Bolivia, pt. 1: La Paz & Copacobana

I’m unable to distinguish whether our ten days in Bolivia really were as dramatic and exciting as I remember them, or if it was such a new and different experience that my mind is incapable of storing the memories any other way. I came back from Bolivia with eight full pages of notes, which is why it has taken me over three months to get around to writing about it. Eight pages of story-worthy notes can be overwhelming to sift through. I am going to try to tell only the most interesting and important stories. However, keep in mind that this was one of those trips that changed the way I see a lot of things in this world. Something that may seem mundane to you, brings back thoughts and feelings for me that simply can’t be put into words.

The day we left for Bolivia was an exciting and a sad one. We were looking forward to our adventures in a country that we had previously not even considered visiting, but it was also the day Damien moved back to France. The three of us shared a cab to the airport and spent the ride trying not to talk about how long it might be before we would see each other again. Meredith and I have said our final goodbyes to friends in our apartment, in restaurants and on street corners, but watching one of your closest friends head to his own gate at an airport, knowing the city you come back to will be a different one because he’s leaving, is by far the most heartbreaking place to see someone off. Just when I thought I might be strong enough to hold it together, Damien turned around and screamed “BOB SAGET!” through the airport. The tears started the same time as my laughter. The public demonstration of our inside joke was the perfect last image of Damien.

After more than four hours of travel, an expensive visa, and an official escort to our – waiting – plane, Meredith and I finally made it to La Paz. We grabbed a cab and sat in silence as we drove through the mountains, each lost in our own incompatible combination of utter exhaustion and wide-eyed curiosity. As our taxi took a turn around a mountain we caught our first glimpse of the city. The nighttime view was nothing short of breathtaking. Meredith turned to me smiling ear-to-ear and said, “Go Gators!” I looked down at La Paz and saw that it was illuminated by thousands of orange and blue lights. After a long and stressful day, this small association to home was exactly what we needed to finally relax.

The next morning we planned to wake up early and catch the first bus to Copacobana. However, as soon as I crawled down from the top bunk I realized that I wasn’t going anywhere. I felt nauseous, light headed and weak. The dramatic altitude change from Buenos Aires to La Paz was the first of many things that was going to change our plans. After sleeping for a few more hours, we bought two tickets for the early afternoon bus.

La Paz in the daylight was a totally different world. The sun revealed women in traditional dresses and hats, street lined with markets and mountainsides covered with houses. With an hour and a half to kill – just enough time to walk around without actually seeing anything – we headed across the street to the cemetery and church. The double doors to the simple, white church stood open, so we were surprised to walk in on a service. This church stood in stark contrast to the large, comfortable and luxurious churches I am accustomed to at home and in Bs As . Everything about the church was simple: the altar, the clothing of the congregation, the service. We quietly slid into the back row and listened for a while. Without any song or ceremony, the priest stepped down from the altar and the service was over. We watched as solemn faces stood in line, waiting to leave flowers or personal belongings at the altar next to photos of recently deceased loved ones. After saying our own prayers, we grabbed our packs, and headed back out into the sun. We walked through the cemetery and a street market before going back to wait for our bus.

La Paz

Woman in indigenous clothing

Street market

Reading the graves at the La Paz cemetery

On the bus for a few hours, off the bus and onto a ferry for ten minutes (watching our bus sail across the lake next to us), back on the bus for two more hours, and we made it to Copacobana by early evening. Still feeling the change in altitude, we found a hostel and took a quick tour of the small town. The city was small, quaint and colorful, but from what we saw it seemed more like a hub to get to Isla del Sol than anywhere you’d want to a significant amount of time. Granted, my judgment was probably clouded by my nausea and exhaustion. We grabbed a quick bite and were in bed earlier than I have been since I left the U.S.

Yes, that is our bus floating across Lake Titicaca

Copacobana

Copacobana

By day three my body had finally acclimated to the altitude. Feeling refreshed and rested, we headed to the beach to catch the early morning ferry to Isla del Sol. An hour and a half later we stood on the south side of the island looking up at a seemingly never-ending staircase being told our hostel is “arriba, 30-35 minutos.” Meredith and I learned a valuable lesson about over packing when backpacking during that grueling half hour – don’t do it. Using the astonishing views as an excuse to stop and gasp for air, we watched old women, young children and llamas pass us on the way up. But we made it... eventually.

After dropping our packs at the first opportunity and plummeting face-first onto our hostel beds, we made our afternoon game plan. Agata, Meredith’s friend from college, and her boyfriend Kevin were meeting us for the rest of our trip and were set to arrive at Isla del Sol on the afternoon ferry, giving us a few hours to explore before meeting them at the docks. We walked a few kilometers in the direction of an Incan resting house, looked at it for about five minutes and – ever the Floridians – found our way to the water.

Indigenous woman and Isla del Sol

Incan resting house

Incan resting house and Isla del Sol

Lake Titicaca

As the sun started going down, Agata, Kevin, Meredith and myself enjoyed dinner overlooking Lake Titicaca. We wanted to see as much of Isla del Sol as possible before heading back to La Paz the following evening and decided the best way to do this was to do the 3-kilometer hike to the other side of the island. If we got up at dawn, we could easily hike six kilometers, explore the north side, and be back in time for a long lunch before the catching the ferry.

The next morning, as the sun was just beginning to rise, Agata roused the group. I blindly put on the clothes I’d laid out the night before, lathered the sunscreen on my red and puffy face, and reluctantly started walking uphill toward the trail. We were taking pictures, laughing and chatting it up when, before we’d realized it, a few hours had passed and we were still walking in the same direction. We should have been able to knock out way more than three kilometers by now. Kevin, the only man and therefore the one we’d trusted with the navigational aspect of the hike, nonchalantly mentioned that we’d passed a fork in the road hours ago. He’d thought it’d be fun to take the 8-kilometer trail instead, making it a 16-km round-trip hike. Clearly, he'd forgotten to take into account that we didn’t have much food, only one bottle of water each, and were carrying our purses. Unprepared for a serious hike, much?

We continued walking, but the path never seemed to turn or end. Finally, Kevin climbed to the top of a mountain to see if the trail was on the other side. He shouted that it was and that we should go over the mountain to save time. Cursing Kevin’s name, we climbed to the top to find trees and a little town on the other side, but no trail. Still cursing Kevin’s name, we proceeded to climb down the mountain. My weak knees and clumsy demeanor made this downhill climb quite the treacherous experience. We passed through a schoolyard and crossed a beach before we found the trail again. Saw the trail from the top of the mountain, did you Kev? Laughing at the absurdity of the situation, we continued to walk, rationing our water, sunscreen and crackers amongst the group.

The never-ending trail.

Meredith, Agata and I climbing the tallest mountain in the world

North side of Isla del Sol

Five hours later we made it back to our hostel. Our unpreparedness aside, I enjoyed the hike. Meredith and I had fun joking about the various ways we could inflict pain on Kevin as soon as we caught up with him. Once I ate, stretched and rested for a bit, I was actually thankful that he forced us onto that adventure. I think the only person who might not have been grateful for the decision was Kevin. He probably thought he was taking us on a nice leisurely hike around a beautiful Bolivian island. Instead he spent five hours listening to Agata complaining that she was hungry, Meredith begging us to leave her there and let her die, and me screaming that my face was on fire and was going to explode. Punishment enough, I think.