Three slow bum numbing hours later, we chugged into the sheltered bay that is Cha'llapampa. Although the bums were numb and in desperate need of TLC, the views from the upper deck of the small ferry were sublime. The advantage to travelling so slowly is that you get to see every everything and a camera captures all of it really well!

The sky is a turquoise blue, sure and intense; the water extremely clear, vivid and inviting; the coastline a lesson in terracing and agro-land use; and in the east the familiar, comforting snow peaks of the Bolivian Cordillera Real; while overhead the horsetail like wispy ice clouds danced across the stage of the sun. There wouldn't be much escape from the already relentless sun. After the hot, humid, steamy, sweaty jungle and the persistent cold and rain, the sun was a welcome relief. It was just the gentle breeze that was freezing! Snow and cold water will always a gentle breeze freezing make!

The Incas are considered by some to be the pinnacle of South American pre-Columbian civilisations, building on the work of numerous civilisations found around Lake Titicaca and the altiplano and it was here in the middle of the lake on these two islands that they choose their creation legends. The Incas were known to possess great scientific and astronomical knowledge and they knew how celestial bodies affected their lives. So they revered, and worshipped, the natural elements and celestial bodies in all their glory. Chief among those, and most important, were the sun and the moon.

It was at the Island of the Sun that the first of the Inca emperors emerged from the lake with his sister-wife to begin Inca creation myth. It was here that credence was given to the fact that the emperors were descended from the sun and moon.

Today the larger Isla del Sol is home to 5000 Aymara (in which we are now utterly and completely fluent. After mastering Spanglish, we needed a little challenge) speaking locals who live in two communities on the island. Since farming and now tourism are their financial lifeblood, they have adapted well and preserved their heritage and infrastructure well. The island is crisscrossed by tracks and the main tracks are old Inca roads reminiscent of old Roman roads in Europe. All over the island there ruins of one sort of another. The Spanish speaking guides explain the wonders of the ruined complexes and their significance. We were suspicious of the Sacrificial Table....it seemed a little out of place and was not made on the island. There is not a single granite outcrop on the island anyway. But then again, the Incas were not above a few human sacrifices themselves. Maybe the table did run red once upon a time.

As you walk from one side of the island to the other, there is no doubt that we walked on tracks that had felt the feet of hundreds of thousands as they walked through different times. As we walked we undoubtedly felt the same dust, the same thirst and enjoyed the simply amazing views from one prominent point after another. Perhaps the place that Ing took a look at, and thought might be a good fix-me-upper for us one day, was where other ghosts thought the same?

To say that they didn't enjoy chocolate like we did might be stretching the truth a little. It was from the new world that chocolate arrived and maybe those that we shared the path with, albeit in another age, did the same and maybe even from the same spot! Like the sun on our faces, it was luxurious to wallow in a historical warmth of a shared experience.

At such high altitude, with such clear air and obliging clouds and distant snow capped mountains to use as a canvas, the sunset was stunning; simple, yet bold, beautiful and intense. Simply majestic in its display and the stars coming out one by one were like an audience standing up and applauding a sublime performance from a master! After all, this celestial body gave birth to the first of the Inca emperors and it was easy to see why.

While we waited for our breakfast the next morning, it was not hard to imagine what life might have been like when the empire was in all its glory before the Spaniards came. Imagining no electricity or the means to transport it, no poles, lights and telephones and the train of pack donkeys, braying in uphill protest, and the sounds of the sheep, chickens and llamas in their pens and the surrounds we found ourselves, seem to become timeless and enduring. Even the stairs from the top of the island to the waiting ferries below lent credence to that. How many times had the Inca emperors themselves used the same Inca Staircase we did?