John had smoked his clutch in fairly spectacular fashion while negotiating the traffic hell of El Alto, but we weren't sure if this it was completely finished. Leaving La Paz two days later we had our answer thanks to an encore of El Alto traffic on Sunday morning. The bike was dead. Under normal tour rules this would have meant the end of the trip for John & Marion, but generously Kevin and Julia proposed that they could travel in the van, with Alan and their dead bike, so long as no-one else needed it. Mightily relieved, they accepted.

We were due to hit Copacabana, a small resort by the shores of Lake Titicaca today, and after a medium-sized schlep, duly checked in. The hotel faced the lake, and our room had a fairly unbeatable view. No locals in sight - which was lucky, since they were all drunk. There was a large local wedding on, and most of the population were off enjoying it, as the day turned into late afternoon groups would stagger by in mutual support groups of four or five, usually with one clutching an unfeasibly large bottle of what looked like whisky, while the women, dressed in Sunday finery, were breaking off and dancing with anyone within range. The highlight of this small charming town was the local monastery in the town square, where for a small contribution we could get our bikes blessed by the local abbot, which consisted of getting the formation of fourteen bikes "dressed" with various flower arrangements, setting off firecrackers underneath (note to self - check for fuel leaks), and having a man in skirts mutter things over it before sprinkling blessed water everywhere. All we could hope for was that the priest hadn't been to the wedding too, and the sprinkling would be from the squidgy mop rather than a more organic source.

From Copacabana, we progressed in a vaguely westerly and upward direction, following the lake's edge and stopping occasionally for "wow" moments & photos. Winding back down again, we arrived at a small ferry station, where we were due to take ship (30ft rickety flat barge) across a narrow strip of water before continuing to Puno, where the famous floating reed villages were located. Excitement on the ferry rose due to the dilapidated nature of the barges, and potential for dropping the bikes into the oggin. All boarded ok, thanks to most owners claiming not to have read the manual on "how to reverse 250kg+ of fully loaded motorbike onto a rickety barge along a narrow plank", and hence chickening out (i.e. getting Kevin to do it). Unloading however, the paparazzi among us reckoned on a potential photo-opportunity from the still rickety DB, who was still struggling with a combination of altitude, French plague, having a gammy knee, and, being rather ancient. Puerile excitement mounted after DB stalled his bike trying to drive off, the armada of lenses circled closer. Unfortunately Alan spoiled the fun by volunteering to drive DB's bike off. Sulking slightly, we all remounted and proceeded to Puno.

Puno is situated on the southwestern edge of the massive Lake Titicaca, the highest lake in the world, which stretches for many miles north. Wider than the English channel in places, it is shared between Bolivia and Peru. For Bolivia, it is now the only excuse they have for a Navy, since Chile in nineteenth century decided to expand northwards and rob them of their only access to the sea. They haven't really made much of this, and as far as we could see their Navy consisted of a couple of ancient British steam ships, an assortment of fishing boats, reed boats (presumably with a good stealth signature), and a swarm of pesky pedolos. Puno itself has a fairly well-preserved 18th century centre, a good selection of modern tourist trap shops in the middle, and with a large sprawl of unfinished (due to tax) dwellings around the edges. Dogs and rubbish everywhere. Two novelties were available on the menu: Pisco sours (nice) and guinea pig (not so nice). In fact the guinea pig was so average that several pisco sour's were needed to get over the taste. Lou helped with this bit, cackling ensued, and a good night was had by all.

The next day we took ship to go visit the floating reed cities of Titicaca, less the Pisco-based casualties. Lou valiantly managed to get onboard, but then keeled over and spent the next four hours curled up in the front of the ferry, while the rest of us wandered around getting reeds between our toes and enjoying the hospitality of our village hosts. An interesting and simple lifestyle, the natives here have only recently (15 years ago) succumbed to tourism. Their dominant diet is still fish, and the edible core of the reed, the only source of power is the recently added solar cells. It doesn't seem to harm them and they typically live until 85years old, twice the Bolivian average. The floating islands are made by laying down bundles of reeds, in this region there are apparently 55 such communities, access is carefully controlled and if they are lucky each receive a tourist boat like ours once a month. The school house is a typical destination, and the kids turn out for us and sing a selection of ditties, once of which is based on Liverpool's "you'll never walk alone", a connection which means nothing to them. We have been pre-warned and leave gifts of pens, stationary and the like, (rather than sweets, which rot the teeth) all of which are gratefully received. Children are typically married by the age of fifteen, and rarely leave the islands. You can't help wondering how long this situation will continue.

The following day we leave Puno and head towards the ancient capital of the inca empire - Cusco. Gateway to Machu Picchu. Another stunning ride winding up over the high Alta Plana, and pass at 4312m the highest point of our High Andes tour. The altitude is ok to deal with while riding, but tends to pole-axe you if you exert yourself in any way. Dave & Carmel are slower than normal today, which we put down to Dave's sojourn into the reeds the previous night. During a conversation with one of the villagers, Dave asked if he could spend the night with them in their reed hut and help them with the fishing, they, surprised, said yes, and he, duly went along, had an extraordinary night, watched the dawn come up, and froze his bits off. Great experience! We are all quite jealous - frostbite notwithstanding. Onto Cusco!