Lake Titicaca and Isla del Sol... Can't Stop, Won't Stop

Usually, my favorite part of traveling is associated with the actual act of going from point A to point B. For this particular Bolivian adventure (which was almost four months ago at this point), the jury is still out.

The sunrise on Isla del Sol

My last day in Cusco was where I hiked out of the city, since my bus was not leaving until late. It gave me a chance to relax at my hostel for a while and interact with some of the other guests, too. The only person I even remember talking to was this woman from Turkey who teaches English. This was right after the coup in Turkey... and Brexit... and the terror attack in Nice, France... and the mass police shooting in Texas. July was kind of a terrible month. But I enjoyed my conversation with her, before she left to her next destination. Actually, that night there were a lot of people who were checking out and going somewhere else. Enter the French. There were these two guys who stayed in the same hostel as me in Lima. And Arequipa. And Cusco. Not necessarily surprising since I stayed in "Dragonfly Hostels," which has locations in each of these cities. There were a few other French who I recognized from previous Dragonflies, and this one female from Gibraltar. Anyway, these two French guys were leaving around the same time I was so I offered to share a cab to the bus terminal. They declined stating they didn't know where they were going... and then they ended up on the same bus, for the same company as me, to Puno. I officially had it with the French. And to the people in France who read this blog (there's been 127 views from France since the start of this blog, and 47 of those in the past month), I am unapologetic in my general disdain. I never met more rude and standoffish people before in my life. I would love to meet someone who is French to show me that this generalization does not always hold true... so I will wait for that day. But I digress.....

A detailed map of the Perú-Bolivia border, Copacabana, and Isla del Sol

My exit plan out of Cusco was designed so I could arrive in Copacabana, Bolivia with sufficient enough time to purchase a boat ticket to Isla del Sol. The boats in Copacabana leave at 8:00 A.M. and 1:00 P.M., and my bus was set to arrive there around 11 A.M. But there is no bus that goes directly between Cusco and Copacabana, so a stop in Puno was mandatory. I was only in my "layover" destination for about two hours, and the bus arrived there pretty darn close to on-time. I was feeling very optimistic about the rest of commute until we reached the Peruvian-Bolivian border. First, we stopped at a location to exchange money, and then continued about ten minutes down the road to the border. I've done international immigration on a bus before and I knew that this would take a while, but good grief! Exiting Perú was not the issue, because the line moved at a reasonable pace and the officers seemed to have the process down to a science. I left the building, walked 400 meters across the border to the Bolivian line... and it was unmistakeable that I was in Bolivia.

Crossing the border from Perú to Bolivia

The line stretched 100 meters out of the small, singular building for immigration. Bolivianos running the two or three tiendas around us kept approaching the line to inform us that the network/internet was not functioning (surprise.) and we would need to make a color copy of our passport photos to speed the process up. Traveling alone is stressful, especially in situations like these, because I had to make an important choice. Do I risk making it to the front of the line, but get told that I could not enter because they would not have a record of my passport? --OR-- Do I risk getting out of line to make a photocopy and then lose my place and have to start the waiting process all over again? My choice was both. I made my copy and then forced myself back in my original place in line. At this point, I was already supposed to be in Copacabana, and had only two hours before missing the last boat of the day, which would mean I would miss my reservation for an already fully-booked island.

One hour later, I progressed the 100 meters, barely flashed my visa and immigration cards, and happily headed toward my bus. We waited outside that bus for almost an hour. Everyone was getting stir crazy, approaching the driver and bus-flight-attendant to find out when we could reboard and be on our way again. I was getting rather nervous and worried; a family of Spaniards kindly began talking with me (and warning me that I needed to put on sunscreen LOL! My face was super red but out of anxiety and frustration). It seemed that half the bus was desperate to make the boats and time was cutting close.

We left the checkpoint with about 15 minutes to spare before the boat departure...

Arrived in Copacabana with 5 minutes to spare...

I got my bag with 1 minute to spare...

And I ran down from the bus to the docks like an "Amazing Race" reject, yelling like an idiot in somewhat-broken Spanish to figure out where I needed to buy the ticket and board. Bless the stars that a couple of the locals were helping me until they just directed me to get on any of the boats that were still docked, regardless if I had a ticket or not. A couple that was on my bus gestured to me to get behind them, and I hurried to the pier they chose. Again, bless the stars I was able to buy the last ticket available for that boat otherwise I would not have made it to Isla del Sol.

Visiting Lake Titicaca and Isla del Sol were two of my top priorities for the previous summer's trip to Bolivia but I was unable to reach them due to protests and roadblocks. My level of excitement remained high, but my spirit a little low because of the challenges I faced during the day and exhaustion of the recently-over 16 hour journey. I was also unsure of where my destination on the island was, but I was thankful that I had at least made the final boat departure of the day.

The boat docked at a small village/tourist trap on on the south end of the island. I blindly got off and paid my "community entrance ticket". The only way out of the landing area was to climb up the side of this mountain, basically, to the very top, where a trail formed on the ridge. I saw no people but plenty of hotels/hostels, restaurants, tiendas, and donkeys.... but no people. Following my instinct, I continued down whichever branch seemed more likely to not lead to a dead-end. After about 1.5 hours, I arrived at a checkpoint, where I would need to pay to enter another community still living on the island. The man operating said checkpoint instructed me how to arrive in the community where I made arrangements to stay for the night. It would be about another five hours of hiking. After a safe amount of time and distance from this checkpoint, I broke down and started crying. It was the first time in almost four weeks of living out of a suitcase or backpack that I felt defeated, alone, and desperate to return to Quito. The whole point of this trip was to be free from people, go on adventure, and continue falling in love with South America. I was over it. However, I said to myself out loud "I don't care if you cry, but you need to walk and cry." (Thank you Zulema Griffin, "Project Runway" season 2, for the inspiration of this line). In four hours flat, I hiked through the mountains, across beaches, and up cliffsides to Challapampa. I was just so happy to arrive and to have found my hostel that it didn't matter that Fred, the hostel manager, was not around for me to check-in and find my room. I'd been commuting from Cusco to this tiny village for over 22 hours, and I was happy to finally breathe a sigh of relief. I did eventually check myself into my room, by taking the key out of the door and leaving my belongings in the only remaining room. Went for dinner, and by the time I got back Fred was there.

The stretch of trail where I sobbed

The main motivation for Isla del Sol on this trip was just to see the sunrise... and it was / is the most beautiful thing I've even witnessed. The struggle was worth it.

I only stayed there for the night, and then left for La Paz. I was only in La Paz for a couple of days to relax, regenerate, and wash my limited wardrobe for the first time in weeks. The only thing I remember doing of substance was walking to Burger King and indulging in a greasy burger and fries... and then I was off to Santa Cruz.