Cusco to La Paz, The Longest Day…

After our grueling Inca Trail/Food-poisoning debacle we spent a relaxing few days eating anything but Peruvian food, exploring Cusco and knocking about with our new friends- the lovely English lawyer girls, Hartini the vivacious Dutch-Indonesian girl, James a Welsh guitar-maker and last but by no means least, Damir the Amazing Croatian Boy Scout-Pirate!

I managed to extend our Cusco stay for long enough to watch England and Wales get beaten by our Antipodean cousins in the rugby, during which Lucy managed to read an entire abridged version of Jane Eyre! But sadly we had to move on to our next destination, Puno.

The sleepless overnight bus journey left us fairly knackered on arrival in Puno. We managed to find our friend Damir to give him his medicine bag that he'd left in Cusco and then sorted out a cheap half-day trip to Los Uros, the famous floating islands of Lake Titicaca.

After a fairly impromptu performance of El Condor Pasa from Peru's answer to George Formby (but with a Charango in place of his Ukulele), we set off on a 20minute boat ride to Los Uros through the ice cold, deep blue waters of South America's largest and highest navigable lake. On arrival to our chosen island (they rotate the tourist visits to keep it fair) we were greeted by a gaggle of excited islanders complete with brightly coloured clothes, long plaited hair with pom-poms but not a pair of shoes among them. Literally everything is made of reeds woven together in a variety of ingenious ways; houses, huts, kennels, tables, chairs, beds, mats, lookouts, archways, artwork, boats... We're given a Blue Peter style demonstration of how the islands are made and maintained, and a brief show and tell about the seemingly endless uses and properties of the reeds (we even got to eat them, they taste like watered down apple!).

After the talk we're formally introduced to the chief and allowed to have a nosy around the island, taking photos of the pet flamingos and all the reed-based oddities. The islanders bring out all their stunning art and crafts into the communal area to sell, we weren't expecting to have to buy anything so hadn't brought much money. Big mistake! There was so much beautiful stuff we could have bought and the money couldn't be going more directly to the people who made it, there definitely weren't any sweatshops on these islands! Haggling with these people seems criminal but they seem to love it and are very happy to negotiate with you so I ended up spending every cent I had on a small but beautiful Incan wall-hanging which meant we couldn't afford to ride in the reed boat to the next island. The people who could afford their passage to the next island on the reed boat were waved off and serenaded with Aymara songs by the villagers. The next island was a similar story with yet more frustratingly fantastic souvenir opportunities and friendly locals wanting to chat to you. Considering it was almost an afterthought, these surreal little communities bobbing around in Lake Titicaca turned out to be one of the highlights of our trip so far!

After a typical trout lunch in the far less impressive Puno we continued our bus journey onwards across the Bolivian border (yet another confusing and chaotic affair). Upon arrival in Copacabana, not the exotic Brazilian beach (before you start singing the song!), I discovered that I'd left my Debitcard in the bus station back in Peru (second time I've done that on this trip, not lost a penny on either occasion though!). To make matters worse there were no ATMs and the bank didn't open for 2 days, so we abandoned our planned stop and jumped on the last possible bus to La Paz (the next place where I could get money out) before a 3 day strike stopped that route, only just managing to pay with some Chilean pesos I had changed as an afterthought. This left us with the grand total of 30 Bolivianos or £2.50 in cash, not ideal! We've since met loads of people who got caught out in the same way but decided to wait for the bank to open which it never did because the strikes stopped the money trucks getting out from the capital, La Paz, so these poor souls had to beg, borrow or work their way out of Copacabana over the following weeks!

Our getaway vehicle was a rickety little local bus (a tarted-up truck with park benches bolted to the floor) designed for people considerably shorter than Lucy so the head rests were somewhere below my shoulders! After an excruciating couple of hours we got to another part of Lake Titicaca after nightfall. Here we were supposed get off and cross separately on a tiny boat while the bus and our luggage was floated across on a glorified raft. This never happened as the protesters had decided to start the strikes early and whimsically stopped our bus from crossing the lake. We were the only tourists on the bus and after much arguing and being continually refused to cross the lake; the Bolivians decided to return to Copacabana. But having talked to the driver about our financial predicament (£2.50 doesn't get you far, even in Bolivia!) he understood that this was not an option for us. So on his advice we managed to get across this lake by effectively being people smuggled aboard a bigger, more touristy coach that was being allowed to float across (lights off, curtains drawn, heads down, keeping as still and quiet as mice…) with about 15 Bolivian passengers that needed to cross too.

Half way across the lake I was told to get off the bus and put our bags into the boot quickly so that no one from either shore could see me. This was a precarious procedure in pitch black darkness to say the least! We got to the other side of the lake to be greeted by a very angry sounding mob (presumably the strikers), who the passengers said might throw stones at the bus. Some of the protest leaders came on board and started interrogating the Bolivians. Complete with Gestapo-esque flashlights they demanded to see tickets, I.D. and to hear some damned good excuses as to why they weren't standing up for the rights of their fellow countrymen (I heard hospital appointments, funerals, flights and even court appearances mentioned as justification!). At this stage I'd worked out it wasn't a political protest but an economic one because of the plans to build a bridge to replace all the ferries. So in theory as foreigners we weren't directly a part of this dispute, but nevertheless it was fairly tense stand-off situation and I didn't fancy being in the crossfire! However to our immense relief, as soon as they saw we were gringos, we were more or less left alone and they went back to intimidating the poor Bolivian passengers.

Eventually the rest of the tourists (who had been allowed to cross on the little ferry) managed to bustle their way through the strikers and get back on their bus. The irate protest leaders got off the bus and we tentatively set off for La Paz. As we didn't have seats for this bus we had to stand in the stifling heat for 3 hours or so and then give over the last remaining cash we had as a kind of ticket! For the first time in her life Lucy fainted from the heat and the tiredness of having been travelling almost nonstop from Cusco for 36 hours. Half way to La Paz the bus got pulled over for a fairly aggressive drugs search by a riot van of angry, fully-armed, camouflaged Bolivian Drug Police. The locals were again treated roughly and suspiciously but nothing in comparison to the poor Peruvian female student who was dragged off the bus and had all her bags emptied into a ditch on the lay-by. Having seen all this happen in front of me I was getting nervous but once again gringos seem to get off lightly and I was even greeted as a long lost friend, with profuse apologies for the inconvenience! We finally arrived into the rough end of La Paz at midnight, and after borrowing some money from a German traveller we took a taxi and spent an hour trying to find a hostel to take us, the first 3 were full (in low-season?!) but we found a decent one in the end.

Welcome to Bolivia!!