butter and palta (avocado), we packed a few things to head for the northern shore of the Island where we would find the tiny beach for the purpose of bathing in the clear cold waters of the Titicaca.
The 4 hour walk was probably the most spiritually cleansing for me. It was fun to be travelling with such a laid-back and fun group, but many times I found myself walking this ancient trail by myself and on either side of me was a beautiful mountain view or down below - waaaaay down below - were the rocky shores of the island and on the steep slope would occasionally be a few lazy sheep munching on their daytime meal - which, after seeing so many sheep I think that is all they do: eat.
One of the purposes of travelling to the Island of the Sun is because there are Inca ruins there. This is the same ancient culture that thought the sun itself was born out of the island. I have to say that if I thought MY dad was ever a cheap-skate, I take it back. We arrived at the checkpoint where we were supposed to pay for the tickets - 10 whopping bolivianos - which works out to around roughly U.S. $1.25. We were sitting around and these kids were very handy in talking the "price" down to 2 bolivianos. Of course, we did not get to see the ruins because really the 2 bolivianos from each of us were lining the pockets of the checkpoint manager instead of the historical park. Instead we arrived (entirely too late to swim in the freezing water) in a teeny tiny little pueblo just before dark and because the group we were travelling with were so economically conscious we allowed them to find our hostel for that evening. Of the three there were to choose from they found number four. Mel had called it when we were waiting: "knowing them they´re probably bargaining to stay in someone´s living room." It wasn´t quite a livingroom, but it was really only a room with one window and one door, wooden floors and a slew of half-sized homemade cushions and one tiny bed in the corner. This also was a night to remember! 8 kids playing Chancho Va (argentine card game) until 1am and then sprawling all over the hostel floor-slash-cushions and sometimes cuddling with someone you never thought you would EVER cuddle with because it becomes WICKED cold at night on the Island and we had in fact expected to return to the camp on the other side of the island before nightfall - bad planning and scheduling on our part - so naturally our warm clothes were inside of a warm tent next to a would-be warm fire 3 hours away on foot and the boats stopped running to the other side after dark.
Loooong story short, we got really sick of the boys after a while and had to ruuuun to escape them. They were hippie-slow as it was, but they had become attached to us and wanted to spend the day together... in a frenzy we slapped our swimsuits on to accomplish the above-mentioned mission. After 4 1/2 minutes of mission-accomplishing we slapped our pants on and were - unfortunately - momentarily discovered on the beach... after a few words of farewell we rushed off the beach and back onto the trail that would lead us to the safety of our belongings and the boat back home - away from hippidom (by "home" I mean Copacabana).
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That is the Island story.
2 comments:
I'm trying to think of something really interesting to tell you, but can't think of much. Nathan has officially sighed up for and received his aid package for his studies in South Africa, and plans to leave next July. You may have to wait extra long to be re-united with your soul brother (i.e. twin). Mom is busy making beautiful florals for a boutique in March, and learning to be an artist. She is really progressing fast, and might even take an art class at Century. As for me, I have a lot of work to do (at work, that is), so spend many evenings on my laptop while watching the Military Channel or PBR. (professional bullriding). I could write more, but will save it.
Ndino kuda, Mwanasikana!
who is that guy ndino kuda?
I enjoyed your blog. You describe everything so well that I feel like we are all there with you. Take care not to catch cooties from the hippies. M
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